House of Secrets

by James Moore

  “Yes, I’d appreciate that very much. Thank you.”

  “It is always my pleasure to be of assistance to you." Her voice was as saccharine as he’d remembered, and her accent was just as phony. He knew very well that Jing Wei was fluent in seven languages and could speak with perfect native inflection in each. When she opted to speak with less-than-perfect diction, it was only to suit her own purposes. Still, with her athletic frame and small breasts, she was always a pleasure to look at. Jing Wei was diminutive, almost classically so for a Chinese woman, and her lustrous black hair flowed freely down to her shoulders, rather than pinned up as she normally kept it. Despite her dubious honesty and even more dubious claims of wanting to help, Kurt had to admit that she was a very attractive woman. And very distracting.

  The Chinese Kindred moved gracefully over to where a man in a waiter's outfit was waiting patiently and whispered in his ear. He smiled thinly while looking at Kurt, whispering in Jing Wei’s ear in return. The smile faded when Kurt glared back at him. The man spoke with Jing Wei a moment longer, and then she gestured for Kurt to follow her. She led him to a private room in the back of the restaurant, spartan in the extreme, but with a sink and a shower stall where he could wash. He chose the sink, but would have preferred the luxury of a shower. The woman waited patiently until he was finished with his work scrubbing and the touch-ups on his khaki shorts and shirt. The red marks on his face’s reflection almost made him look alive.

  “You were not expected by me. What brings this honor to your humble servant?”

  “I'm looking for one of your clan, a woman named ilse Decameron. I found her when she showed up here.” He paused for a moment, forcing his lips to fall away from the sneer he felt creasing his features. He looked at her reflection behind his own and clenched the chipped porcelain edges of the wet sink. “She and her pet sorcerer left after making a rather rude introduction.”

  “Pet sorcerer?” The warmth left Jing Wei’s voice as she spoke, her tones barely above a whisper and bordering on a hiss. Then she caught herself and brought her emotions under control. Whoever Ilse Decameron was, Kurt was willing to bet she’d just offended another member of her own clan. “I fear Use has always lacked in the social skills. She would never have been accepted into your own clan."

  “No doubt." Again he forced himself to relax. The proximity of the fireball earlier had set him on edge and his system refused to calm down. “Do you know where she would have gone?"

  Jing Wei frowned prettily and shook her head. “I am afraid I cannot be of assistance in this matter.” Then she suddenly smiled, a radiant image of Eastern perfection. “But I have an associate who could possibly help you.”

  “An associate ?

  “Yes. He is a mage, and he has an interesting familiar who is skilled in hunting down troublemakers.” She stepped close behind him, her breath warm from a recent feeding and the smell of fresh blood still redolent on her lips. Kurt felt the need to feed himself and had to remember that the woman behind him was a member of a warring clan in order to stop himself from taking liberties. Jing Wei always had that effect on him. “He is only a short distance away. He could be here within the hour.”

  Kurt paused long enough to swallow the lump that was forming in his throat before he answered. “Yes, I would greatly appreciate the help, my dear.” He turned to face her as she slipped her arms around his waist. “And while we wait, perhaps you could tell me where a hungry Kindred could find a willing blood doll?”

  Jing Wei threw a sultry and not entirely false pout his way and lightly pushed her body against him. “You want only a human tonight?"

  “I think that would be for the best. I am particularly thirsty.”

  She slid away from him, her eyes seeming to promise a great deal of pleasure. “I shall make the necessary arrangements. Perhaps later, after you meet with my friend, you would like dessert?” She moved away before he could answer.

  When he was alone in the room, he straightened his collar and combed his damp hair back into place. “Perhaps I would at that.”

  ***

  Almost exactly an hour later, Kurt was standing at the edge of the ocean, staring into the late night sky and recalling the last sunset he’d ever seen, when the roar of a powerful motorcycle’s engine thundered across the sand. He waited until the bike stopped a few feet from him and the engine shuddered to a halt. For a moment there was no sound at all, save the rushing sigh of the tide running along the shoreline. Kurt let the silence stretch out, allowing the man behind him to make the first move.

