Clarice shuddered, and Victoria found she liked this large woman very little. The works on display separated the wheat from the chaff, and Clarice had been winnowed.
The Setite was clearly wheat, for when Victoria looked his way, she saw a thin smile divide his face. He also noted Clarice’s shivering reaction, and that apparently was what amused him. His eyes then darted to Victoria’s, and the two regarded one another momentarily. Victoria was suddenly glad that Rolph had told her the Setite would be visiting the city. She smiled coquettishly at the tall, straight and narrow man. To that, the man’s smile grew impossibly longer, as if his face might indeed split like a serpent’s.
Then Clarice was on top of Victoria again, and the exchange ended.
“He really ate his children?” she asked nervously.
Victoria was perturbed by this incessant prattle. “Yes,” she insisted firmly. “Just as we Kindred eat mortal children. Aren’t the parallels between art and reality refreshing and engaging?” With that Victoria stepped away decisively.
She swept her gaze around the room to find the Setite again, but he was under cover somewhere. Victoria adjusted the brooch on her right shoulder that was all that held her Grecian gown on her body, then reached into that garment’s pocket for her opera glasses. It was time not only to find the Setite, but also to see what else she was missing. Particularly the conversation between Thelonious and Benjamin Brown.
Monday, 21 June 1999, 10:51 PM
The High Museum of Art
Atlanta, Georgia
Victoria was the last to slip away from Count Ugolino and His Sons. The General was presumably still within the statue, because the new expression of delight remained. She glanced again at that face and once more sought significance in it. Was this another message concerning her mission tonight? In the end, she accepted it merely as the means by which two of her hopeful threesome came together, not that either of those men would be able to withhold their accusations for long.
She was much humored to discover the two black men—one Brujah, considered the clan of rebels, and one Ventrue, thought of as the clan of aristocrats, usually a volatile mixture but one brought together by a mutual disregard for Prince Benison—pondering the implications of the General’s mad display.
She watched the two men through her opera glasses from a position safe from discovery. The migration away from the General and the disruption the Malkavian’s display had caused in the first place granted Victoria time and cover enough to slip into a special cubicle she had prepared during set-up and construction. It was a small area about five feet by five feet, and perhaps eight feet high, that was surrounded by the opaque glass utilized throughout the larger chamber. Entry was quick and easy via one of the glass planes that doubled as a sliding door.
The potentially most important touch was the trapdoor on the floor. She expected to use the interior of the cubicle to safely view those outside it, but in case she feared discovery, Victoria could always slip down through the floor and then lock the trapdoor from beneath.
Now inside the small but ample area, Victoria could freely use her special glasses to pierce the shadow of the glass and view anyone attending the party who had not taken other precautions to remain unseen. On that count, Victoria was especially wary of Rolph, as even among Nosferatu Rolph was considered a master of his art. Victoria tried to keep an eye on Rolph, not with the expectation of actually seeing anything interesting, but more to deduce his actions by his physical omission. That is, when he disappeared, it was possible that he was still at the party, but attending to his or his clan’s goals more stealthily.
For the moment, though, Victoria was only concerned with Thelonious and Benjamin. These two men, along with the Brujah Archon Julius, figured intimately into her plans. The bright orange robe Thelonious wore was the first object to come into view in the Toreador’s opera glasses, and she adjusted the zoom and focus so she could clearly see the sides of both men’s faces. Lip reading was difficult, but hardly impossible.
Benjamin was saying, “Perhaps it’s that robe you’re wearing, Thelonious. It brings out the shaman in you.”
“If I were wearing my business suit, then I wouldn’t try to find messages in the General’s odd display?”
The two men eyed each warily and with a hint of threat as well. It was no wonder, as each thought the other had recently posed a threat. But Victoria knew they would speak despite her faked messages, especially when those threats came the night before Elysium presented the opportunity to inquire about or face down those threats.
