by James Moore
A short time later, he was back at the stone bench where he had last seen Zho. The mage was waiting for him, a sour look on his face. He nodded to Kurt, gesturing for him to sit.
“I’d have seen you at the manor, but I’m afraid Lady Anne still holds a grudge for what Charnas did to her when last we were welcomed. I fear she took the pig’s blood a little personally."
“She does tend to remember past slights.” Kurt felt it best not to ask for the gory details. He hunted up a few stones and started skipping them across the pond’s surface, still tickled by how much pleasure the relived childhood memory held for him. “What was so urgent, Thadius?”
“The Tremere woman, Use Decameron, will be in Vienna tomorrow night. She’s taking Carl Maguson with her. I believe they’re to meet with Etrius himself.” The sorcerer stared intently at the moonlight reflected off the pond’s waters. “We’ve already discussed the implications, Kurt. This cannot be allowed to happen, for my personal sake and for yours as well.”
“How can you be certain that Etrius can even achieve such a magnificent feat?” Kurt looked at Zho, wanting a straight answer to a question he had trouble formulating. “Surely if mages were this powerful, they would have destroyed the Kindred and Lupines of the world by now.”
Zho stared at Kurt for a long moment before answering. Whatever he was thinking he kept well-hidden. “Magick is not as easy as it once was. That's true enough, but there are still ways around the problem. All that is really required is enough belief.”
“I don’t —”
“If you’d let me finish, please.” Kurt was rapidly learning not to like Zho’s impatience. “The matter of belief gets complicated, so please bear with me. Mages do no not perform magick without a certain element of risk. Whenever a mage attempts to create a storm or change a person’s appearance, the very fabric of reality has to be altered. Reality does not like to be tampered with.
“That wasn't always the case. Before the Inquisition, during the times most people call the Dark Ages, magick
worked with a fair amount of ease. But history has been rewritten by people who refuse to accept that the sort of magick I perform ever existed. And people all over the world have been ‘educated’ to believe that science is the only law that works. In truth, magick and science are pretty much the same thing, just applied differently. If you’d tried running an internal combustion engine five hundred years ago, you’d have been wasting your time. The world’s perception of what was possible would have denied the possibility that steel cylinders, a little fuel and a dash of electricity could make anything happen.
“Be patient. I know it’s complicated. What it all boils down to is that a group of mages literally changed the ways in which magick works, so that technology became the dominant rules of the world, and magick, in the truer sense, became a lie. The biggest change came as a result of the Inquisition, when many of magick’s practitioners were burned at the stake or worse. Think about this: The very laws of physics were transformed by history books and by teaching the masses how to look at the world; if the books had all said that magick was viable and technology was a lie, you would likely do your transcontinental traveling via flying carpets or perched on a broom handle.”
“You’re saying that the perceptions of the people on the planet changed the way the earth is allowed to operate?”
“Something like that. Simply put, any endeavors to pull off what Etrius is attempting have a decent chance of ending in failure. Reality would sense what he was trying and slap him into the next century for his audacity.”
“Then why do the Tremere manage their magic so easily?” “They don’t attempt to work the same sort of magick. With the Tremere, everything they do is ritualized, performed the same way by all the Tremere who know how to do a certain spell. With magicians like myself, there is no need for a ritual. I could call down lightning right now, simply by thinking about it and willing it to happen, but reality would be rather touchy
about me casting lightning out of a clear sky. Either the magick would fail, or the laws of the world would make me suffer in some way for breaking the rules. That’s the difference. The Tremere have to follow the rules of nature, but I can make nature bend to my will. My magick is more powerful and more limited at the same time. I can do things the Tremere can only dream of, but there is always a price to pay.”
“So if the laws of nature say Etrius cannot perform his great spell, we have nothing to worry about.” Kurt smiled, certain he’d discovered the answer to all of their dilemmas.
“Not true. The laws of nature say that he cannot perform a feat like he desires by himself, but the spells he used to create his Soul Gem are not the same as those he can use today. So long as he has the Soul Gem and a body to inhabit, he can pull off his ritual. Or at least have a reasonable chance.”
