My Little Ventrue Pt. 04 Ch. 11

Beatrice had gotten the impression Begotten and Werewolves considered themselves stronger than vampires. And it was true for the most part. Elders were the exception to that rule.

Triss could tell she wouldn't be able to handle Mark in a fight, not easily. She was a young vampire, and that was to be expected, especially when up against major freak shows like these Begotten. But Jacob was a different story, a whole different story. So damn easy to forget when he started acting like a juvenile jackass, that Jacob was fucking ancient, and for a vamp, that meant fucking strong.

She had to raise a clawed hand to her face to hide how a grin was coming through. Proud, maybe, that her boss was that much of a fucking powerhouse? Yeah, she could be a little proud of that.

The man wasn't screaming anymore at least, but his eyes refused to blink, locked onto Jacob. No one said anything, moved, did anything, and soon Triss could hear the panicked man's heart beating up a storm in the silence. Fucker was still terrified, despite Jacob having released him.

Triss hopped down onto the floor, and stood beside her boss. Still moans and groans happening behind them as Mark continued to back away, sliding his ass on the floor until his back was against the concrete bricks.

Jacob winked at her. With the eye. Fucking gross.

"I think I may have overestimated Mark's abilities," Granny said.

"Underestimated mine, more like it." One-eye shrugged and resumed his pacing. A fedora or deerstalker hat with a pipe between his lips would have been a good fit. "I've been here, in this place, since you were just an idiot child, Azamel. Antoinette and I let you stay because you are more trouble than you're worth to expel, not because we can't. Don't forget that."

She snorted, blew some smoke his way, and leaned back to begin gently rocking her chair. "So what do you want to know?"

"I want to know who you're running from."

The old woman snorted again, and slammed her foot. And again, the flickering images of the great beast she was, and the temple of blood she guarded awoke before Triss. Again, the room shook, and the alien monster trumpeted its annoyance. An elephant's trumpet noise, but thunderous, booming and layered with growling roars.

"I run from no one. I am the conqueror, idiot vampire. I am—"

"On the run from someone. Or something. Or maybe a group of people. How many did you piss off to make you want to return here and hide away in my city's underground?" Apparently giant elephant monster and her temple of torture didn't faze Jacob. It wouldn't surprise Triss if the old man had created a similar landscape in his youth.

"... and why should I tell you?"

"Because if you don't, I'll beat you up."

Another puff of smoke, and the old woman growled at the scary bastard threatening her. "Is this how it's going to be between us, Jacob?"

"Looks like. I got a good thing going in Dolareido these days and I don't want you spoiling it."

She tossed aside her cigarette, and lit another. The missing piece of herself, cigarettes. Triss had never suffered a true chemical addiction before, and she could only imagine what that must have been like if you'd been smoking your whole life. Would probably have had an easier time convincing the woman to try metal music.

"It was spoiling when I arrived, old man."

Both Nosferatu raised a brow, looked at each other, then at her. "How?" they said, in unison.

"Viktor, Rebecca, and Tony's death did not go unnoticed. Hunters spread word of the change, so I hear. They came, and watched Dolareido tear itself apart with Lucas's madness. Then he was dead, by the Prince's hand, and a host of Kindred with him."

One-eye sighed, but nodded, and walked over to Azamel. Cause, yeah, that was a good idea. He hopped up onto the stage, and started rooting around through the old lady's things. Dresser, back of the chair, bed — she'd added a bed since the last time Beatrice visited — and some of her other things. Like a nosy kid.

"Dolareido's a peaceful place these days," he said. "Like I said, I got a good thing going."

"You want peace? Don't lie to me Jacob."

"... What I want is a little more complicated than that."

"Isn't it for everyone?"

Triss shook her head and raised a hand. "No. Think I'd be happy with a regular source of blood, fucking, and a safe place to sleep. Call me simple."

The two old farts glared at her. Yeah, not a good time for jokes.

"Hunters have come," Azamel said, "and were coming all along. They have been silent, content to take their time in planning the downfall of Kindred in the city. Four of them of particular skill have been here since Lucas's death, and they have begun working with... an old enemy, that followed me here."

"An old enemy?" Triss said.

"Yes little girl, an old enemy. A killer of my kind. Jeremiah is human, but more, and he has recruited a host of hunters to join him in his crusade against me."

"So if I get rid of you, they'll leave?" Jacob said. Not really a question, given the huge smirk on his face.

