"What's Vicissitude?"
"You don't mean a-"
"I'd say the culprits otherwise are slim to none."
"What's Vicissitude?"
"The man with the four faces. He laughs."
"WHAT'S Vicissitude?" The other three vampires were suddenly drawn toward the diminutive redhead, who stared at the trio with an icy glance, her arms crossed over her chest.
"It's a Discipline." Ben explained after a few moments of silence. "Usually goes with a clan called the Tzimisce. It lets them reshape flesh-"
"Well, that sounds delightful." Grace intoned. "I'd love to lose a few pounds off-"
"-and bone." Ben finished. "Which they do for fun. . .to people who are less than willing."
"Ah." Grace's face fell.
"Also, the Tzimisce are anything but delightful." Anthony said. "The stories I've heard. . ."
"I've seen them." Ben said. "Trust me. They aren't some boogeyman, they're the real deal. If one is here in Seattle, then you all need to get out of here."
"What? And let you take the credit?" Grace snorted in derision. "I don't think-"
"Why in God's name do you think I give a shit about credit, lady?" Ben snapped. "I wanna make sure that as few people as possible show up in a fucking flesh tree. What the hell do you think that has to do with-"
"Either way, we are stronger together." Anthony butted in.
"A neonate Tremere, a songbird, and kook detective?" Ben questioned him, brow raised.
"Hey, I resemble that remark!" Sybil answered him.
"My point is, none of you are ready to take on a Tzimisce. Especially if it's who I think it is." Ben said.
"Who do you think it is?" Grace asked. "Do you know him?"
"Him? Her? I have no idea what they might be going by now." Ben said. "That rose, though. . .that's proof enough that it's them."
"Who?" Grace asked.
"When I last knew him, he went by Melvin." Ben said. A few seconds passed. Grace began to laugh uproariously, Sybil was giggling, and even Anthony had a bit of a smirk on his otherwise lifeless lips. "It's really not funny."
"Oh, God, it absolutely is!" Grace was almost howling with laughter.
"He's brutally tortured more people than I can count-" Ben tried to interject, but was met only with more laughter. ". . .y'know, you're getting blood on your fur, right?" He asked her.
Immediately, Grace's laughter started to die down. ". . .what?" She asked, looking down to see that some blood had dripped onto the fox fur scarf she'd been wearing. "Oh, no! No no no!" She realized that she'd been laughing so hard that she'd dropped a few bloodied tears. . .literally. Quickly reaching for the stuffing in her dress, she used it in a vain attempt to blot up the stains. "This will take forever to get out!" She moaned.
"Then I suggest you head home and get started." Ben said with an almost mocking tone. "I, however, have work to do." Without another word, the Gangrel turned and went back through the open gate, heading toward the mansion once more.
"It's not like we can just let him go on his own." Anthony said to the others.
"Who said anything about letting him go on his own?" Sybil asked, pulling the pistol she had strapped to her thigh out of the holster, clicking off the safety. "I'm going in after him."
". . .where did you get that gun?" Grace asked, pulled away from her garment emergency for the moment.
"Uh, hello? I'm a cop." Sybil raised a brow at the shorter woman, shaking her head as she moved to follow Ben. Anthony quickly followed suite. Grace turned back toward the car they'd come in, her ghouls looking at her with concern.
"My other outfit, if you please, boys." Grace said, giving a resigned sigh as she moved back to her car.
Getting into the manor wasn't a problem. The door wasn't even locked - one doesn't lock the door when they're expecting company, after all. Ben's face was frozen in a scowl as he moved from shadow to shadow, his blood pumping so as to fuel his stealth. Silent as the grave, he wouldn't be seen by any mundane eyes.
Those, however, were not the eyes he was worried about.
As he progressed through the place, Ben was beginning to think his original assessment had been incorrect. Melvin would have left a spread for him, he knew. Bodies, gore, piles upon piles. . .and none of that was here. The place looked almost pristine, even the furniture was missing, as if it had been taken out. He kneeled down, brushing a thumb across the floor. A thin layer of dust was on the skin of the pad, almost as if someone had been lightly painting it with a brush.
