My Little Ventrue Pt. 05 Ch. 16

He bit his tongue as he stared at Damien and Fiona. Both of them were a mess, and Fiona was bleeding everywhere. He doubted she'd be opening any doors to any other worlds or nightmares in her condition. And Damien looked bad, very bad, like that time he got stabbed by the Azlu monster. He was still conscious though, pistol still in his hand.

This rescue operation had gone from foolhardy and rash, to predictably disastrous in seconds. He just didn't expect it to be this disastrous. Hell, with two ancilla, two Begotten, and three Uratha, he'd gotten cocky, and expected things to go well. Angela was right, and he was arrogant.

That was the problem with hubris, he supposed. You didn't know you had it, until it was too late.

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~~Julias~~

This was a stupid idea. He shouldn't be doing it. As a member of the council, it was his job to dictate actions to his subordinates, and manage the outcomes. And yet here he was, in the tunnels, alone, walking toward Azamel's den.

He took a moment to adjust his tie and make sure he was presentable. He was Julias Mire, youngest to ever step onto the Dolareido Invictus Council, and Alder Viktor Honor's childe. He—

He stopped, and laughed, running his fingers over his head and through his hair. What was it he said to Triss, so long ago? Right, that he envied the kine and their ability to enjoy the moment. Get drunk, get high, get lost in arousal and lost to the immediate, lost to circumstance, lost to whatever their whimsy desired. And then later, he told her that he was sick and tired of Kindred and their constant pursuit of the opposite, forever trying to plan for any and all possible contingencies, with a million plots and maneuvers in place to deal with them. Wholly incapable of enjoying the moment. Worse, their every thought was dominated with schemes and weaving webs of secrets and lies.

Here he was, doing just that, about to weave some webs. But was the problem his new attitude, or that his old one was naive, now shattered under the weight of reality?

Unlike his predecessor, when the night was done and he had a moment to breathe, he could go back home to his lover, and fall asleep in her arms; while Jen ooh'd and aww'd over the two of them cuddling. It made the games, the manipulating, the schemes, worth it. And if his schemes potentially saved Jack? It made it very worth it.

He wasn't completely alone on this dangerous quest. Four thralls were with him, loyal servants of the Invictus. No ghouls though, not worth the risk on what could easily become a very violent meeting. Ghouls were harder to kill, but far more precious to whatever Kindred had nurtured them. He had none of his own anyhow, and he was doing this without the knowledge of his fellow councilmen; couldn't borrow theirs. Hopefully the three men and one woman with him, each dressed in suits and wearing ear pieces, would survive the encounter.

He should have brought other Kindred with him. But then, who could he trust with this? If he told anyone else, they'd probably tell the rest of the council, and they'd stop him. He could tell Beatrice, but she was busy with Jacob, as per her text. Besides, he wouldn't bring her, not for something like this. Invictus business, and dangerous. She'd probably slap him, or claw him, for actively keeping her out of danger, but at least she'd understand the Invictus business part. She had her own business with her new teacher after all, Jacob.

What was the man teaching her? Julias knew about Jacob's old witches from before his time, and how they died, generally for sticking their noses out too far in their pursuits and getting caught by hunters. If Triss died from similar, it'd kill him. It'd kill him, and then he'd kill the old man, if he could. Then again, Jacob wasn't the reckless man Viktor said he used to be. He could be trusted, to a degree. A small degree.

He shook his head. He was a happier man than he used to be, but right now, happy wasn't what he needed. What he needed was to be a cold, ruthless, powerful negotiator and master tactician. Thinking of Triss always got him smiling, and he needed to be not smiling. He was the great Julias Mire, strongest of the ancilla, childe of Alder Viktor Honors, and councilmen of the Invictus. The authority to do as he pleased sat with him.

Hopefully Azamel could see his side of the argument.

He found her doing what she always did, sitting in her chair, rocking, smoking, staring into nothing. Mark hopped down from the concrete stage, and glared at him, arms folded across his chest.

"Let him be, Mark," she said.

The man frowned, adjusted his black hoodie, and hopped back up onto the stage. He found his own place to sit on a couch, and pulled out an e-book reader. Did they just sit down here all the time, and read? No, they had to eat, but he doubted they left through the tunnels to do so; not Azamel, at least. Maybe Mark brought food to her? Maybe, but then Julias knew of no kine deaths that could be attributed to her. How the old woman, or how any of them fed besides Fiona, was still a mystery.