"Not until every Begotten, Uratha, and Kindred are dead, I imagine."

"... so now your problem is our problem. Unless of course you're lying, and this Jeremiah fellow will leave once you're dead." One-eye came up beside the old monster, and frowned at her. Smirking, frowning, smiling, sneering, man was all over the place, and each expression was accompanied by a one-eyed gaze that kept... looking at things. This whole night was filled with grossness.

"Or he stays, and you would be killing a powerful ally in this little battle that is now, as you say, your problem." Granny turned her head, looked up at the Nosferatu glaring down at her, and breathed smoke into his face. "If you can kill me, that is."

And, again, silence fell upon the room and everyone in it until all that could be heard was the breathing of the two living creatures, and their heartbeats. Mark's, loud, panicked, and Azamel's, steady, and soft. The two old monsters stared at each other on the stage, until Triss was sure a spaghetti western song would start playing. Or, maybe, some Japanese drums

Footsteps down the tunnel. Everyone turned, watched, and waited, for the source to make itself known. Athalia came out of the darkness, a grocery bag in each hand, and an eyebrow raised to match their's.

"Um... what the fuck is going on here?" she said.

"An interrogation." Jacob smirked, hopped off the platform, and started to walk toward Athalia. "Jack's missing. The elephant woman here says a mad fucker called Jeremiah is in town. Connection?"

Athalia set down her groceries, but didn't get to do much else as Jacob came in closer. Poor girl had no choice but to back up a few steps, and lean back as she noticed the bastard had an eye.

"Jack's missing?"

Triss nodded, and jogged up to stand beside Jacob. And maybe stop him if the man got a little violent, or nightmare-y. She was starting to think that maybe the man took it personally, that these nightmare monsters thought they could be scarier than a Nosferatu and his unique ability to bestow hallucinogenic nightmares. Jacob probably considered himself the scariest thing Dolareido had to offer, and these Begotten thought themselves the same thing.

Professional rivalry? Heh.

"Jack is missing," she said. "And we were hoping you'd know where."

"I... I don't know where. Didn't even know he was missing."

Triss almost said something, but stopped herself as the eye in her skull did its magic. A flickering image, a momentary glimpse of the other side, of the realm these nightmare creatures called home. And more importantly, a glimpse at Athalia, at true Athalia.

Tall, dark, waving bits of shadow as a backdrop, and a massive skull in the foreground of this monster, this entity that filled the tunnel. It had horns. Spiked, jagged and sharp. Arms too, like a skeleton's, but massive and black, dripping a black fog too, like a toxic cloud. The arms were covered in the same spikes, serrated, and they reached out from the blackness that surrounded the monster, blackness that she wore like a cloak.

Triss looked up and up, and stared at it, her, the thing, skin so tight and gaunt she didn't notice it wasn't a skeleton at first. It had no legs; instead, a dangling spinal cord hung from a partly exposed rib cage in the waving shadow. Two enormous, black wings joined the darkness that surrounded it, as if someone had taken an angel and burned it to char.

The only thing that didn't scream darkness was the two, white, glowing dots in the center of its empty, black eye sockets. Like staring into the eyes of death itself.

Fuck, that was happening a lot lately.

Jacob must have noticed it too, cause he whistled and folded his arms across his chest. "You look like a bigger threat than that Mark jackass."

"Mark? What? Wait, the fuck did you do to him?" She looked past him, to where the man was sitting, and her shocked expression faded into a blatant I'm-going-to-kill-you face. Marched right up to Jacob, and jammed her finger against his chest. "The fuck did you do to him, fucking leech?"

Not a good idea, not a good idea at all. Triss winced as Jacob raised a hand and backhanded the girl. If it'd been a normal backhand, like a dramatic scene in a movie, enough to sting, maybe even knock the girl down, that'd have been one thing. But you never knew with Jacob, and apparently the old man felt like being a colossal asshole tonight. Athalia half spun, half flew through the air, blood decorating the tunnel wall as it spewed from her lip, and she collided against the concrete bricks of where the tunnel opened up into Azamel's home.

Man had no issue making enemies; hell, he enjoyed it. Antoinette definitely had the softer hand, despite the reputation of her steel will. Pros and cons to both approaches, Triss supposed.

