After Grace's feeding was complete and a healthy amount of Dominate was used, her checkbook came out to cover the destruction in the basement.
"I was very generous, on the whole." Grace said as they were leaving following a goodbye to Erica (who was certain she just needed to lie down, feeling more tired than she'd thought), "I'm sure your girlfriend will absolutely love the extra donation."
"She's not my-" Ben started.
"Oh, so she's your girlfriend!" Sybil blurted out. "I thought you were some kind of hermit!"
". . .what? No, I'm not a-"
"I've heard stories that you came to Seattle after saving an angel from forty-seven werewolves." Hope said. "Is that true?" Ben's face darkened into a scowl and Hope fell silent, visibly backing away from him as she averted her gaze.
". . .Anthony, do you have the key?" Ben asked.
"I do." Anthony said, pulling from his coat a small, gray box. "I have it Warded, so unless someone is able to counterspell it, I think-"
"Hand it over." Ben said, holding out his hand.
". . .I'm sorry?" Anthony asked.
"You've done enough. That thing nearly killed you. Nearly killed all of us." Ben said. "I'm going to squirrel it away for a while."
"Don'tlethim.Badiea.Badidea.Badidea.No!No!No!Don'tlethimdoitSybil.No!No!No!No!No!No!No!No!No!No!No!NOOOOOOO!"
"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Sybil snapped in protest, holding her head in her hands.
". . .Sybil?" Grace inquired.
"WHY ARE YOU BOTHERING ME?!" Sybil snapped, yelling out into the night's sky. "I DIDN'T EVEN WANT TO GRAB THE DAMN THING!"
"Sybil, calm down!" Ben protested.
"HE'S GONNA WAKE UP! IGNORE ME! HE'S GONNA WAKE UP IF WE DON'T STOP HIM-" Sybil was nearly screaming as the voice in her head grew stronger. Her body began to shake.
"STOPTHEMSTOPTHEMSTOPTHEMSTOPTHEM!"
"FUCK!" Sybil screamed out, clapping her hands over her ears.
"Sybil!" Grace shouted, getting the Malkavian's attention. She locked eyes with her. "Calm down."
"Shut up!" Dominate was returned on Grace, rather than being used by her. The Toreador, caught off-guard by the sudden rush from Sybil, found her mouth sealed shut. Sybil turned, her body still shaking. Frenzy was only seconds from taking her. "Now, does anyone else want a-" She suddenly gave a loud dry heave as something impacted her through the chest, right in the heart. It was a wooden stake, carried by Hope.
". . .sorry, Sybil." Hope winced as the Malkavian was suddenly rendered inert. She could hear and see everything around her, but was unable to move. Hope quickly looked to the Toreador and the Tremere there in the alley behind the Haven of Hope with her. ". . .where's Ben?"
They looked around, but the Gangrel had gone. Gone, too, was the box from Anthony's hand.
". . .what in the Hell is he thinking?" Anthony was left stunned in the wake. "How did he do that?"
"Questions for later." Grace said. "Right now, I'd settle for just finding him."
"In a bit." Hope had taken Sybil and slung her over her shoulder. "First we gotta get Sybil somewhere she can blow off some steam. Then we can work on finding him."
"I'm sorry, who put you in charge?" Grace asked.
"You got a better idea, Bridget Bardot?" Hope snorted.
"I'm not-"
"She's got a point." Anthony said, having tapped into his Auspex to look around seeing the unseen. "He's long gone from here or he's too stealthy for me to track, probably both, and we can't do too much about it. Not yet. I need to make some inquiries back at the Chantry." Grace was already pulling her cellphone out, texting Martin to pull the car around.
"I know a place Sybil can get her shakes out." Hope said. "You guys like biker bars, right?"
Grace stared at her in horror, as if the Brujah had slashed a priceless painting to ribbons before her very eyes.
Ben had indeed used Obfuscate to leave the scene. The moment that Hope had skewered Sybil with a stake, he'd taken the box from Anthony's grasp without the Tremere even noticing and took off. Luckily, the Ward seemed to be triggered to blow only when someone attempted to open the box, and Ben had no intention of opening the box.
For now, he'd decided, it needed to be stashed away.
