"They retain the Maw."
"Father, we-"
"No..." The two younger Baali in the room recoiled from their sire. Aleister and Anton stood, waiting for the inevitable wrath of Étienne. The older Baali, however, merely sat in the chair, his eyes moving across the forms of his childer. Then, and rather suddenly at that, he began to laugh. "My dear boys... you did just as I expected."
"What?" Aleister asked.
"And you both came out the better for the experience." Étienne's laughter had died down to a minor chuckling. "You summoned Astaroth and she will be bringing us a gift."
"How do you know?"
"I just... know."
"Father was always very astute." The voice of Astaroth came to their ears, the trio turning to see her entering alongside two of the Tremere recruits, who were wheeling a cart upon which was something covered in a tarp. It was only then that Étienne rose from his chair, walking down flanked by Anton and Aleister.
"What have you brought for me, my daughter?" The elder Baali asked.
"I think another Primogen to add to your collection was in order, Father." Astaroth said, pulling the tarp aside to reveal the paralyzed form of Nathaniel Gray.
"Very good. Very good indeed." Étienne chuckled. "And what of the Sheriff?"
"He ended up fleeting at the insistence of Mr. Gray here." Astaroth said. "Really, rather sad... I would have liked to have taken his head."
"Your time will come, little one." Étienne said, his eyes darting to the boys. "Lamdiel has been released."
"Already?!" Anton gasped.
"Yes. I am afraid so." Étienne said. "It matters little. His plan will not succeed."
"How can you be sure?" Aleister asked.
"The Dark Powers have spoken to me, my children." Étienne said, reaching up and patronizingly patting the left and right cheeks of the two younger male Cainites while Astaroth looked on with a smirk. "The Master of the Moon shall come, but their victory over him shall be as bitter as defeat." The elder Baali's laughter echoed through the warehouse.
"What of me, sir?" The laughter stopped and the three Baali in the room turned and looked to see a little, sniveling thing. One of the Tremere traitors. Étienne gave the younger Kindred a mocking sneer.
"Yes, what of you..."
"R-Robin, sir. Robin Phi-"
"Yes. That." Étienne said, looking down at the younger Kindred almost disdainfully. "Who are you?"
"He's the only one of the little team I brought along that didn't flee like a coward or die." Astaroth reported to him. "He was supposed to wait outside, but it seems-"
"Overstepped. Of course he did. Like his sires before him." Étienne said, locking eyes with Robin once more. "My daughter has brought me a present. What did you bring me?"
"I... I tried to bring you the Maw..."
"The Maw was a plant. A fake. Something to keep the mice busily running around my maze." Étienne said. "So, I ask again... what did you bring me?"
"M-My... my loyalty." Robin said.
"Oh!" Étienne was chuckling. So were Anton, Aleister, and even Astaroth. "Loyalty! How valuable a thing indeed!" He glanced to the brothers. "Well, boys... let Mr. Robin here show us his loyalty. Take his hands off."
"What?!" Robin yelled out, looking worriedly to Astaroth, who was handing Anton an all too familiar sickle. "N-No! No, please! I served you loyally! I-"
"And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee." The man in the priest's cassock began to speak as Astaroth and Aleister each grabbed Robin under his shoulders and hoisted him up.
"Let me go! Let me go!" The Tremere protested as he struggled in vain. The grips of his captors held.
"For it is profitable for thee," Anton had continued regardless of Robin's protests, "that one of thy members should perish, and not that they whole body should be cast into Hell." He met eyes with Robin and a grin seemed threatening to split his face. "Oops..."
"No!" Robin gave one last, pathetic shriek before the sickle descended upon his left wrist. He continued to scream as it came down upon his right immediately after.
Anthony did indeed learn what in the Hell he had missed. Specifically, he had learned of the Prince's arrival and the plan to, hopefully soon, stop and destroy the Methuselah.
"So... you knew about him being beneath the city this entire time?" Anthony asked.
"Yes." Wren intoned. "I had been ruling Seattle for five decades by that point, Mr. Wallace. A Prince does not remain in power so long without awareness. I also detest myself."
"Right, my apologies, your grace." Anthony said.
"Now, we must discover what this Moon is that Lamdiel wishes to claim." Wren said.
"We think we might have an idea about that." Sybil said, having co-opted the computer in the back of Samuel's shop. The detective was scrolling through a website within Samuel's choice of web browser. "Seriously, Internet Explorer? This is 2018, not 1995."
"Don't judge me." Samuel said, nudging his sister in the shoulder. "Tell her what we found."
"I'm all ears, Langtrys. Really." Wren said, looking unamused.
"When we were peaking into Primogen Turner's head, before the Moon Daddy decided to butt in, we saw something." Sybil said. She pointed to the screen at a picture of a silver dagger resting in a case alongside the sheath it must have once rested in, all contained within a glass display case.
"That's from the Roman exhibit at the Burke." Wren said.
"A dagger that was crafted by the Egyptians as a gift to Octavian to serve as a symbol of his victory of Mark Antony and Cleopatra at Actium." Sybil said. "On the hilt are engrained the symbols of Isis and Luna, the Egyptian and the Roman goddesses of the moon."
