When Worlds Collide (complete)

[Gabriel Rodermark]

It had been a week since I had last heard from Sansa Martin. An entire week. I had been so busy with affairs of the City that, at first, I had scarcely noticed the passing of time, yet as the days wore on I began to grow perplexed. The blood bond that I had created between us was one that would allow barely a day to pass without her craving my presence, and in spite of this she had made no efforts to contact me. You may call me whatever names you wish, but even then I knew that something was wrong.

I decided that I would wait no longer and investigate the matter, if only to quiet my growing anxiety. It wasn't especially late in the evening but, being winter, it was dark already. As I pulled up outside the steps to Sansa's flat I saw no lights within the windows. I frowned slightly, though rationalized that she might have been out 'clubbing' with the as of yet illusive Emilie. I gave a knock on the door, then turned to look up and down the length of the street, seeing signs of life in the houses around. A few moments passed. I looked down and saw, oddly, a bundle of post sticking out of the letter box. Again, I knocked, only this time the door swung inwards very slightly. It had been open already. I gave the wood a gentle push and stepped over the threshold, calling into the darkened hallway: “Sansa?”

There was no reply. Stealing another furtive glance into the street, I slipped inside, though did not close the door behind me, only moving it so that it would appear so to anyone passing by. “Sansa?” My voice was louder this time. The blood in me radiated a presence that would be irresistible to any inside, yet I felt no signs of life. I was right. Something was wrong.

[Rod Stafford]

A month ago, Sansa invited Rod to visit her in London. She had given her address to him and scribbled some directions in pencil onto the back of a Chinese takeaway menu. They agreed on a date and time, only to make alterations to the schedule two weeks ago on the phone and Rod arrived at London Euston station three hours ago.

Now he stood under a canopy outside a small restraunt called Louis's Table. He was late. He'd taken refuge under the canopy from a sudden shower and had since been asking passers-by for directions. The takeaway menu got drenched in the rain as he inspected it and the instructions became too difficult to read. He knew he was nearby and had fortunately, memorised the name of her street.

It seemed that everyone in London was a tourist because noone seemed to know where anywhere was. Most people avoided making eye contact with Rod. He wore a plum-coloured velour jacket, beneath which there was a silk zebra shirt; it failed to cover his belly button and exposed a silver skull belt buckle. He had an enormous pair of navy blue tweed trousers and a tiny pair of crimson-tinted rectangular sunglasses. On his head there was a black and white zig-zagged bucket hat, around his neck a loose white tie and on his wrists he had sparkly bling. He came to London dressed to impress. He wore Sketchers.

In the end, he gave up asking for directions and flagged a cab. He scarmbled inside, and fell into the backseat with his big red rucksack clamped between his knees. He repeated the address to the taxi driver but carefully instructed him to drop him off in the neighbouring street. He didn't want Sansa to find out he got lost, after all. From his rucksack he took a small flask filled with chicken soup and unscrewed the cap. The taxi driver grunted a reprimand and with great sadness, Rod sealed the steaming flask.

Something about the taxi driver made Rod question whether or not he'd conned him out of some money. The numbers on the meter did not add up: "What the hell is 97.4FM anyway?" he wondered. Deflated, Rod paid the driver and scooted out onto the pavement. Not wasting a second, he unscrewed his flask again and slurped at his soup as he made his way to the next street.

Orange streetlights flickered to life overhead, making it easier to see the house numbers. Rod crossed the empty road and mumbled the number of Sansa's flat over and over in between soup slurps.

"Ah! Here we are."

He came to a stop outside number one hundred and forty-three and looked up. It was a nice looking, old fashioned building. He stepped forward to knock on the door when he noticed it was slightly ajar. He looked down. There was mail sticking out of the letter box. He took it in his hand and pulled it out. The letter box clanged shut. A quick shrug to secure his rucksack in place and Rod gently pushed the door forward. There were no lights on inside.

"Hello?" he called, "Sansa? You forgot to take in your mail. Hellooo?"

[Gabriel Rodermark]

It became quickly apparent that the flat was deserted. I could smell Sansa, but somehow knew that she had not been here for some time. My premonition of some wrong-doing grew stronger, as I began to think that I could taste blood on the air. I followed the scent, my body growing tense at the thought of what I might find, and was about to enter the kitchen when I heard another voice. I froze for a moment. “Hello?”