Julias looked over his shoulder at his four thralls. Each had their arms at their sides, ready to draw their pistols from their hidden vest holsters if needed. He doubted they'd be terribly useful in a fight against monsters, but then again, bullets could do a lot of damage if you used enough of them.

"Thank you," he said.

"For?" She didn't bother to look his way, content to stare off into space as she blew some smoke, before clearing her lungs with some coughs.

"For helping us, for sending Fiona and Athalia along with Jack. The mission is... dangerous, to say the least, but it was the best we could come up with in a single hour."

"Considering the time constraint, it was not a bad move." A compliment, from Azamel. He did not see that coming. "And in the dream, Athalia is more than capable of taking care of herself."

"You trust her a lot."

"I trust both Mark and Athalia to be capable of more than any Kindred, once inside the dream."

"And Fiona?"

"She... is unusual. It has been a long time since I've known a Begotten with her horror so developed unto itself. Vrallar'trakla of the Eight Blade Arach is old, very old, and very powerful, and yet she is tethered to a child. Perhaps with time, she will grow to be stronger than I? Like your childe, hmm?"

Julias frowned, but wiped it away. There was something to her voice with the Jack comment, something he didn't like but couldn't put his finger on.

"I came to ask a question."

"By all means, ask. I don't promise to answer, but you never know."

Naturally.

"I wanted to know why you didn't go."

"... why I did not go?"

"Yes, why you, the great Azamel, did not go. I remember the last time you were here, old monster. I remember the damage you caused."

"You understand the power I wield."

"I do."

"And yet you threaten me, and hold my favorite home hostage with explosives." She blew smoke his way, and glared at him through the gray. For a moment, he could see something strange through the smoke, where her eyes were cutting through it. A shadow, a flicker of shape and darkness that almost looked like tusks.

"You know it was the right move," he said.

"Do I?"

"You're a threat, and unlike the Uratha, you have a tendency to cause major damage to the city when you decide to act out."

"... that was almost ninety years ago." She finished the cigarette, set the butt in the ash tray on the small stand beside her, and sighed. "Things change."

"I'm not here to argue about the past. I'm here to ask why you're not helping Fiona and Athalia. A Begotten is working with the hunters. That alone warrants your investigation, doesn't it?"

"We are investigating it."

"And?"

"And our investigations have proved futile. This monster hides from us, and forcing our way into his or her lair invites trouble."

He could understand that. But it wasn't good enough.

"Your ability to enter the nightmare world, and move around, is a deadly ability," he said. "More than your other abilities, this way to bypass things—"

"We cannot bypass everything, or do it so easily, vampire. But, yes, the roads of the worlds, all worlds, are ours to travel as we desire. We are monsters, the true and original creatures of darkness." She laughed. Laughing led to coughing, horrible, nasty, deep in her lungs, and she brought her hand up to her mouth as a fist to cover her lips.

"... you're dying, aren't you?"

"I am hundreds of years old, and I am no vampire. Of course I'm dying."

Sighing, he came in closer, and stood before the decaying monster. "Cancer?"

"Were it so simple. No, it is not cancer, foolish boy. But, as you may now suspect, I do not waste what energy I have left on foolishness."

"Two of your people are—"

"They are not property! They are individuals. We are friends, a family of sorts, and we rely on each other. But they are not my subordinates, fool. I do not need to bend or break them, and I do not need to order them. And, I am not beholden to owe them."

He didn't believe that. Azamel was a monster, beyond the definition of a Begotten, and those under her protection likely did everything she asked of them. Her words weren't without merit though, since Jack assured him Fiona was still the ridiculously happy person she'd always been. If Azamel was the colossal tyrant the Invictus assumed she was, surely the Scot's attitude would have been affected.

"Jack's in a nightmare world," he said, "with the best team I could imagine him getting in such a small amount of time. But I suspect the hunters are more prepared than we realized. With a Begotten working for them, Jeremiah and Angela's unusual tenacity, this shaman woman able to do some ritual magic beyond us, and an unknown-but-large force of hunters working with them, I have to assume they're more prepared then even our more pessimistic estimates." Sighing louder, he held his chin in his fingers. "At first glance, it seemed like the right thing to do, sending him with such a powerful group. On second look, I think he's walking into a more dangerous trap than we assumed. Jeremiah would have a plan in place in case we followed Eric's kidnapper, one capable of stopping even an elder Kindred."