  “Excuse me? Would your name be Kurt Westphal?” The voice was almost too casual, with a lack of inflection that Kurt had come to think of as a “universal accent," with no emphasis on this or that syllable. In two sentences, the man had established himself as a traveler who had likely spent lifetimes in a dozen different countries. Jing Wei had interesting friends.

  “It would indeed. You are the friend Jing Wei spoke of?”

  “That’d be me. Thadius Zho at your service.”

  Kurt turned and faced the man for the first time. He sat leaning against a large black motorcycle, his arms crossed and an arrogant smile pasted across his face. Thadius Zho was, without a doubt, one of the most interesting mortals he’d ever met. He had an air about him, a presence that demanded attention. The man was dark and brooding, dressed all in black from his motorcycle boots all the way to the old fashioned tunic that covered his lean, muscular torso. The mane of dark brown hair that surrounded his face crested in a widow’s peak and was accented by the black eyepatch that covered his left eyebrow and ran down to his cheek. The eye that could be seen was an icy blue. It took an unusual man to carry off the green pentagram on the patch and come out not looking foolish. Zho was undoubtedly an unusual man.

  Kurt stepped forward and extended his hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Zho. I wish to thank you for coming to my aid.”

  Zho took the offered hand and shook it with a strong grip. Kurt returned the grip, squeezing briefly and assessing the physical strength of the man he faced. Strong for a human, but still only mortal. Had Kurt been merely human, the strength the mage used would have probably broken bones. “I wouldn’t say thank you just yet, I'm not certain how much help I can be in tracking down the woman you’re searching for.”

  “Just the same, even taking the time to see me is appreciated.”

  “In that case, you’re welcome."

  Kurt withdrew his hand from the man’s own. He studied his counterpart and was studied in return. When the careful assessments were done, he was certain neither quite knew what to make of the other.

  “So, what can you tell me about Use Decameron?” After showing a photograph of his prey and describing the man she’d fled with, Kurt waited for the mage’s response.

  Zho seemed lost in thought for a few seconds, his right eye slightly glazed. Then he became alert again, and Kurt wondered if he hadn’t imagined the episode. “Did you happen to hear the man’s name?”

  “She called him ‘Paul.’ I believe he responded by saying his name was ‘Carl, Carl Magnuson.’” In truth, Kurt had heard none of their exchange, but the patrons around them had, and it had taken little to control their minds and make them forget about the incident while walking around and apologizing for any disturbances he might have caused. He'd spent most of his waiting time convincing the weak-willed patrons of the restaurant to remove the film from their cameras and destroying any evidence of his near-frenzy. Several rolls of exposed film were sitting in the inside pocket of his still-damp jacket. The remainder of his time had been spent gathering information and clouding the memories of the other patrons in Gladstone’s.

  Zho smiled, a thin razor-line that curved slightly upward. “I believe I might be able to help you, Mr. Westphal.”

  He returned the smile. “Please, call me Kurt. What form of compensation would you like for this assistance?”

  “Kurt it is. Please, call me Thadius. I think we can work out the de
tails later, but I have to warn you, my services do not come cheaply. Now then, there are certain...limitations to your traveling abilities.” Kurt forced himself not to make any facial changes, though the task was far from easy. He hadn't confided his vampiric nature to the man. “I imagine you have ways of handling travel on your own. Perhaps it would be best if we joined together in London.”

  “London?"

  Zho smiled again, and Kurt decided he preferred the man’s face without that particular expression. Something about the mage made him uneasy. “That’s where we’ll find your Ms. Decameron.” His expression must have changed, because the man facing him leaned back against his motorcycle again and continued his answer without any prodding. “She and Carl Magnuson have business there, or at least they will two days from now."

  Kurt decided he didn’t want to know how the man knew about the couple’s future plans. Sometimes ignorance was truly bliss. They made their final arrangements and went their separate ways.