'Moved out. A while ago.' Ben's mind filtered through the possibilities based on that. Whoever had taken Crane likely had the place cleared, but that didn't explain the lights upstairs. Or the rose in the garden. Moving, his feet still silent as the grave, he journeyed up the staircase to the second level. The moonlight streaming in illuminating the place enough that he had no need to tap into the power of his blood, at least for now. Going by memory, he moved down the hallway toward the room that he had seen the light go out in, finding the door cracked open into the room.
He slipped against the wall next to it, a hand pressing flat against the wood and pressing lightly. It moved, falling back against the wall perpendicular to the frame on the left. Ben turned his head, carefully peering into the room and finding. . .nothing. The room funneled off to the right, the wall to the left blocking off his perception into that side of the room. Ben moved carefully, taking only three steps in before immediately snapping a hand to the left, his hands gripping around a cold, dead throat.
"Garm! Long time, no see!" He was gazing at a man who could have been more easily identified as a corpse than a Kindred. His skin was drawn in tightly, as though all the moisture had been visibly drained from his flesh. . .which, in a way, it had been. At least, the moisture that Kine naturally had. His eyes were a jet black, staring blankly at him. . .and his mouth was twisted into a hideous smile.
"You have ten seconds to explain why you're here before I tear your head off." Ben said. The Harbingers of Skulls were none to be trifled with, he knew only too well. This one, though, was relatively harmless. And alone.
"That is a terrible way to greet a-" The Kindred started.
"Eight seconds, Albert." Ben intoned, his hand still firmly on the man's throat.
"My name is-" Albert started to reply with indignation.
"Six seconds-"
"- I came to deliver a message!" Albert's sputtering finally got Ben to heave a sigh. His hand left the man's throat as Ben swiveled around to stand before him, seeing that the Harbinger had no way to escape that he could not reach him.
"Speak. Quickly." Ben said, eyes still narrowed on the man.
"Someone has been learning from Jormungandr-" Albert started.
"Melvin." Ben replied.
"Jormungandr." Albert corrected.
"That shit was fun when we were fledglings. Time to grow up, Slepnir." Ben said. "Now, who has learned from him?"
"One of your filthy licks has been taught the ways of fleshcrafting." Albert told him. ". . .he thought it would be an excellent test, but the man has gotten out of hand."
"Who?" Ben's eyes narrowed.
"A Malkavian. The one called Crane." Albert said. "He's been experimenting."
"Why do you care?" Ben asked. "Why does Melvin care? It's a Camarilla city."
"I don't. And neither does he." Albert said. "But. . .He-Esme does." The name caused Ben's muscles to tense. "She misses you, you know. She wants you to come home, even now."
"That's not going to happen." Ben said.
"And why not?" Albert's head cocked to the side, his pallor contorting in what appeared to be amusement. "Why do you insist on staying with these Licks? You are not one of them, and you never will be."
"Leave." Ben said. "Now. I won't say it again."
"You can deny it to yourself, but I still see it in you. I still see the Wolf of Vanco-" Albert was thrown into the far wall by the force of a gunshot, blood spattering against the far wall. Ben, ears still ringing, turned to see Sybil standing with her handgun leveled at the man. Albert clutched his temple, struggling to rise. "Fucking Li-"
"I got six more shots and I have a bad habit of not missing." Sybil said, hammer clicked back once more. "You heard the man. Get out." Albert stared her down, his eyes flickered to Ben, then back to the Malkavian. Then, in a burst of action, he leaped toward the window and moved through, shattering it. Ben rushed over, looking over. . .and finding no sign of his former packmate. Albert had disappeared into the night.
"Man, am I glad he fell for that. I miss shots all the ti-" Sybil started, then Ben rounded on her.
"Why did you do that?" Ben asked.
"He was going to try to kill you!" Sybil retorted. Ben shot her a quizzical look, which she responded to by pointing over her shoulder. Ben looked around and saw that, in the chaos, he had missed a vital detail as Albert had taken the shot to the head - a wooden stake. "I figured either that, or he was looking for some fun furniture arrangements, considering the place was-"
"Crane's the one who's been doing the kidnappings, he says." Ben said.
"I know. I was here for that. Did you believe him?" Sybil asked.
"He's stupid, but not deceptive. Not about this, anyway." Ben said.
"Who is Esme?" Sybil asked him.