"Yes... that is possible." Shrugging, she held out her hand to the side. Moments later, Mark joined her, set a cigarette in her hand, and lit it for her. She said she wasn't dying of cancer, but with the amount she smoked, he doubted even a Begotten was impervious to its effects. "Why don't you go?" And for good measure, she blew a puff of smoke at him.

"I would love to go, but my days of risking my life on random missions are over. I have responsibilities now." He glanced back at the four thralls. Each stood silent as statues. Well trained, and reliable. But if they'd been Jessy and Tash, as they once were, they'd have provided their opinions and support. Those days were gone.

"Ah yes, your empire of... them," she made a gesture to the thralls, "and of your fledglings and neonates. Like children, they must be nurtured. And you, their parent? An absurdity if there ever was one."

"You're dodging my request. I want you to help Jack and the others."

"No."

"Why not? If you're dying of old age, then it's inev—"

"Do not speak to me of death and age, immortal leech. And what would you know of Begotten?" She took a long breath of her cigarette, and blew shapes into the air, circles. Impressive. "And my death is not inevitable. You, a simple blood leech, will never understand the destiny that awaits Begotten. I will make mine a reality, and you will bow and... and..." With a sigh of her own, she leaned back in her seat, and tapped ashes into the nearby ashtray. "I am old, and decayed, and I dodge death's looming scythe with my effort. I did not make my requests of Athalia and Fiona lightly. Leave me be."

"And if I promise to remove the explosives?"

That got her attention. She sat up, watched him for a moment, before she sank back into her seat. A weight was crushing her, pinning her. Maybe death was at her door.

"Even if, Mire. Even if," she said. He glared at the old woman, but it was pointless. Someone as old as her wasn't about to change her mind, no matter how much he bargained. "But if you truly think my fellow Begotten are in danger, speak with Jacob."

"Jacob?"

"Yes. The old bastard loves to dip his toes into my affairs. He is curious about nightmares."

Nosferatu were masters of nightmares, at least compared to other Kindred blood clans. It made sense for the man to be interested in a species that literally embodied nightmares.

"Curious?" he said.

"Indeed. He is hunting something, pursuing knowledge. The realm of spirits, the realm of nightmares and dreams, he hunts them, and others I'm sure. He may know of a way to break into this unknown Begotten's lair."

"Thanks for the tip." Maybe it'd be worth it to visit Jacob, and see what he had to say? "May I ask what he did to put himself on your radar?"

"He and that crocodile mouth friend of his tested the edges of my realm."

Triss and Jacob. Two peas in a pod. He hoped the old man wasn't turning her into a new version of him.

"I'll go speak to him right now."

"I imagine he's dancing with death at this very moment, in his ritual chamber in Three Kings Cemetery. But make sure to leave the thralls at home, vampire, lest the old monster sacrifice them."

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He texted Triss, explaining his trip to the cemetery. If Azamel was right, then Jacob and Triss, and probably Jennifer, were already there. Alas, no response.

Ritual chamber, ritual chamber. He didn't know about the exact location of the ritual chamber, or that it qualified as a ritual chamber. Everyone knew that Jacob had multiple places where he performed his crúac madness; too smart to put all his eggs in one basket. And he was sure the Prince and her sheriff knew them, or at least this one, but the Invictus didn't.

So here he was, standing at the gate of Three Kings Cemetery, wasting his time. As Azamel suggested, he left the thralls at Xnomina HQ; Jacob preferred a more personal touch anyway. Adjusting his tie, he stepped under the gate, and looked around. The Dolareido Cathedral wasn't too far. Maria surely knew about Jacob's proximity and his blood rituals, but Jacob could hide a tank in his cloak of night if he wanted. He'd be more than able to hide himself so near, unless a Mekhet went hunting with auspex. With the loss of Natasha, the Invictus no longer had a powerful Mekhet; no, Damien filled that role now, sort of.

He should talk to that boy soon, and see if he could learn more about what things Maria was sharing with him.

