Ben sat most of the rest of the night staring at the key in that case. Nathaniel had long since left (or perhaps, he hadn't, Ben had no real way to know), leaving the younger Gangrel to his thoughts and indeed his memories. He stood there, gazing at the key, thinking of all that had led him to this point. The urge in him that caused him to stand.
"I'm still here." His Beast whispered to him, and indeed it was. The hunger that always clawed at him, always would if he could help it. The voice was soft, small, but he had known it's depths. It's ravenous hunger. Not so loud as it had been in times passed. Tempered, controlled. "We could go out. Find something to eat."
Ben ignored it, as he had become accustomed to. His decades had given him the focus necessary, not that such had always been possible. Or, in fact, even something he had wanted. . .
1990
The streets of Vancouver were absolutely dead tonight. That suited him fine, however, as he passed through the parking lot of the Pacific Coliseum. No one was out and about around the place tonight, his only companion being the occasional poster for the upcoming Kiss concert in a few days' time. Any other time, he might have been excited, but it wasn't exactly the heyday of the band.
Besides, they'd started sucking the moment they'd taken the makeup off.
That wasn't what he was here for, though. Ben traversed the asphalt plane to approach one of the vans nearby. He rapped his hand several times against the side of it and it slid open.
"Ah! Garm!" A man from within spoke. He was wearing a heavy hoodie and a pair of sunglasses that obscured a sickly, hollow visage one might find akin to a rotting corpse.
"Did you get them, Slep?" Ben asked him.
"I am a man of my word, aren't I?" Albert answered him, moving over to let Ben see the two bodies that had been set upon stretchers in the back, an IV drip in the arm of both of them.
"Just the two?" Ben asked.
"Slim pickings, I'm afraid." Albert said. "I gave it my best shot."
"You mean we gave it our best shot." A woman's voice came from the front seat, a young blonde poking her head out from behind the curtain that separated the front of the van from the back. Her small nose wrinkled a bit in disdain of her more corpse-like companion. "Not that you appreciate my efforts, of course."
"Oh, Freya, darling-" Albert started, as if assuage her.
"Save it, darling." The woman he'd spoken to chided him with a waved finger. "We have a Blood Feast to prepare for." She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cracked, dead lips that he responded to in kind.
"My goddess. . ." Albert whispered out as their lips parted. A few flakes of his flesh having fallen onto her own, her tongue batting them away in a manner that the Toreador must have found seductive.
"Albert! Melissa! You're going to make me lose my dinner, both of you." Ben raised his voice a bit to get their attention. "Get the vessels to the safe house. Quickly. Also, quietly."
"Of course, boss. I-" Albert started, but was cut off by the sound of a pair of cars pulling up. Ben turned, seeing the red and blue flashing lights reflected off of the van's body before he turned around to see the cars they'd come from.
Vancouver Police.
Terrific.
Ben's eyes flicked over the three men, two from one car and one from another, with light armaments. Nothing that he, on his own, couldn't handle.
"Alright there, everybody freeze!" One of them called. They hadn't pulled their weapons yet, Ben was watching for that.
"C'mon. We can kill them. We can kill them all!" Ben's Beast whispered to him. "C'mon!" The Gangrel held, looking at the three men.
"Is there a problem, officers?" Ben asked.
"We had some reports of a suspicious vehicle, and uh. . .what the hell?!" They'd noticed the two bodies through the door, on stretchers. The first one drew his gun, and that was his first - and last - mistake. In the blink of an eye, Ben was behind him, arm wrapped around his throat and forcing him to drop the gun. The other two immediately pulled theirs.
"Easy, boys!" Ben said. "Unless you want to be looking for somebody new to chow down on your Tim Horton's with!"
"Let him go!" The second cop called out. The third cop screamed, and then suddenly stopped. A blackened tentacle had appeared to eek out from beneath the van, wrapping around his neck and mouth and snapping his neck. The second cop turned and started to fire on the tentacle, getting three shots off before he suddenly stopped.
Melissa had slammed a syringe full of sedative into his chest, which took effect within seconds.
"Beloved!" Melissa called sweetly, getting Albert to hop out of the van to come assist her in carrying the third.
"What-What the hell was that?!" The cop still vainly struggling against Ben's grip. "What the hell is this?!"
"It's just a nightmare." Ben said, flipping the man around and extending his fangs. "Now go back to sleep. . ."
His fangs sank into the screaming man's neck, who quickly began to succumb to the unique euphoria of the Kiss. . .and his heartbeat began to slow. . .and then stop entirely.
The Beast was overjoyed. . .
2018
"We could have that again. . .that joy. That. . .simplicity."
Ben ignored it, staring at the key. His mind went over it, thinking of who he could call upon, if anyone. The Tremere likely weren't an option given Anthony's contact and their reaction to it. Actual mystics were few and far between, and that was when they were legitimate. He was at a dead end, given the way things that left with the rest of the coterie.
His phone rang.
. . .his phone.
Ben pulled it from his pocket, looking at it. He didn't recognize the number, and no name was attached. It rang twice, then stopped. Then the same number called again.
He hit 'accept' and put the phone to his ear.