He had a place for it, a small haven that was out of the way in Ballard. Though Nathaniel had given it to him, Ben rarely came here, instead preferring to remain in Madrona with the rest of the Clan. Every so often, though, there was call for it. As he felt the weight of the small box clutched in his hand, Ben definitely thought this qualified. Approaching the alley on the building's south end, Ben still fell the obscuring shroud of his Discipline upon him as he came to stand at the brickwork. His free hand reaching into his pocket and digging out his key ring and moving to unlock the door.
Inside was a sparsely decorated place. Minimal on design and even on the furniture. What would have passed for a living room had only a lone recliner and a television that looked like it hadn't been turned on since the early 60's. Beyond that, a lone bedroom with only a single bed and dress and a bathroom. Further beyond those rooms, however, was the only room that had a door on the door frame, all the rest had curtains serving as barriers.
This room, however, was different. A cache of treasures that Nathaniel had acquired in his time. Ben rarely had reason to come in here, having only been twice before this very moment. The most recently had been to put that one Lilin statuette back in its place after that incident with the Tzimisce interloper. The least recent -
"Good evening, Mr. Grayson." Nathaniel's voice got the attention of the younger Gangrel.
"Elder." Ben said quietly, giving the older wolf a respectful nod.
"What brings you to my house this early in the night?" Nathaniel asked.
"As I recall, this is my house, now." Ben said, pointedly.
"I think we have to have a discussion, you and I." Nathaniel said. Ben read the frown on the man's face, seeing the glint of his eyes against the low light from the fixtures at the ceiling. Naturally, there were no windows here.
"Concerning what?" Ben asked.
"The incident at the Red Rooster diner." Nathaniel said, his hands in the pockets of the ratty, torn jeans he wore. "You apparently gave Stephen Corwin a hard time earlier this evening?"
"He's a Blue Blood, anything that inconveniences him is a hard time." Ben waved this off.
"Indeed." Nathaniel said. "Even so, our position here in Seattle is. . .tenuous at best. Publicly ruffling feathers isn't-"
"You were the one who told me to get out and mingle. I mingled." Ben said.
"Stephen Corwin is not some dime store Ventrue neonate, Benjamin." Nathaniel said. "He is an elder among his clan, with-"
"I know who he-" Ben started.
"No, you clearly do not." Nathaniel cut him off right then and there. "Given his ties to Prince Blanchard, I don't believe it's wise to antagonize him over land rights of all things."
"Wise? No. Necessary? Yes." Ben said, plainly.
". . .do you really mean that?" Nathaniel asked.
"Absolutely." Ben said. The older Gangrel regarded him closely for a moment, as if he were trying to detect a lie or misdirection. There was none to be found.
". . .I see." Nathaniel said. "Does anyone else know that you've come here?"
"No." Ben said. "Not even my coterie."
"I suppose that's just as well." Nathaniel said. "Although I do believe you ought to let them in more."
"Dangerous idea, right there." Ben said. "Especially here. If the Tremere find out about some of the things you have down here-"
"That's not what I mean," Nathaniel raised a hand to stop him. "I mean letting them in, as in not shutting them out."
"Again, dangerous idea." Ben said.
"Connections to others is the only way we are to become more than what we are." Nathaniel said. "Alone, we're just beasts."
"Oh, no this again. . ." Ben groaned.
"No. Not that." Nathaniel said. "But they are your people. If you're determined to go to war with Corwin."
"I'm not." Ben said.
"If you are," Nathaniel raised his voice over his own for a moment before resuming a lower tone, "If you are, then you'll need them. Standing alone is a way to die in our world."
"So I hear." Ben said, moving over to a glass case on a stand at the far wall, setting the box inside it and then closing and locking it.
" . . .what is that?" Nathaniel asked. Ben looked over to him, seeing a look of confusion on the Gangrel's face.
"Something that was buried at a homeless shelter." Ben told him.
"Ah, yes. The Haven of Hope, if I'm not mistaken."
"Have you got people tailing me, elder?"
"Should I?"
"I believe the Sixth Tradition might have some issue with that."
"No, Benjamin. I know you value your privacy." Nathaniel said. "Intrusions into my old haven aside."
"Well, I don't have any more to tell you about this than that." Ben said. "And Anthony's contact wanted it to be destroyed."