"We need to find Crane. Where are the others?" Ben asked. "Since I'm sure you aren't the only one who didn't listen."
"Anthony's downstairs. Doing some funky magic thing." Sybil said. "Who's Esme?"
"Let's go." Ben said, heading for the door.
"Ominous!" Sybil chortled, moving for the doorway herself. Downstairs, they found Anthony on his knees drawing out a symbol in chalk. It was a triangle, the sigil within resembling an 'X' on a stick erected at the bottom of the triangle.
"Don't step there." Anthony said without looking up, brushing some of the excess chalk off with a thumb. "The dust in here is horrendous. . ."
"Pretty sure we already know all of our shapes." Sybil commented.
"This isn't a lesson," Anthony said, "it's a ritual sigil. I'd tell you the rest, but I'd have to kill you."
"You mean try." Ben replied with a raised brow. "Lucky for you, I couldn't give a toss about figuring out how your blood sorcery works, just that it does."
"And that it does." Anthony said, getting up. "Did you find anything? I heard a gunshot."
"There's a wall upstairs spattered in blood." Sybil said. "It's not mine."
"A Kindred messenger." Ben said. "He says Dr. Crane is the one who has been committing the kidnappings."
"And you believed him?" Anthony asked, a brow raised.
"I swear, if one more person asks me that-" Ben started.
"Asks you what?" Grace entered into the place, having swapped out her evening dress for a pair of black pants and white top.
"Not what I was expecting of you, bestie." Sybil snipped.
"Desperate times. Still designer. I'm a regular Emily Ratajkowski." Grace said. "Now wha-"
"Don't. Step. There!" Anthony hissed, holding up an arm to keep the diminutive redhead back from the sigil he had drawn on the floor. "Alright. . .now, let me. . ." He patted himself down, as if feeling for something in the pockets of his coat. Indeed, after a moment, he found them. He pulled several slips of paper out of his pocket, folded over carefully to the middle. He unfolded a few of them before finally opening the one he'd clearly been looking for. "Alright. Brace yourselves."
"What will this do, exactly?" Grace asked.
"If I do it right, we ought to find a way to Crane." Anthony said, pulling a knife from another of his pockets.
"Wait, Crane?" Grace asked.
"It's his house, he's connected to it. I can exploit that. Maybe." Anthony said.
"Wait, why are we looking for Doctor Crane?" Grace asked.
"Ben was told by a vampire that Crane was the one responsible for the kidnappings." Sybil said.
"And you believed hi-" Grace started, but was cut off by a glare from Ben. Anthony, not seeming to notice, took the knife and pressed the tip of it into his palm. The sweet smell of vitae wafted on the air, getting the attention of all four Kindred as all three drops fell to the floor.
"Hermes Trismegistus, exaudi orationem meam! Non est invenire quod habere amisit!" Anthony began to chant, reading off of the scrap of paper. "Quod necesse est ex amissa est inventus est. Et sanguis meus est ut incipiat quaerere celeri potens alis tuis!" The blood on the floor began to smoke, spreading out over the sigil that Anthony had painstakingly drawn out on the floor. It elongated in a clearly unnatural way, taking up more space than three simple drops of blood should have. The smoke continued to rise from it as it twisted and turned, lifting from the ground in the form of an arrow that shot through the air. "Quick! Follow it!"
The four moved to follow the arrow, which curved around a corner and left a trail of smoke in its wake. This, fortunately, made it easy to follow as it went down another corridor and led to a doorway. It struck the closed door and vanished, leaving only the lasts wisps of smoke as it dematerialized. Ben approached it and turned the knob, finding it. . .locked. Now it was Ben's turn to channel a bit of his blood, an enhanced strength forcing the door open.
"You know I could have picked that, right?" Sybil asked, but he question went unheeded as Ben pushed forward into the room, scanning the room. ". . .guess not." She drew her handgun once more, having it at the ready.
"Sorry, why is the Malkie the one armed with a handgun?" Grace asked.
"Don't worry, I've never missed a shot." Sybil replied as the three followed Ben into the room.
"That doesn't fill me with confidence." Grace cut eyes at the detective. Ben and Anthony and now Sybil had started scanning the room. The place was, surprisingly, furnished. Unlike the rest of the house, there was not even a thin dust.
"Are you one hundred percent sure that that spell worked?" Ben asked.