  The following night, Kurt awoke with a distinct feeling of claustrophobia and a severe case of jet-lag. The nine hour difference in time zones had been merciless on his system, and his hunger was worse than it normally was. He’d had little time to rest before the sun rose in Britain and felt the lack of sleep. Perhaps his body was trying to tell him that traveling so heavily was a bad idea. Only minutes after he’d come awake, the lid to his coffin was removed and he was greeted by Jackie’s smiling face. “Welcome to London, boss. Ot more accurately, Stanstead Airport.”

  Jackie attempted to help him out of the coffin, but he brushed her hand aside and sat up on his own. The air was damp and cold, just like the last time he’d been to the British Isles. “Must you always be so damnably cheerful, Jackie?"

  “Would you rather I pour hot water on you to wake you up?"

  “No, but you could at least suffer from sleep deprivation once in a while.”

  “Oh, that’d go well. You locked in your suitcase and me sound asleep and too tired to care about you pounding on the old exit ramp. Yeah, I think that’d be a really swift move on my part.” She faked a yawn and playfully started shoving him back into the casket. “Back in you go, I need my beauty sleep."

  Kurt waved her back, grinning in spite of his foul mood. “I’m hungry."

  “What else is new?”

  “Upstart.”

  “Old coot."

  “What did I schedule for tonight?’

  “You’ve got about two hours to spare before you meet with the witch-man, and before then you have to meet with Lady Anne and feed your face.”

  “You’re vulgar.”

  “Only ’cause you like me that way."

  “Nonsense, I’ve never said anything of the kind.”

  “You’ve never stopped feeding me, either.”

  “We’ll have to see about that.”

  “Careful what you say, Kurt, or the next time you climb in that traveling case of yours, I’ll ship you to the North Pole.” “Ingrate.”

  “Power-happy neck-biter.”

  “Mind your manners, and get the car.”

  “It’s got, boss."

  Ten minutes later, they were stuck in London’s nighttime traffic, with Jackie driving the rented limousine and grumbling about being on the wrong side of the road. Kurt sat back and stared out the window, watching the landscape go past and thinking about the woman who’d nearly blinded him while taking his picture. “How much longer until we reach Lady Anne’s haven?”

  “Four miles and thirty minutes with the way these morons drive.” Jackie rolled down the window, mumbling to herself about which parts of the driver in the next lane she would like to remove with a dull knife. She opened her mouth, taking in a deep breath to scream, her vocal cords tightening in a way Kurt was familiar with. She paused, looked in the rearview mirror, and apparently decided against it. “Why’d she have to have her haven in the middle of nowhere anyway. And worse, the middle of nowhere on the other side of London?”

  “I imagine most of her visitors arrive from Heathrow, not Stanstead."

  “Don’t blame me, blame the travel agent."

  “Mmm. And who chose the travel agent, my dear?”

  Jackie made a bitter face and swerved the car through three other lanes of heavy traffic as she located her exit point. “Your problem is that you’re too busy worrying about minor details like who picked the travel agent."

  “Your problem is that you are too impetuous and too rude for anybody's good.”

  “I tend to think of it as ‘aggressive,’ not rude.”

  “When you bother to think.” He smiled at her reflection, noting the scowl she tossed his way. “Don’t try it too often, Jackie. I rather like your vacuous nature."

  “Bite me.”

  “Only for pleasure, dear, never for food.”

  "Flatterer.”

  A few moments later, the limousine pulled up in front of a monumental house resting on more land than seemed possible for any place in Europe. A man dressed in evening finery came briskly forward, while Jackie donned her chauffeur's cap and all but ran around the vehicle to open the door for Kurt. All attempts at humor and friendliness were gone, and she was once again only a servant doing her work. Kurt climbed out of the car and stated his name for the man who'd come to greet him. The effect was immediate, and he was led promptly into the mansion in front of him.

  The building was all but a museum, with suits of armor in every other corner and a long line of family coats of arms adorning the walls. After fifty years as a member of the Ventrue clan, he still never quite got used to the vast opulence most of his clan members took for granted. The majority of his waking hours were spent in an endless procession of hotel suites, nice enough, but not on par with what the more established members of the Ventrue were used to. He noted the seemingly endless paintings, sculptures and antiques in the rooms he passed through with an appraiser’s eye and mentally calculated the wealth of Lady Anne Bowesley at slightly less than what he'd originally expected. Either she was doing poorly in the financial gains department, or she kept the most obvious valuables elsewhere.