"Yes, I see the Tremere glyphs on it." The older Gangrel's hands were still in his pockets as he stepped forward to examine it through the case. "They wanted it destroyed? I wonder why."
"No idea. Didn't work, though." Ben said. He then elaborated due to Nathaniel's clear confusion. "It nearly destroyed the basement we found it in."
"Interesting."
"That's one way of putting it, yeah." Ben said.
"What will you do with it, then?" Nathaniel asked. "Considering you're definitely not going to take on Stephen Corwin?"
"I'll do. . ." Ben stopped, looking back to the key lying in the case. "I'll do what I have to do."
Despite what Anthony had told the other members of his coterie, he hadn't gone back to the Chantry. Not yet, anyway. Instead, the young Tremere had journeyed to a familiar little book shop - Golden Dawn Books. It was run by one Marion Croft, who was standing behind the counter when he entered.
"Doctor Wallace! Good to see you!" His fellow Tremere said in an overly-loud voice.
"Marion." Anthony nodded respectfully to her. "I need to get a copy of Maxim's Primer."
"Oh, where do you keep losing your copies?" Marion gave an exaggerated laugh. "Oh, well. C'mon. I think I have another copy for you in the back."
"Thank you." Anthony said as he moved to follow her, noting the small gargoyle grotesque sitting on the front desk. Its beady little eyes flashing red for just a fraction of a second as they passed. Once they had passed it and passed into the back of the building, Marion closed the door behind them and slid the bar across it to secure it.
"So, how did it go?" Marion asked.
"Not great." Anthony said. "I. . .could not destroy it."
"Well, hand it over, then." Marion said, walking over to where she kept a series of her own books (books of a Thaumaturgical nature) in a safe and working on unlocking it. "I'll get started on a ritual to finish the job right away."
"It's. . .not that simple." Anthony's works caused Marion to stop after the first rotation of the dial.
". . .what?"
"I no longer have the item in question." Anthony said. "One of my coterie took it."
"One of them managed to overpower you and take it?" Marion asked with a raised brow.
"Not. . .exactly." Anthony hesitated. "I, um. . .was holding it, and then. . ."
"Oh, Etrius' foresight, preserve me!" Marion narrowed her eyes on him. "How is it you've made it to the Third Circle when you're so damned incompetent?!"
"I hardly think now is the-"
"Shut up!" Marion hissed, unlocking the safe and pulling out a brown-red leather tome, flipping through pages that looked centuries old. "You'd better hope I can get a locator ritual working. I think I have the formulas right."
"I don't understand." Anthony said. "What is it about this key that's so dangerous? Why was it covered in sigils?"
"If you make a key, that usually means that there's a door, right?" Marion asked him, not looking up from the book. "Why would you hide a key to a door?"
". . .so someone wouldn't open the door." Anthony surmised.
"Right!" Marion said. "So, if you dig up a key. . .what do you think will happen?"
"Someone's going to try and open-"
"Someone's going to try and open the door, yes!" Marion gave a melodramatic huff. "Should have figured all that out the moment you found a key with funny writing on it, honestly."
"Oh, because I'm some sort of super genius!" Anthony shot back.
"I've seen your scores, Doctor." Marion said. "You are a super genius. You're also an idiot. We need dto find wherever your coterie stashed that key. It needs to be destroyed."
"Do you know what the key opens?" Anthony asked.
". . .that's. . .not important right now." Marion said.
"I think it is." Anthony said. "Really, really very important." The older Tremere stared at him for a long moment, then she began to tell him just what it was.
"Sorry again, Sybil."
Hope had pulled the stake out of the Malkavian's chest when they'd arrived (at Grace's insistence) at Grace's home. The place was a fantastic estate just outside of the city. Gothic style. The place, once they'd gotten through the fence and into the grounds proper, was pretty damn imposing. It towered over them, as if the arched windows were little eyes gazing into their souls.
As they'd gotten out of Grace's car, Hope had pulled the stake from Sybil. With luck, the Malkavian hadn't started Frenzying after.
"It's. . .okay, it's not fine, it hurt like Hell." Sybil grumbled, rubbing the hole in the front of her shirt. "But, still, at least that's over. No more demanding voice!"