". . .Mr. Grayson?"
"White?"
"Indeed, sir." The voice of the Ventrue came from the other end of the telephone. "I have. . .a proposition for you, concerning an item that has recently come into your custody. Please, do hear me out. . ."
The night gave way to another day over Seattle. That day then gave way to another night. The eyes of Grace Penderghast cracked open as the vitae sluggishly moved through her body. Getting up, she rang the small bell at the bedside table. On cue, the door to her bedroom opened and both Martin and Mortimer entered, standing dutifully and awaiting the command of their mistress.
"Any messages?" She asked as she, took the offered robe from Mortimer's hand, the silk on her skin feeling like cooling water as she tied it around her waist.
"Two, Mistress." Martin said. "One from Marvelous Modeling, your application to join has been accepted."
"Excellent." Grace said with a smile. "And the other?"
"From the offices of a Mr. Stephen Corwin." Martin said. "He has given you a number to contact him."
"Excellent." Grace said, walking over to her bedside table and brushing out her red locks of hair. "And what of our guests?"
"They have been tended to." Mortimer said. "With vessels of their own...predilections chosen for them."
"Good." Grace said, fluffing her hair a bit. "Bring me my phone and the number to call Mr. Corwin. I've had some time to consider his proposal."
"Of course, Mistress." Martin nodded, moving to go retrieve both the phone and the number. Grace set her silvered hairbrush down on the vanity and turned, looking to Mortimer.
"Mortimer, I believe it's time for your monthly feeding, isn't it?" Grace said.
". . .y-yes, Mistress." Mortimer said.
"Don't be shy. You've done this many times before." Grace slid up one of the sleeves of her robe, revealing her smooth, milky-white skin beneath. With her other hand, she dug a nail in until vitae bubbled to the surface. She extended her arm to him, and Mortimer dutifully bent his neck and began to drink. Grace purred with delight as she watched.
It all was still reeling in Anthony's head. What Marion had been able to tell him about it, a coterie within the city had sealed away something. . .terrible. Preston Wilson (his sire) and Angela Harkness (her sire) had been among the number of that group, though Anthony found it interesting that it was something his sire had never mentioned before.
Preston was, if anything, a bit of a braggart. His one flaw.
What it was, however, even Marion did not know - merely that it was dangerous. If it were enough to invoke heavier uses of thaumaturgy, it must have been. With the sigils that had literally been forced into the metal of the key, a hundred Tremere chantry could have been warded for a few centuries.
Given that description, he and his own coterie were fortunate that it hadn't outright killed them all. He tried not to think of that as he helped Marion set up her ritual circle.
"If you were able to get a hold of Master Preston, we might be able to get somewhere." Marion said.
"I tried. He wasn't answering." Anthony said. Not referring to any telephone or other mundane system of communication, but through the telepathic link he could latch onto his sire with to send and receive messages from the man.
Whatever Preston was doing, he wasn't feeling like answering.
"No, neither was Angela." Marion said quietly, scripting out a sigil on the floor in chalk. "Either way, we have a way to find what we need. I'm fairly certain."
"And this ritual will pinpoint where Grayson took the key?" Anthony asked.
"Unless he has some access to Thaumaturgy himself." Marion said.
"He might." Anthony snorted.
"As a former Sabbat? I have doubts." Marion said. "At the very least, it will be nothing compared to what we can do." She took a matchbox from the small table by the safe, taking one out and striking it. She took the small flame to a series of candles arranged around the sigil on the floor. On top of the sigil was a map of Seattle. "Alright. Brace yourself."
"Got it." Anthony nodded. With that, Marion opened her book and her eyes scanned over the aged pages. The symbols looked to be Greek, though Anthony wasn't positive.
"Anazitó aftó pou mou échei chatheí. Anazitó ti dýnami pou aktinovoleí apó tin prosforá mou." Marion gave her best pronunciation as she focused upon the incantation, drawing power from the small dish of vitae she had set out. The wind picked up, the candles flickering but not yet going out. "Kástoras! Pollux! Odigíste me péra apó tis thálasses! Deíxte to drómo mou!"
The wind picked up more, sending loose papers flying and the various ornaments hanging about the room to go swinging about.
"Deíxte to drómo mou!"
There was a loud bang as the flames leaped off the wicks of the candles, and seemed to fall toward the map. The flames leaped in the air above the map before coming together at its center and then settling over. . .
"What the-?" Marion stared.
. . .four spots. Anthony made a quick note of the places, snatching a notepad out of his coat and scribbling them down.
"There's. . .there's more than one." Marion said, a hand over her mouth.
"It seems so." Anthony said, ripping the piece of paper off of his notepad and holding it up. "I have the list."
"We have some nights ahead of us, my friend." Marion said.
"If the Baali don't kill us off first." Anthony replied sardonically.
"Don't even joke." Marion said, looking over the list. ". . .say, isn't that one in Ballard?"
"I believe so." Anthony said.
"I think we need to look into it." Marion said, checking the clock. Just a little bit before seven. They had moonlight left to burn.
"Okay, so if the red man lives in the red house, the blue man lives in the blue house, and the yellow man lives in the yellow house, who lives in the white house?"