Benjamin shrugged his shoulders and said, “Maybe. Maybe not. The madman’s behavior seems like nothing more than a Malkavian’s warped sensibilities being put in the open for our amusement.” Thelonious shook his head. “That’s just it. Why would he wish to entertain us?”
“It is a party.”
“That doesn’t matter to a Malkavian. It may be a party in this world, but not in the dark interiors of his addled mind. No, whether his performance actually means anything to us or not, I guarantee that it means something to the General.”
Victoria grew frustrated with this small talk. Either the two men knew one another better than Victoria realized—and that would probably only further her plans, so it didn’t concern her at all—or they were staging this small talk. Staging it to pass real messages by code, perhaps. None of that seemed right, and by widening the view her glasses allowed so she could read their body language as well as their lips, Victoria decided that they were both anxious to be about the business of an earnest discussion, but neither seemed certain how the other would receive a frank statement.
Victoria mouthed the words she hoped Benjamin would say. And either her powers had grown more than she imagined possible or Benjamin took the plunge on his own, because the Ventrue glanced about them and motioned Thelonious deeper into the alcove formed by the glass panes.
The Brujah squinted his eyes fiercely at the Ventrue, but he accepted the invitation and also said something Victoria missed. She quickly zoomed in on the pair so only their heads were displayed in the magnified field of the glasses. She caught more of the conversation.
Benjamin said, “I’m surprised you’re here tonight, Thelonious.”
The Brujah’s mild face grew a touch more hostile and he prepared to bark something, but the Ventrue cut him off.
“Obviously, you’re not frightened of the Prince. If I wished to insult you, then I would not do it so crudely. I am not a centuries-old Confederate soldier.” It wasn’t necessary, but Benjamin emphasized his obvious reference by a tilt of the head and a raised eyebrow. Thelonious and Victoria both understood he referred to Benison, not the General.
Thelonious’s features smoothed again, and the Brujah actually grinned, though only briefly. In her cubicle some distance away, Victoria smiled as she continued to eavesdrop. The real conversation was beginning.
Benjamin continued, “I don’t respond to blackmail.”
Thelonious cocked his head at this. He was caught a bit off-guard, but then he snapped, “Nor do I.”
It was Benjamin’s turn to be taken aback.
This was great fun and very revealing for Victoria, for she knew the basis upon which both of these men spoke. If everything worked according to plan, then these would be her remaining rivals in Atlanta, so any clue to their methods was a boon to her future.
The Ventrue said, “But you expect others to be swayed by such strong-arm tactics? I must say I’m disappointed, Thelonious. I thought you were less typically Brujah.”
Thelonious chuckled, “Typically Brujah’? How typically Ventrue.”
“Nevertheless, I remain disturbed by your tactics.”
The Brujah said, “Our difference, then, is that I’m not surprised by your tactics.”
Benjamin gritted his teeth and said, “Is there something unusual about using the protection of Elysium to confront you? Elysium may be a concept invented by and for elders more than Anarchs, but your presence her
e tonight, in spite of the Prince’s efforts against you, reveals your faith in this convention as well.”
“No, there’s no shame in Elysium. The integrity of your offer, on the other hand, is disputable.”
“My offer? Is that how you wish to view the matter? Your letter didn’t give me any indication—”
“My letter?” Thelonious interrupted.
“Yes, your let—”
Thelonious interrupted again, “You mean your—”
Stop interrupting me!” Benjamin hissed. But then he recovered as Thelonious’s words registered. “Mine?”
And at the same time, the Ventrue and the Brujah took their eyes off one another and looked out the open end of the alcove. Victoria imagined they could be brothers, they were acting so similarly. She wasn’t sure yet whether that was to her advantage or not.
She continued to watch them, safe from their dread gazes. Or so she hoped. And so it seemed.
They reappraised one another when their eyes locked again.
Thelonious said, “I take it you didn’t send—”
“No, nor did you?”