"What exactly was that, Sybil?" Grace asked. "I know the Malkavians are inclined toward. . ."
"Being fucking nuts? Yes." Sybil said.
"Quite." Grace said. "That seemed. . .different."
"It was." Sybil said. "Or it is. I don't know."
"You were about to snap, it looked like. I had to do something." Hope said.
"In any case, hopefully we'll avoid any further issue. Grace said, stepping out and smoothing out a few ruffles in her dress. "The pair of you are welcome to stay the day. I'm going to shower."
"Shower? Why?" Hope asked.
"Some of us believe in hygiene even after death, darling." Grace patted her palms against her own rosy cheeks. "Martin, see to it that these ladies have somewhere without a view to rest in."
"Of course, Miss Penderghast." One of her two ghouls nodded, moving forward. "If you'll follow me, ladies." He told Sybil and Hope before he started up the steps into the manor proper.
"Mortimer, prepare my shower." Grace said, stepping up the stairs as well. Sybil couldn't help but notice the spring in the ghoul's step as he entered the house, opening the doors for Grace before she entered first.
". . .damn, and I thought Ben had it bad." She muttered.
"What?" Hope cocked her head to the side.
"Oh, nothing." Sybil said as they entered the manor. The place was heavily furnished, a large "P" crest on the far wall over a fireplace mantle. . .one that clearly had not been used in some time for obvious reasons due to its owner. The furniture was exquisite, something Sybil was fairly certain you'd be chastised for sitting on at any point. The ghoul, Martin (who, Sybil noted, looked rather grumpy in comparison to his counterpart), led them up the staircase and took them in the opposite direction that Grace and Mortimer went. Lights turned on as they approached, no doubt motion sensor-controlled as they passed them.
They lit the way to a room that Mortimer opened up, revealing a guest bedroom. Sybil couldn't help but think that this was probably what Dr. Crane's house would have looked like, had it been at all furnished.
"Here you are." Mortimer said. "If you should need anything, ring the bell, and either Martin or myself will come to your assistance." The ghoul gave a bow and then left the two, closing the door behind him.
"So, I guess we're roomies!" Sybil said with a chipper tone.
"I guess so." Hope said with a shrug, immediately stripping out of her top. "You want left or right?"
". . .I beg your pardon?" Sybil blinked, staring for a moment at the chest of the rather shameless Brujah with wide eyes.
". . .the beds?" Hope hiked a thumb over her shoulder, a brow raised.
"Ohhhhh!" Sybil said.
"Thank you for taking the time to converse with me."
"I'm only doing this under protest, I want that known."
"It is known, Miss Penderghast." The cool voice over the phone spoke to her. "I just hope you understand the severity of the circumstances before us." The Toreador, sitting on the edge of a bathtub full of steaming hot water and wearing only a silken robe, looked less than convinced.
"Perhaps you'd best explain, Mr. Corwin." She said.
"The item you and your coterie found beneath the Haven of Hope shelter is incredibly dangerous, as you well know." Corwin told her. "What you do not know is that the key opens a door that was never meant to open again."
"I don't understand why you're so interested in it, then." Grace said. "Would it not make more sense to let it remain hidden?"
"You do have the key, do you not?" Corwin asked.
"Of course," Grace said quickly, "but I hardly think that that precludes my question being answered."
There was a moment of silence from the other end, then.
"Very well. Many nights ago, I was part of a. . .I supposed you'd call it a coterie, but that term only very loosely applies. We were more a sort of task force and that key came into our possession. We were trusted with safeguarding it. However, none of us had any real idea what the key truly was."
"And what is it, Mr. Corwin?" Grace asked. Again, a moment of silence. "I'm waiting. . ."
"You don't need to know the full details, Miss Penderghast." Corwin said. "Just know that it is very dangerous and has the potential to heavily damage if not completely destroy the Masquerade."
". . .well, that's. . .that's bad."
"Indeed. So it would be who of you to relinquish the key to me. Preferably soon."
"I shall have to discuss it with the others."
"Of course, but I'm certain with your firm hand of leadership, you'll-"
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Corwin."
"Not flattery, Miss Penderghast. . .an investment. Good evening." The line went dead from there.
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