"Jack is missing, and everyone saw you talking with him at the ball. Any idea where he went?" One-eye walked up to her, a small hop to his step and a grin on his Joker face, before he reached down and picked the girl up.

"Jacob," Azamel said, "release her."

"You're not giving orders here, hag. Now, you," Jacob said as he picked Athalia up by her throat with one hand, and pointed a finger at her with the other, "are annoying. You're loud, you piss people off, you piss Kindred off who haven't done a damn fucking thing to you. Just cause Viktor and his sick fetishes royally fucked you over, you feel the need to shit on everyone? Man's dead, get over it."

"I—"

"Oh shut the fuck up." He threw her aside and into the main room. A vampire would have handled the physical violence better, but these monsters seemed perfectly human out in the real world. Sort of. They ate and drank, they breathed, they bled and they broke. Athalia crashed against the concrete with an audible crunch, and rolled a few times to stop on her back beside Mark.

Sighing, Triss leaned in toward her boss. "Dude, seriously, you're going to burn some bridges here."

"And if I do?"

"I want to find Jack alive, you know?" She really hadn't expected Jacob to get this physical.

Azamel sighed, took another puff, and waved a slow hand. "Enough. I sense a disturbance in the dream... in one of Fiona's chambers."

Athalia sat up, groaned a few times, and forced herself back to her feet. "Anything to do with these fuckers?" Woman was bleeding hate, and blood, and Jacob wasn't making it any better.

"No. Humans."

Everyone frozen. Humans probably meant hunters. Shit shit shit.

"Mark, go home. Athalia, take Beatrice here to Fiona. I suspect the girl has run into some of Jeremiah's troupe, and they may know a thing or two about Jack's disappearance."

"You can't seriously—"

"Now, Athalia." Azamel's voice was rough, grit and age and old as dirt. But solid, and Triss could see how Grandma's words hit Athalia with more weight than the tone carried. Must have earned her role as leader of these freaks then.

"... fine. Come on leech." Without bothering to look Triss in the eye, Athalia started walking in the other direction, toward a tunnel on the opposite end of the room. The lights weren't working over there, so only darkness awaited them. And of course, the damn bitch didn't even wait for Triss before she rounded the corner.

"Fucking hell, wait! God damn it." She jogged after the monster, sighing the whole time. Jacob just had to make things worse. Now this Athalia woman hated Triss, and it wouldn't surprise her if she'd leave Triss to die given the opportunity.

At least Azamel was extending an olive branch. A flimsy one bound to break the moment Triss put her weight on it, but it was better than nothing.

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~~Natasha~~

"Now it's just us adults," Jacob said.

"Indeed."

"So, this Jeremiah man, got a description for me?"

"A bit tall, appears to be in his fifties, short gray hair, with many scars. Tattoos from the neck down."

"I guess you've seen him in person then?"

"He has been a thorn in my side for decades." The old woman shrugged, and blew another puff of smoke out to fill the room with more of the disgusting smell. "And has nearly killed me on two occasions."

Jacob laughed, and started to pace in place, some fingers to his chin. Seeing the elder pretend to be a detective was odd, and off putting. The psycho did love to play games, keep people on their toes, Natasha included.

"A human nearly killing you, old monster?"

"... how is it that you are able to see me, Jacob? Where did you get that eye?"

"Think I'll tell you just because my girl isn't here anymore?"

"Yes."

Again the elder laughed, and walked up to the stage to lean in against it with one foot raised to press on its edge.

"It was a gift from the other side."

"... the other side? What would the world of spirits want with me?" Azamel blew smoke down at the man's face, and tapped on the cigarette so more ashes fell into the ashtray. She didn't bother to look either. Must have been smoking her whole life, however long that was.

"It's all connected, isn't it? This physical world of ours seems to be at the center of a lot of shit. You fuck with it, and they notice."

"There is something special about this city though, isn't there? For spirits to take notice as they do," she said.

"Oh there is."

"And that would be?"

"Like I'd tell you, old hag."

Azamel snorted, and again blew smoke down at him. "You're infuriating."

"And you're unwanted. But, now that the problem is here, I'm going to have to ask for your help in dealing with it, with Jeremiah and whoever the fuck else he's got working for him."

"How quickly you change tunes."

"Oh, I'm sorry, let me rephrase that. Help undo this mess you've caused, or I'll rip out your fucking spine and let Jeremiah have his way with your saggy, shit-filled corpse."