The Brujah asked, “So who then?”
“I don’t know,” admitted the Ventrue. “Nor do I know whether this trick was meant to unite or divide us.”
Thelonious seemed puzzled. “To divide us, I presume.”
Benjamin pointed out, “On the eve of an affair at Elysium? Might we not possibly have a discussion and revelation exactly like the one we’re having now?”
Victoria grinned in appreciation. Perhaps Benjamin was the deeper thinker.
Thelonious nodded his agreement.
Gasps suddenly rang out from Kindred near the entrance of the party chamber, and Victoria reflexively turned to look that way. The great doors of Heaven and Hell were swinging open simultaneously. Such was the clamor caused by the four great doors opening at once, that everyone near the entrance turned to behold the source of the commotion.
part three:
the eye
Monday, 21 June 1999, 11:12 PM
The High Museum of Art
Atlanta, Georgia
Backlit by the light from the outer chamber, which outshone the diffuse light spread by the spotlights focused on the sculptures, the figure in the open doors crafted by Rodin was revealed in silhouette to be a woman, or at least it was a thin-boned person with pleats of piled hair and outfitted in a great hoop dress. The outline of the man backlit as he stood in the open doorway of The Ten Commandments should have been dwarfed by the awesome creation, and though the man was truly not a giant and stood only some few inches over six feet tall, J. Benison Hodge, Prince J. Benison Hodge, projected so powerful an aura that no mere portal could overwhelm him.
Victoria cursed. A few moments more and she might have learned much of how her unknowing allies would proceed. As it was, she took advantage of the commotion to slip back out of her hidden room and move toward the doors.
The drama of the arrival rippled through the ranks of the assembled Kindred. As both the Prince and his wife stepped forward, Victoria found that she needed to steady herself against the dizziness that tickled her head. Both these Kindred were such potent presences—the Prince powerful and commanding, his wife lovely and radiant with something other than physical beauty—that her struggle to attend to them both was impossible. They each demanded—no, deserved—her full attention. And even though Victoria knew the instinct to deify them both thus was an effect they purposefully created with their Kindred powers, it was hard to resist.
Finally recovering for a moment, she looked around and to her amusement saw that she was resisting far better than most. Clarice and Cyndy were particularly obsequious as they practically threw themselves on the floor in an attempt to show proper respect and worship for these two godlings. Others, like Javic, Rolph and even Thelonious, showed the strain of resisting. Most interesting to Victoria was the Setite’s response. He seemed not to flinch or quiver, and perhaps straightened himself to appear even taller.
When Eleanor revealed herself completely by gliding into the direct light, Victoria shuddered. The Toreador did not like to admit she possessed an enemy so much her equal, and even superior. Perhaps Eleanor was not quite as beautiful as Victoria, but the Toreador knew any actual physical shortcomings—and they were few indeed, for the woman was delicately crafted and boasted exquisite qualities that left men speechless, such as her milky pale skin, her glittering green eyes, her high, regal cheekbones—were more than compensated by phenomenal control over many of the disciplines of Kindred power that Victoria too possessed.
Where Victoria might used her beauty to snare even wary men, Eleanor could enhance her beauty to enrapture men, and even women, who considered her their enemy. In fact, Victoria wondered how it was that she herself remained safe from this insidious effect she’d personally witnessed infecting Kindred whose hatred for the Prince’s wife was well known to Victoria.
For in truth, no one could hate the Prince and not also despise Eleanor. She was obviously an equal partner in the relationship, and that meant she ruled equally, though the Prince was known to make rash decisions over which Eleanor presumably had no sway or council. They were so patently opposite yet so perfectly suited for one another: He a cunning American land-owner with ambitions of royalty, and she a noblewoman with ambitions of power. Both had achieved their dreams, and both were fantastically powerful.