“How?”
“Old magick, combined with rituals he has likely been studying and perfecting for years.” Zho stared into the distance, his cold blue eye taking on that glazed look again. “If he works his spell properly, he’ll be able to make himself into a mortal mage again. He’ll have the power to destroy you and all of your clan. If he does it the right way, with publicity and deliberate breaches of the Masquerade, he’ll be able to make the world believe that magick is still possible. Magick could become the dominant force again, and science could be pushed back. He could create a new Mythic Age, all the while bringing about the downfall of all his vampiric enemies.”
“He would not! No one would dream of bringing back the Inquisition.” The very thought chilled Kurt’s soul. “The Kindred could not survive against today’s technologies.”
“What would Etrius care? He’d no longer be a vampire. He’d be a mortal man with the power to change the world with only a thought.”
“Dear God in Heaven. If he could accomplish such a feat... he could destroy us all.” Kurt took his turn staring out at the darkness. “But what makes you think he’d commit such an atrocity?"
“I believe he’ll attempt something along those lines, because it’s what I’d do in the same situation. And he will, if that’s the only hope he has to become a human mage again. Mind you, you don't need to take my word for it, you could just wait a few days...”
“Why are you being so helpful, Thadius?" Kurt did not believe all that Zho had told him, but even the possibility that Etrius could manage such a feat had to be investigated. This, then, was the reason for his being assigned to keep an eye on Ilse Decameron. At last he understood. He would call Democritus when he arrived at a pay phone, but he already knew what the man would say — No matter what the cost, Etrius had to be stopped.
“Because we have a mutual foe in this situation — Etrius. It's nothing personal against the old vampire, but he’s unaware of all the ramifications. He needs to be made to see what he could possibly do the balance of the world.”
“Then there is no time to waste. I have a few phone calls to make, Thadius, but I believe I might be able to reach Vienna in time." He looked at the mage, thoughts whirling. “Will you come with me?”
Thadius Zho smiled, that nasty smile of his that always made Kurt think of a predatory animal ready at last to pounce. “My dear Mr. Westphal, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Kurt loaded his suitcases as quickly as he could while Jackie handled the travel arrangements. He made a mental note to allow her a few days or weeks of rest when this was all done, assuming, as he always did, that they would both survive the trials ahead of them. Breaking into the literal stronghold of the Tremere definitely ranked at the top of his list of dangerous assignments. She'd been working far too hard, and the stress was showing both physically and mentally.
Jackie finished her phone calls. The good news was that they’d be able to arrive in Austria before sunset the next day. The bad news was that no planes were leaving for Vienna from London or Paris until after nightfall the next night, too late for the trip to be a good idea. They’d have to take the trains, and that
meant a few extra stops along the way, some during the daylight hours. While a vampire could stay awake during the day, the sun’s rays would still cause massive damage at the briefest contact with flesh, and the effects were unpleasant at best. If Kurt was lucky, most of the trip could be handled in the tunnels.
The first stretch of travel would be the easiest; all they had to do was take the Channel Tunnel from Dover to Calais, then on to Paris. Paris would be relatively easy, save for the actual exit from the train tunnels into a waiting limousine. There would be a few uncomfortable minutes of waiting for Jackie to locate the limo and for him to get situated. After that, Kurt suspected the majority of the trip would be far harder. He snapped his suitcases shut, checking the locks twice before he was satisfied that they were properly secured. Before he left, he had to pay a final visit to Lady Anne. Circumstances as significant as these meant that not all of the communications could be taken care of before they had to leave for Calais.
Lady Anne was occupied in a rather heated argument with Dr. Dee, at least if Courtland could be believed, and Kurt saw no reason not to trust the man. He scribbled a message on a piece of stationary the Queen's assistant offered and bid his farewells. There was no time to stand on formality.
In another ten minutes, Jackie was steering a rental car onto the main road and heading for the south of London on the way to Dover. Their usual banter was gone, replaced by a strained silence that Kurt could not find a way to breach.