"The President."
". . .never mind, Ben was right, you are no fun." Sybil's pouty face was responded to with laughter from Hope.
"Oh, c'mon. That one's an old grade school one." The Brujah waved her off as she slipped into the new top that had been brought to her by one of Grace's ghouls. "Anyway, so. . .I'm off tonight, so are we going to meet up with Ben again or what?"
"That's what I was going to do." Sybil said with a shrug.
"Are the stories about him true?" Hope asked. "I mean, like the one with the werewolves and saving an angel and all?"
"All stories are true." Sybil said. "Some of them are just less true than others. Or they aren't at all. Depends."
". . .right, Malkavian." Hope said.
"Even I don't know if I'm telling the truth half the time." Sybil said cheerfully, pulling Harriet from off of the coat rack in the room. "Let's go! I think Grace has a few cars around here somewhere!"
". . .wait, so we're just gonna jack one of the Toreador's cars?" Hope asked.
"Better to ask forgiveness than permission!" Sybil called as she left the room. Hope was grinning ear to ear.
This place wasn't Ben's choice of venue. It really wasn't. It wasn't back in Vancouver and even now was less his idea of a good time.
The Rabbit in White was a high end "gentlemen's club" (for lack of a better term), that was more in the Victorian style in that it wasn't an excuse to have topless women and bad 80's hair metal blaring every five minutes. This was not his domain, the streets and the forests. No, Ben was entering the dominion of a very different kind of predator, one he had no love for.
The Ventrue.
He'd been convinced to get into a suit to make this work, which was utter torture for him. Still, if Fabian thought this would in any way help. . .he had a point. The only people who knew how to deal with Ventrue were other Ventrue. Ben had been brought in by his invitation (prepared for him by Fabian) and set at a table awaiting the one he was going to meet.
"Mr. Grayson." One of the staff came to the chair where he sat, Ben turning to face him. "Mr. Corwin is here to see you." Ben mutely nodded, the man looking confused before he moved away to go and bring the man in. Ben didn't have to turn to see the man was looking at him, he could feel the Ventrue's eyes on him. As he predicted, the man came and sat down in the chair opposite him.
"So. . .here we are." Corwin said.
"Mr. Corwin." Ben offered his hand across the table. Corwin stared at it for a moment before accepting it, giving a firm handshake.
"I'm glad to see you came to your senses." Corwin said. "Miss Penderghast's influence, I've no doubt."
"Something like that." Ben said. "I understand there is an item you want that has come into my possession."
"That is correct." Corwin said. "I am willing to negotiate for it."
"I want to know why you want it so badly." Ben said. Silence followed. "Oh, c'mon! You went through all that trouble to try and purchase one little property. If you could have just went in and taken it, you would have done so."
". . .you are correct, Mr. Grayson." Corwin said after a moment. He threaded his fingers together, setting them on the table. "What do you know of the history of the fair city of Seattle?"
"A lot." Ben said. "At least from the end of the Kine."
"The history of the city from our end is a very different animal." Corwin said. "I was part of a coterie when I was coming up. Back then, the Prince was a man named Telucti. We were a group he had sent out to answer a threat from within the clans of the city."
"Not exactly an unexpected development." Ben said.
"Indeed not." Corwin said. "We came upon a cult, Adherents of the Glazier or something of that nature. Some foolish rot. They were led by one of our kind. One of great power. Great power. It was not something we could defeat, so we trapped it."
"And the key is what keeps that door locked, I take it?" Ben asked.
"Not key. Keys." Corwin said. Ben blinked. "Four of them, specifically."
"So where are the others?" Ben asked.
"That I wasn't given to know." Corwin replied. "However. . .my key ended up, through no fault of my own, in the foundation of that homeless shelter. I was unable to retrieve it until I knew for a fact that it was there."
". . .what?" Ben asked.
"I do not expect you to understand the finer points of Thaumaturgy, wisened though you are with years over the average fledgling."
"I've got about half your age under my belt, let's not talk about who needs to hop into a rocker at the old folks' home."
"Quaint." The Ventrue looked less than pleased at the crass remark. "In any case, you have the key. I want it. What is your asking price?"
"I want you to drop your bid to purchase the Haven of Hope and never darken their doorstep again, even by proxy." Ben said without hesitation.
Corwin did not so much as blink. "Done."
"Alright, then." Ben said. "I bring the key, you drop the bid."
"Agreed." The Ventrue reached across the table with an outstretched hand. "We have a deal, then." Ben clasped the man's hand. It felt like touching old, ragged leather. They shook on it. "I will see you tonight. I believe that diner you forced me to meet you at before will suffice. Midnight."
"I'll be there." Ben said. He got up, nodding to the man before turning and leaving. He stepped out, and the phone in the pocket of his suit began to ring. He picked it up, flipping it open. "Can I take this monkey suit off already?"
"I believe that will suffice, Mr. Grayson." Fabian's voice came from the other end. "You have arranged the exchange?"
"Tonight. At the diner. Midnight." Ben intoned.
"Excellent." The line went dead from there. Fabian's end of their bargain was completed. Now, Ben just had to uphold his.
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