Azamel laughed. A croaking, raspy sound that made Natasha wince with each gargle of phlegm.

"Come into my home, my real home, and you'll find circumstances quite different, vampire."

They both sneered at each other. Natasha crouched in the shadow as low as she could, half hidden around the curving tunnel, every possible ounce of vitae she had pouring into her cloak of night. Getting caught now could easily mean she was dead, but she needed this info, needed to know what the fuck was going on. Antoinette had asked her to find out the weakness of the Begotten, and this wasn't exactly that, but it was a step in that direction. And, she needed to know, because these two old bastards knew what was going on in the city, knew about shit they didn't want others knowing. Information that could save Jack. Hell, information that could keep anything else from going to hell.

Or she was completely wrong and was wasting her time. The sad truth about espionage was that it often led nowhere.

"So this Jeremiah. Think he'll go after Kindred or Uratha himself?"

"Probably. His goal is to kill Begotten, but he has killed others, and often brings hunters with him, or attracts them to his cause. They will no doubt jump at the opportunity." She chuckled, another hoarse, disgusting sound, and rubbed her leg with one hand while smoking with the other. "Could be fifty of those fanatics in the city by now. And more to come, surely."

Oh no. Natasha had no real experience dealing with hunters. The few times an incident had ever occurred in her comparatively short life, older Kindred had taken care of it. She knew Dolareido had it far better than most cities with Kindred, but now Azamel's presence ruined that. No wonder Antoinette and Jacob were so upset. Azamel said the city was already spoiled, but that could have been a lie.

"... I'll be back, Azamel. You and I are going to have a chat, a proper, lengthy chat someday. In your lair."

She snorted, and flicked some of the fresh ash of her cigarette at him. "You'll find I'm not so friendly there, Jacob."

"Yeah well, private, right? Good place to get away from prying eyes."

And then the man looked at her. Looked at her, with his new eye. She froze, stared at the man in the distance, and became stone. Don't move don't move don't move. He can't see you, your cloak of night is strong, and Jacob was no Mekhet, he didn't have auspex to see you. Or maybe he did? She knew there were ways to learn the bloodclan-specific disciplines of a bloodclan different to your own, but as far as she knew, Kindred rarely engaged in such pursuits. But then, Jacob was ancient; who knew what sort of crazy shit he did when he was younger. He might be able to see her?

Or she greatly underestimated his normal senses, and he could see her without auspex.

But the man looked back to Azamel, shrugged, and turned to start walking down the tunnel, toward Natasha. His hands were in his pockets, and his gaze was downcast, a small smirk on his lips.

"See you later old hag. Don't bring my city down on my head while I'm sleeping, k?"

"... my desire isn't to destroy Kindred, Malachi."

He stopped, grit his teeth hard enough Natasha could hear the bone grind. Smirk gone, shoulders shaking, the one-eyed beast squeezed his fists at his sides until they were trembling. But he moved on. With some time to calm down, he wiped his shoulder clean, as if he was dusting his sandals free of the dirt of Azamel's presence, and continued on down the tunnel. Toward Natasha.

Natasha slipped back around the curve of the tunnel, and faded into the darkness of a doorway. No lights in this small section of the tunnel worked, and the doorway, though locked, had flat walls carved into the tunnel side. She sat down on her ass and feet in the corner of it, her side pressed to the wall, and her cloak of night dialed to the point she was struggling to maintain it. Draining, so very draining to keep it up this strong, but she wanted to know more. Really, really wanted to know more.

What was it about Mekhet that they just couldn't help but be drawn to secrets? Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. She should have just bolted the moment Jacob turned around. Run like a smart person. She was a young ancilla, and Jacob — or Malachi apparently — was very old even by elder standards. Vampires got stronger as they got older, and everyone knew Jacob, Antoinette, and Daniel were ancient.

So she should have been smart enough to just run away when she noticed Jacob had turned around. But, nope, here she sat in the corner of an alcove in the subway tunnel wall, in the pitch black, doing her best to not let two old monsters realize she was spying on them.

Jacob came closer. Came closer. And then, passed her. Further, and further. She tensed every muscle in her body, stared at him from her pocket of darkness, and waited. He might still turn around, might still notice her, might still chase her down and tear her a new one for eavesdropping. Hell, he could kill her if he wanted to, and no one would know, no one would be around to report it. She'd be another disappearance, like Barry, like Jack.