Jackie performed her duties as flawlessly as ever, but she could have been anyone at all, just a servant instead of his friend and lover. Everything she’d endured in the past had been overcome with ease, but the incident with Crowley’s degenerate Lupine had changed something inside her, a fragile ethereal element that was somehow integral to what made her the woman Kurt loved.
Much as he wanted to cross the distance that was growing between them, Kurt could find no words to make his sorrow known. Everything he considered fell short of saying what he wanted. Perhaps it was fear that kept him from speaking out, or maybe it was only embarrassment. Kurt could not say. He kept his best professional face in place, all the while feeling his heart fragment into splinters of ice.
For Jackie's part, her face too was expressionless. Even her normal muttered curses for the other drivers were gone. The silence was deafening. Honor demanded that he go to Vienna and stop the Tremere’s schemes. Duty to his clan and his sire had been his everything for the last few decades. But Kurt felt he was simply going through the motions. Everything that seemed important only two nights ago now seemed like a pathetic waste of time. He wanted to reach out to Jackie, to touch her and tell her that everything would be all right. Somehow the distance of a few feet seemed more like a thousand miles. He looked to the rearview mirror from his seat in the back of the car, hoping to catch a look at Jackie without her seeing him. Their eyes met in the shiny silver surface. Kurt looked away first.
The remaining time spent traveling to the Channel Tunnel in Dover was an eternity for Kurt. Learning that he was somehow unworthy of the woman he loved made the time stretch on for what felt like centuries.
The silence continued as they unloaded the rented sedan. The area was almost completely deserted, the only signs of life being an unconscious bum, a woman dressed in punker regalia talking on the pay phone and the lights from the terminal building where they would enter the Channel Tunnel. Kurt looked around, noting that even the bar, a quaint little place called The Slaughtered Dove, was closed for the night. Their train would leave in less than an hour at four a.m. Kurt wished for sounds, distractions to keep his mind from returning to the silence that separated him from Jackie. Sometimes wishes come true.
The quiet ended in a thunderous roar when the car exploded. Both of them were far enough away that the initial fireball did nothing more than singe their hair, but the shock wave threw Jackie across the street and slammed Kurt into the wall of the Slaughtered Dove hard enough to stun him. He was dimly aware of his arm shattering on impact with the ancient bricks and automatically started forcing his blood to the area, speeding the healing process.
On the other side of the street, Jackie stood shakily and stared at the remains of the rental car. A secondary explosion lifted the back half of the sedan off the ground and sent streamers of fire racing through the air and across the cobblestone pavement. A flaming shard of metal found the now-conscious bum and tore through the upper half of his skull, ending his life instantly. Jackie pointed past the car while calling out to Kurt, but her words were lost to the ringing noise that wailed in his skull, and he realized that his eardrums had ruptured as well.
He turned to where she was pointing and saw the punk girl walking towards him. Beside her walked a man who at first glance was terribly close to the description of Dr. Dee. The man’s gray-shot black hair was slicked back and framed an angular face with eyes only a few shades darker than his off-white skin. The dark gray London Fog suit and overcoat, as fine as any of Kurt’s, spoke of money and breeding, but his expression of raw arrogance detracted from what should have been a look of sophistication. Fear spiked through Kurt as he searched his memory for more details about Dee and lessened only when he decided that the man approaching could not be the Tremere elder unless he were disguised. Not likely; everything he’d read about the man said that Dee was too arrogant to hide behind another’s face. This man was cleanshaven; Dee sported a beard and mustache. The overly pale skin and the fact that he actually floated a bit off the ground made Kurt certain that he was a vampire, more likely than not a Tremere, but not Dr. Dee.
Next to him, a woman dressed more like a Brujah than a Tremere stepped forward. The only signs that she was indeed of the Tremere were the occult icons she wore on her person. In truth, Kurt had limited knowledge of what any of the symbols meant, but he felt safe in assuming that it would be the Tremere out to stop him on his quest. Black clothes and fingernails, along with fuchsia hair and too much makeup, finished her outfit, but could not hide the attractive woman underneath for all the attempts. Unlike her counterpart, she seemed to worry about a counter-attack from him.