Turning, I walked slowly out towards the entrance hall. Yellow light was spilling in from outside, framing a lanky figure in the doorway. I strode forwards, the light now bathing me in its sickly glow too. For a moment, I was unsure of what to say, though remained outwardly calm.

“You must be a friend of Sansa's,” I said, as I casually studied the man – boy – stood in front of me. There was something odd about him, beside his Malkavian sense of fashion. “I'm not sure where she is... I got here a couple of minutes ago and the front door was open.”

[Rod Stafford]

Rod tensed up and immediately straightened his posture in the presence of the stranger. Behind his glasses, he gauged him with apprehension. He knew Sansa too, and Rod didn't recall her mentioning sharing her home with a man. Maybe she did.

"You..." He hesitated, and added curiously, "Live with her here?"

[Gabriel Rodermark]

“Oh, no. No. I'm just... a friend. Gabriel.” I did not expect that she would have mentioned me to many, if any, of her friends, but I thought that a name might be useful none the less. It seemed that whoever this mortal was, he had not visited Sansa within the last month or so, or he would have known that it was Emilie, not I, with whom she shared her home.

“You wouldn't happen to know where she is, would you? Only I'm somewhat worried, what with arriving to find the house unlocked and deserted,” I continued, glancing from the hallway into the living room – there were no signs of struggle or burglary. “It's... rather suspicious.”

[Rod Stafford]

"Maybe she just nipped out for a... pint of milk or something. She might've just forgot to lock the door," Rod said with uncertainty.

Gabriel was distracted but Rod managed to catch his eye and offer him a polite smile.

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. Oh! Rod Stafford..."

He looked down at his hands. Awkwardly, he put the letters between his teeth and swapped the hot flask from his right hand into his left. He offered Gabriel his hand and smiled sheepishly behind the letters.

"Preashed shoo meesh shoo."

[Gabriel Rodermark]

“Rod, good to meet you.” I accepted the handshake firmly and returned the smile.

“Yes, perhaps you're right.” For a moment I considered the possibility that my suspicion was unfounded, that I had become jaded by centuries of immersion in Kindred society. It was difficult not to expect the worst, knowing the things that I knew, but I felt that in this case my anxiety was not baseless. I could still smell blood, if only faintly.

“Why don't you have a seat,” I nodded towards the sitting room. “You look like you could do with getting the weight off your feet. I'll get us a drink while we wait.” I smiled expectantly and began to turn, eager to investigate the kitchen.

[Rod Stafford]

Rod nodded his thanks and closed the door slightly with his foot. Even in the dark corridoor he could tell that Gabriel was a little shorter than him, which made his chest swell a little. He watched him wander off down the hall, thoughts of who he was and what he meant to Sansa lingered, then he entered the living room. There was a thud as his foot hit something. He grumbled.

A rucksack strap slid from one arm then the other. His rucksack landed on the carpet next to a couch. He ran his hand along the wall near the door and found the light switch. The room lit up and Rod squinted. It was a humble room but cozy. There was a coffee table at his side, that was what he had kicked. He took the letters from his mouth and placed them on the table.

"Would you like a hand, Gabriel?" He called out, before flopping onto the couch.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

I moved quickly down the hall, feeling drawn by the blood. Reaching the kitchen door, I opened and closed it in one movement. The light isn't on, of course, but I can see perfectly in the dark and my eyes fall immediately onto the table in the center of the room.

It was the first time I had ever met Emilie, and she was naked – naked and tied to the kitchen table with razor-wire. Her skin was covered in bruises and bore the tell-tale marks of a Cainite bite. Her arms and legs were spread wide, each bound to one of the four legs of the table.

I heard Rod's voice.

“A hand?” I was transfixed by what I saw in front of me. “No, no, I'm fine thanks.”

I took a cautious step forwards and saw that the tissue around her mouth had been mutilated; the skin stretched unnaturally in stringy lines across what had once been her mouth. There were no longer any lips, merely a ragged hole that someone had haphazardly tried to sew shut. It was the mark of the Tzimisce.

I closed my eyes. This could only mean one thing. I removed the cell phone in my jacket pocket and hit speed dial four – Roland Salisbury, the Ventrue Primogen.

[Rod Stafford]

The couch was cream-coloured and full of big cushions. Rod allowed himself to slide back in the seat until he was comfortable. He stretched, limbs reaching out in all directions, and he groaned loudly. His eyes wearily took in their new surroundings; there was a TV in the corner of the room but he didn't dare go near it, a large mirror hung above the fireplace, and a telephone sat on a second coffee table.