He smirked as he looked around at the beautiful graveyard, and its royal tombstones. Going on a mission, a dangerous one, to deal with dangerous Kindred. Felt like being a Right Hand again.

Of course, if Jack returned from his mission, and shit had hit the fan, Julias not being at the Invictus HQ where he could delegate tasks, would be a problem. Michael and Maria left the task to him as they pursued their own interests, and while one of them would probably step in to manage the chaos, it should be on him to do so. It was such a horrible cliché, to be uplifted to a position where you were no longer able to get your hands dirty, and miss it.

Jack would probably mention Captain Picard, and his desire to remain a captain, never get promoted. Some of that nerd info had sunk into Julias's mind, he supposed, after numerous conversations with the boy prior to his siring. But it was a valid comparison. And it was nice to be doing something himself, risking his own life, instead of risking everyone else's all the time. Part of him still thought maybe he should have sent Isabella or Hella, or Parker or Vicky, but he couldn't trust them with this, not with Azamel, not with Jacob.

He smiled as he looked at the graveyard. How many of his younger years did he spend hanging out in graveyards? Something about being surrounded by the dead was alluring, when you were a newly dead yourself. It grabbed Nosferatu harder than others though. He wondered if Jacob and Triss walked around the place, speaking about the dead, and being stereotypical vampires.

No time to daydream. Rotating his shoulders, he squatted down, almost touching the stones and grass with a knee, as he looked around for life. He needed something with eyes and ears, something to guide him, something that would have watched others of the graveyard. He needed a rat.

Sure enough, a rat exposed itself. It took a few minutes, but eventually one of the brown rats at home in the city climbed onto a tombstone, where it munched on a bit of nut. The rats in Dolareido were borderline fearless, and smart. Jack seemed partial to his crows, but Julias felt rats were the stronger choice. More limited with their inability to fly, but a rat could sneak into a house, into a facility, into anything, where a crow was lucky to not get noticed just perching nearby.

He reached into his core, found his beast, and brought it to the surface, wrapped in vitae to keep it under his control. "Have you seen a man, perhaps with two women? He'd likely have a bandage wrapped around his eyes, older guy. One of the women would have many teeth." The beast translated the words for him, turning them into images, with enough sound and scent embedded for the rat to make sense of them.

The rat nodded.

"Good. Do they have a habit of going somewhere?" Again, the rat nodded. "Take me there."

Dropping in on Jacob unannounced was a dangerous game. Everything with Jacob was a dangerous game. But after dealing with the man for a century, Julias felt comfortable dealing with his insanity. Treat Jacob like an asshole about the small things, but with respect about the big things, and he'd most likely play ball. It didn't work every time, but often.

The rat guided Julias to one of the mausoleums higher up the gentle slope of the graveyard. Julias took a deep, slow breath, the old reflex returned from seeing Jack do it. The angels on the small stairway were imposing, and they'd make any vampire uncomfortable walking among them. Did the werewolves feel that way? Probably not. Maybe they felt the same when walking in areas that had suffered a massive loss of life? And monsters, true ones like Azamel, were there places or things in the world they preferred to avoid?

He wished he knew. Azamel's declining health was both a good and bad thing; dying people were often desperate, and did risky things. If he had some way to stop her beyond the explosives, control her, keep her under his thumb, he'd feel more comfortable about that arrangement. But then again, like Jack said, the Invictus weren't treating her with the same respect as the Uratha. Maybe it was time to stop thinking about her as the enemy, especially with her sending Fiona and Athalia to help Jack rescue Jessy, Eric, and Clara.

She shared information about Jacob, too, without requiring it. There were too many reasons to trust her, to the point Julias was suspicious of ulterior motives.

The rat guided him into the mausoleum, along the floor, and onto the back wall, where several coffins sat. It climbed up, and sat upon one of them.

Julias raised a brow. "In the coffin?"

The rat nodded.

Sighing, Julias pushed it open, and made the active effort to not breathe. He didn't need to, and he didn't want to smell the dead. He doubted the coffin would have any sort of serious smell, considering the corpse inside was over a century old, but still.

He pulled out his phone, shined the light, and found... a piece of paper with a note written on it.

'Get out of my cemetery, asshole.'

Julias facepalmed, and laughed. He got played. Jacob, you asshole.