  Finally, after roaming what seemed like a hundred halls of expensive carpets and oak-paneled walls, he was led into the library, where the self-proclaimed Queen of London waited for him. She was an attractive woman, seemingly frail to those who were unaware of her powers, with dark hair carefully coifed and electrifying blue eyes. Her delicate features seemed unable to hold the sheer force of her personality, and Kurt could see why she ruled over all of London during the troubling times of the last half-century.

  She stood and he bowed formally before her. “Good evening, Milady. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last.”

  “Welcome, Mr. Westphal. I hope your journey was uneventful."

  “If anything, it was boring.” He smiled, pouring on the charm as he walked forward. “Democritus send his regards, Milady, and asks that you extend your hospitality to me, his lowly servant."

  “In light of all that you have done for Clan Ventrue, how could I possibly say no?”

  “You are too kind, Milady."

  “Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Westphal."

  “Please, call me Kurt.”

  “You may call me Lady Anne."

  "Thank you, Lady Anne.”

  “Has Democritus sent you to assist me against the damnable Tremere?”

  “In a manner of speaking, Lady Anne. I am in pursuit of one particular agent of that foul clan, one Use Decameron. She may have already presented herself to you.”

  “No,” she sniffed. “She has not as yet presented herself.”

  “She may well avoid doing so, as she apparently has no regard whatsoever for the Ventrue."

  “Should she forget her manners, I will be forced to remind her of the laws governing the Camarilla."

  “One would hope she hasn’t gone so far away from tradition, Milady. Still, I do understand she has information of great importance to the Ventrue and that she should be
observed in action rather than punished.” He flashed a bitter smile as the thought of hot fish chowder running through his hair crossed his mind. “Unfortunate though that may be."

  “Naturally, I shall abide by Democritus' wishes in this matter.”

  “I thank you, as does my sire."

  “How can you be certain that this Use Decameron will show herself in my fiefdom?"

  “I have an associate who assures me that she will be here no later than tomorrow night, Milady.” He paused a moment, continuing when she indicated that he should. “The man is a mage of some notoriety and assures me that tracking her is going to be child’s play."

  “And your friend's name?"

  “Thadius Zho, Milady.”

  Lady Anne actually grimaced for a full three seconds before returning to a more sober version of her usual pleasant expression. “Thadius Zho? Well, I haven’t seen him in over a hundred years." Once again, Kurt did his best to hide his surprise. He’d have never guessed the man’s age at over forty on the outside. “I should be careful around that one, Kurt. He consorts with demons."

  “I shall take that advice as gospel, Milady."

  A few minutes were spent discussing pleasantries and the present troubles in London. Not surprisingly, the Tremere seemed to be a nuisance in London as well as in the States. At present, the elder of the Tremere in London, Dr. John Dee, was sharing a very fragile truce with Lady Anne. The truce was being tested almost nightly, as Dee and his associates reacted with vulgar verbal assaults and constant insinuations that the Ventrue would likely break the pact as soon as look at their faces in the mirror.

  In short, Lady Anne had her hands full.

  A short time later, after feeding on an amazingly well-endowed chambermaid, a sated and much more relaxed Kurt Westphal bid his farewells with a promise to return later in the evening, and went off to meet with Zho.

  The place Zho had chosen was easily found, and even the guards at the Tower of London were willing to let a stranger through the gates after closing...provided the stranger in question could literally force them to forget he’d ever come past. In the courtyard of the ancient building, amid flawlessly manicured lawns and places where the air was unnaturally chill, Zho sat Indian-stylc on the grass, his face buried in the shadows. He was dressed in a black suit and matching greatcoat. Kurt literally overlooked him twice before he finally spoke up. In the darkness, the pentacle on the mage’s eyepatch actually glowed with a faint, chilling light.