When the Prince strode full into the light, by contrast, there were no revelations beyond what the silhouette impression had conveyed. He was powerfully built with a bull chest and long, thick arms and legs. His hair was long and auburn, and he wore a full beard that with his generous mustache and bushy eyebrows swamped his face. He was very forthcoming when the conversation concerned himself, so Victoria had learned some time ago that he was Embraced when in his mid-thirties, yet the touches of gray in his hair, his receding hairline and a barrel-chested body just slightly relenting to a thick waist revealed to Victoria that he must have lived a hard life as a Confederate soldier those many years ago.
Nevertheless, as now, there could be great kindness in his face. When he smiled thusly and had good color in his face, he seemed like a Kris Kringle before age had brought snow-white hair. Victoria doubted there were any present who had not also seen their Prince fully in the grip of his great and sudden rage. Victoria momentarily pictured an enraged Benison in her mind, but the image was too terrible, so she instead dwelt upon the beneficence of the present incarnation of the man.
As those two impressive individuals continued their slow entrance into the room, a pair of Caitiffs that Victoria barely recognized as Grant and Fingers had the misfortune of stepping into view through the still-open doorway of The Gates of Hell. While the two men seemed strong and capable individuals, they looked so ordinary and feeble in the radiance of their Elders that their intrigued gawking was comical.
Thelonious was the first to laugh, but then he was probably looking for any legitimate excuse to embarrass the Prince. Prince Benison’s eyes flew wide in shock and hatred, and Victoria wilted before the heat of the very transformation she had denied in her imagination only an instant before. The collision of reality and her thoughts made the Prince’s terrible rage even more frightening.
The color rushed from Benison’s face, revealing a whole host of scars across his forehead and eyes. His cheeks fell in, his eyes seemed to shrivel into their sockets, and his massively bearded jaw clamped with great force. The effect was that of seeing a humble, kindly man suddenly transformed into something more akin to the Prince’s true existence—something that sought revenge from beyond the grave.
“You dare!” he exclaimed loudly. One of his large hands curled into a sledgehammer fist that pounded once, then twice into the open palm of the other hand. “You dare show yourself before me!” he continued. It was not a question, but a statement, pronouncement of doom.
Victoria was delighted to hear it, for it meant the Prince was indeed on the edge this e
vening, probably anxious because Julius would be present, and that would make her work simpler.
Despite himself, Thelonious shrank at the challenge. He was frozen in his tracks like doomed prey, and the Prince’s swift verbal assault seemed certain prelude to annihilation.
Until Victoria intervened. She stepped close to Benison and said, “Great Prince, please do not forget that the law of Elysium holds sway here because you yourself have declared it to be so.”
Benison glowered at her, and it took every ounce of Victoria’s will and the fortification of the desire to see her plans to fruition to withstand the incendiary presence of the Prince.
“I revoke my declaration,” he snarled.
Victoria took a half-step back. She needed to keep the peace until all the elements were present, and Julius, the Justicar’s envoy, had not yet arrived. On the other hand, she did not wish to put herself in the path of the Prince’s anger, and she did not desire him to feel that she played any part greater than that required of a concerned primogen and the hostess of this party to stay his hand.
Victoria looked to Eleanor for help, but the Prince’s so-called wife had her deadly gaze full upon Thelonious as well. There was no alliance between this Ventrue—the Ventrue primogen—and the Brujah primogen. Some Kindred suggested that it was her hatred of the clan that prompted Benison’s savage attacks.
As the Toreador considered what to do next, she saw the two Caitiff slip around the angry scene and join the crowd of spectators. It might be that the Prince had not seen them earlier and would not know where he might seek revenge for Thelonious’s laughter.
Then Victoria stepped close to the Prince again and whispered so only he and others of extraordinary auditory abilities might hear her. She said, “Please, great Prince, I worry for your safety on this night that Julius, the Brujah archon, visits. But, of course, you know best how to handle such tricky and political situations.”
Clan Novel Toreador: Book 1 of The Clan Novel Saga Page 13