"Symbolizing nightfall on the Ptolemaic Kingdom in the eyes of both." Anthony said.
"Exactly." Samuel said. "The Dagger of the Moon. That's what we saw in the vision."
"So that is what Lamdiel wants." Wren said. "We will have to acquire it."
"Got a feeling we have a heist situation on our hands?" Samuel asked.
"Seems like it." Ben said, stepping into the doorway of the room. "I was listening, believe it or not."
"Indeed, Mr. Grayson." Wren said.
"My question is where is your Sheriff?" Ben asked.
"He was sent out on a task." Wren said.
"Right." Ben said, his face nor tone changing expression.
"So we can't rely on him at the present time." Wren said. "I believe that your coterie will be more than adequate. Particularly with help from myself and from Mr. Combs."
"You need to stop moving."
"It stings!"
"Don't be such a baby!" Hope rolled her eyes at the Nosferatu tending to her wounds. "A little bit of this salve never hurt anyone."
"I'm not really big on the blood witch works. Bastards creep me out." Hope said.
"I am well-aware, believe me." Hugo said, rubbing the salve into Hope's wound. The vitae seemed to solidify, flesh resuming its normal palor as there seemed to now be not even the slightest sign that her stomach had been torn open.
"Thanks, handsome."
"You are welcome." Hugo said. He took the jar that he had produced only a few moments ago and slipped it back into his oversized hoodie once more after putting the lid back into place atop it. "And don't call me handsome." Hope rolled her eyes and rolled down her shirt so that it no longer resembled a crop top.
"So prickly."
"You're an Anarch. I'm Camarilla. And the actual Prince of the city is in the next room."
"Or, as we call it in Seattle, Saturday night." Hope snorted.
"I'm serious, Hope." Hugo said. "It's just-"
"Unseemly?" She asked.
"Ill-advised." He corrected.
"I certainly hope it would be." Hope said, crossing her arms over her chest. "So you are interested in me." Her smirk caused him to turn away.
"Hope, I-"
"Don't worry about it, Hugo." Hope said. "Just... let's get through this, then we can talk. Talk, alright?"
"...alright, Hope." He said quietly.
"Mr. Combs! We have work to do!" Hope turned at the sound of Wren from the other room.
"Yes, your grace." Hugo said, not turning to look back at Hope as he hobbled toward the Prince.
Frank Candreva had been a security guard with the Burke for almost twenty years. The Board of Directors had even went ahead and sent him a lovely pocket watch with an ornate golden design to commemorate the occasion last month. He was a man used to the routine, his day shifts were relatively uneventful beyond occasionally having to run off a kid who was playing about unattended. Night shifts were even less eventful, save for the occasion delivery made to the place, though that had become increasingly rare to see at night. This had been his normalcy for almost two decades. His wife, Scarlett, had been asking him more about finally retiring and spending time at home, being there to see their grandkids. Yet, even now, he wasn't sure he was quite ready to give it all up.
The bell from the loading bay rang and Frank got up from his seat. Many of his nights involved watching the old TVLand reruns (for him, Columbo was not a show, but a way of life!) as he waited for the clock to tick on to the morning and for him to go home after his relief had come in. The bell, however, told him that a delivery truck had come. Confused for a moment, he went and checked the schedule. No truck was due to come in tonight, something he found very strange. Perhaps someone hadn't filed the proper notice? Either way, it was something he'd have to deal with. With a sigh, the lanky man made his way to the delivery dock and opened the door to the outside, peering out to see that a truck had indeed docked. Standard procedure was that the driver would come out to greet him, but they weren't doing that.
Frank found that odd, moving to the driver's side and hopping up to get a better look inside. The keys were still in the ignition, the truck's engine was still roaring like a lion, but there was no sign of a driver. It was as if the man had vanished into thin air.
"What in the goddamn-?" Frank asked, gasping as he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and was spun around to face a mousy brunette woman wearing what looked to be some kind of robes. "What the hell are you doing here? You're not a truck driver!"
"No, silly!" The woman giggled in an almost child-like manner. "I'm the cook!"
"The... cook?" Frank asked, backing away slowly from the woman. His hand started to slowly move toward his belt.
"Yes! And oh, please, do that! I do like to tenderize the meat!" She said, her smile wide and her eyes even closing as she did so. Frank, by this point, had stopped with a hand on the cell phone in his belt.
"Look, you need to get out of here. I'm not looking for trouble." He cautioned her.
"Oh, there won't be any trouble!" The woman giggled again, seemingly oblivious. "Besides, preparing the meal for the master is a pleasure!" This woman had to be on something, a drug or something of the kind. It would explain the weird robes. "Do you prefer quick or slow burn?"
"What?!" Frank asked.
"Slow it is!" With that, the last thing that Frank could remember was the woman raising her hands. Something in her eyes drew his to hers and soon he found himself forgetting. He was forgetting his job of twenty years and his wife and his grandkids and his reruns of Columbo. All of it seemed to fade away into the back of his mind until, at last, there was nothing.
No job. No wife. No kids. No Columbo. And no Frank.
"Hmm..." Tessa tapped the man's forehead, finding him standing ramrod straight and completely unresponsive. "I think I might have overdone it..." She remarked glumly.
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