Kurt had no doubt they were present for the express purpose of killing him. He tried to rise, but the damage to his ears sent the world spinning away when he tried to move. He once again shifted the blood in his body, forcing the vitae to regenerate the damage done to his ears. It took him a moment to realize that the woman had spoken. Kurt heard nothing and indicated as much with a gesture to his ears. She spoke again, this time in his mind: I've notified the police department about a car-bombing. If we'd wanted you dead, you would be a cinder inside the remains of your car. This is a warning: Do not attempt to follow llse Decameron. You are safe enough in England — the peace treaty between our clan and yours still stands, and we will do nothing to harm you. But if you proceed to the continent, our forces will destroy you.
With an effort, he forced himself to stand, cursing the vertigo that seized him. The pain caused by his knitting bones was almost enough to drive him over the edge. The man before him sneered and shoved him back. While the damage was less than it had been moments before, Kurt’s inner-ears were still out of order, and his balance was tenuous at best. He fell to the ground, growing angrier by the second. Punk girl said something that was only a mumble to Kurt’s ears, but her expression told him she was unhappy with what the man had done. Jackie stepped forward, limping, and pulled out an Ingram Mac-10 — and where the hell had she hidden that was a mystery to him — as she approached. From only ten feet away, she fired on the male vampire, smiling as his left shoulder exploded into pale red jelly and splinters of white bone.
The Dr. Dee doppelganger turned from Kurt and hissed at Jackie, and Kurt heard the garbled sound of her screams through his ruined ears. He turned to where Jackie stood, watching her face drain of color and grow ugly, twisted by mixed expressions of pain and terror. She fell backwards, striking her head on the cobblestones, and Kurt heard a muffled yet sickening crack as she landed. Her bo
dy spasmed, arms thrown above her head and legs spread wide. She thrashed and twitched, and Kurt growled as realization struck him. Somehow the warlock was making her relive the tortures she’d endured in Crowley’s dungeon. Jackie cried out, a thin anguished sound that wrenched Kurt’s heart, as her body moved in twisted parody of lust.
Kurt acted to end the battle before it could begin in earnest. He turned to face the Tremere again and grabbed the man’s arm to gain his attention. The warlock looked, and Kurt seized his mind in a last attempt to end the conflict quickly. Leave her alone! Leave here immediately! Kurt focused his will as he spoke with his mind and mouth simultaneously, forcing his thoughts and desires upon the mind of the man before him.
The man hesitated, fighting back against Kurt's effons to control him. The punk girl chose that moment to let Kurt
know he’d made a mistake in picking the man as his target. She spoke as she pointed one hand at him. Though the ringing had lessened substantially, Kurt still could not hear the words she said. Fire tore through his entire body, running rivers of lava that boiled from his chest through to the rest of his person and caused him to scream in agony. His skin blistered and scalding-hot blood ran from his mouth. His vision wavered and danced as the heat continued to increase and his mind gave in to the pain.
For just an instant, the bar, the people and the buildings around him faded to black. When next he could see, the world was painted in a thousand shades of crimson, and the Beast inside reared its ugly head, demanding retribution for the pain it suffered. Kurt felt the vibrations of a growl and only dimly realized the sound came from within him. Rational thought was gone, and in its place a killing machine came forward.
The man was first in his line of sight, still frozen by his battle with Kurt for dominance of his own mind. He was dimly aware that the Tremere warlock would have left if he could have pressed his advantage. The primitive, demanding force that ruled did not care. Blood-lust drove him past the pain to seek retribution. Kurt reached out with burned hands curled into claws and sank his fingers deep into the pale skin of the man's arrogant face. Skin ruptured like the flesh of a rotten orange, and rich red vitae spilled across his fingers as the bones of his enemy’s skull began to crumble under his assault. Kurt liked the way the man thrashed in pain.