"Eh. . .80/20." Anthony said, waving this off. "I've never actually had occasion to try it before."
". . .you what?" Ben asked.
"I keep my things orderly and neat." Anthony said, looking to the Gangrel. "I don't lose things."
"Which is why you were patting around in your pockets?" Sybil asked. "Or is that just not knowing where something is?"
"I found something." Ben said, examining a snowglobe that had been left on one of the shelves. Within it, red flecks took the place of the normal white, dropping on a Seattle skyline.
"Is that. . .blood?" Grace asked.
"Probably." Ben said. "Also, a key."
"A key to wha-?" Grace was cut off as Ben grabbed the snowglobe and shifted it to one side. The bookshelf it was on seemed to sink back into the wall before rolling off to the side on tracks that had gone unseen until just then. "Oh. . ."
"Door." Ben said, then pointed to where the bookshelf had slid away into the wall. "Key."
"Seriously? A secret passageway?" Sybil asked, then she put on a really bad German accent. "Should we put ze candle back?"
"I'm going in." Ben said, starting down the little passage that the doorway opened up into.
". . .isn't this the part where you tell us to stay here?" Sybil called after him.
"I know better." Ben called back.
A few minutes saw the group heading down from the small study and down a tunnel that seemed to curve around and around deeper into the Earth. Eventually, the tunnel began to resemble a man-made construct less and less and gave way to just natural formation.
"I think I can smell the Bay." Grace said.
"We're right up on it." Ben said. "Probably how he's gone around doing the kidnappings."
"What? How?"
"He doesn't need to breathe." Anthony said. Grace's expression immediately soured, but she said no more on the matter. Eventually, tunnel opened up into a larger chamber. The smell of the sea was even stronger here, along with the smell of. . .
"Is. . .is anyone else. . . hungry?" Sybil asked.
. . .blood. Viscera. This had been the scene that Ben had been expecting up top. There were bodies, pieces of bodies at the very least, scattered about the entire room almost as if they had once been in piles that had since congealed into something more.
"Oh, God!" Grace clapped a hand over her mouth, feeling her fangs poke against her fingers as they descended, somewhere between deep-seated hunger and disgust. Sybil wasn't doing much better, fidgeting with the gun still in hand. Anthony was clearly focused on something in the distance, as was Ben. Not too far away from them was a laboratory set up that looked like it could have easily been out of the old black and white Frankenstein films of the 1930's. A pair of stretchers were laid out on one of the few areas that wasn't covered in gore, along with that were several bits of medical equipment. "Why is there an EKG machine down here?" Grace asked.
"I think Doctor Crane was doing a little more than kidnapping Kindred." Ben said.
"You are correct, Mr. Grayson." A voice from behind the coterie got their attention, all turning to see a man standing amid the piles of remains in various states of decay. He wore the robes of a Catholic priests, complete with the tabbed collar. Instead of a rosary, however, a leather band was wrapped around his wrist. His face was mostly symmetrical, marked only by a mole on the left side of his nose as any variation. His eyes, though. . .they were a dark, almost jet black. The four in attendance would catch his glance, and feel almost as though he could stare right into their souls. "I have dealt with the problem your city was having, and I indeed to do much more than that."
"Who the hell are you?" Ben asked, gauging the man with suspicion. "And how do you know who I-"
"You are more right than you know, Gangrel," The man said, "and I am gifted with knowledge of many things. Tonight, I will gift you with some of the knowledge I was gifted with: Julian Crane has met his Final Death." The four Kindred in the room stared at the man. "I can see you're skeptical. Allow me." He reached down into a pile of gore without so much as bothering to push back his sleeve.
"Oh, God!" Grace was once more covering her mouth as the noxious smell of the rotting flesh and the yet appetizing whiff of blood mixed in her nostrils, as it did the others.
"Yes. You feel it, don't you?" The man asked. "The pull of your Beast? Don't try to deny it, Songbird. I can feel it. It wants out!" His last word was punctuated by him yanking something from the gore pile. He held up a severed head, still with blood dripping from the stump of its neck and a look of utter horror frozen on its face. Clearly, it was a man. . .or had been a man, at the very least. "Maybe I present Doctor Julian Crane. . .or what is left of him, at least."
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