Rod leaned forward and tucked his flask of chicken soup back into his rucksack. He figured he wouldn't need it since Gabriel was fixing them up a drink. He was taking a while in the kitchen, Rod thought, but he put it down to it being Grabriel's first time in Sansa's home. He hoped.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

I pressed the cell between my shoulder and my ear and edged around the kitchen table to the sink, picking up a couple of glasses from the draining board. I let the water run and listened to the sound of the ringing in my ears. It suddenly ceased, and there was a click.

“Hello? Roland?”

“Gabriel.” The voice on the other end sounded as if it was smiling.

“I need a clean-up team.”

I told him my location, while filling the two glasses with cold water.

“Yes... come in through the back door. The houses are terraced, there's a walled yard at the back.”

I turned the tap off. “There's only one body, but it's not going to be a quick job. Tell them to be quiet – there's a mortal here. Yes, I'm keeping him occupied. Okay. I've got to go.”

Without another word, I ended the call and slid the phone back into my jacket. Turning I spotted a bottle of cordial on the bench and splashed both glasses with a little before returning to Rod, and the newly illuminated sitting room.

“Hope orange is alright,” I smiled, seamlessly calm, intent on upholding the Masquerade. Looking Rod over again, I noted the huge rucksack at his feet. “Been doing a lot of travelling lately?”

[Rod Stafford]

"Here and there," Rod answered and accepted the drink from him.

"Cheers, mate. Yeah, my home is in Liverpool but I don't spend a lot of time there. I like to get around and meet new people. Just like now."

He smiled at Gabriel. Now that they were both no longer in darkness, he could see that Gabriel was a handsome man and he felt himself go tense and straighten up again. He cleared his throat and spoke a fraction deeper.

"So, did you and Sansa have plans for tonight? I don't want to... intrude or anything. I am late after all."

He gulped at his orange juice and glanced out through the living room window into the street.

"I wonder where she could be."

[Gabriel Rodermark]

“I was in the area, on the way home from work, and I thought I'd just drop in to say hello.”

My eyes followed Rod's out to the dark street. I wondered how long it would take the Ventrue to arrive. The sooner they got here, the sooner I could leave. Sansa's safety weighed heavily on my mind and I felt a pang of guilt as I looked back towards Rod, this friend of hers, perhaps a friend of Emilie's too.

“Was she expecting you? I don't remember her mentioning anyone coming to stay.”

The last thing that I wanted to do was sit making small talk with him, knowing that Sansa could be in the hands of the Sabbat at this very moment, but I had no choice.

[Rod Stafford]

"I was supposed to arrive just over an hour ago. I met Sansa in Liverpool last month, she and her friends had come to watch the Liverpool and Man United match. She invited me to come down here for the weekend."

He was staring down into his glass when he suddenly got an idea. He looked up at Gabriel expectantly and shimmied to the other side of the couch to grab the telephone reciever.

"Hey, do you have Sansa's moveable phone number?"

[Gabriel Rodermark]

I stifled a laugh. “Why didn't I think of that earlier? Of course...”

I dipped my hand into my pocket, retrieving the cell again. The display lit up and I cycled through the phone book... Leavis, Legard, LeRoux, Martin. I held the handset out to Rod. “Here you go,” I smiled. I have to confess that I did, for a fleeting moment, feel positive about the idea, the prospect that she might answer and laugh in embarrassment down the line at what she'd done – but I knew that wouldn't be the case.

[Rod Stafford]

Rod thumbed the keys in sequence with some difficulty, he dialed her number slowly then held the reciever close to his ear when it started to ring. He glanced across the room at Gabriel, he was checking his watch. The ringing stopped and Rod heard a woman's voice.

"Hello, could I speak to Sansa, please?" he asked.

His eyes narrowed and he listened harder. She was saying something about voicemail.

"Hello? Can you hear me? I'd like to speak to Sansa. Hello?"

Irritably, he pulled the reciever away from his ear and offered it to Gabriel.

"Here, you try. This woman just isn't listening to me."

[Gabriel Rodermark]

I got to my feet and took the receiver. The voice on the other end of the line was the automated voice mail service.

“Yes, it's her-...” Abruptly, the voice was cut off. In its place I could hear the far-off sound of traffic. Someone, or something, grunted. “Yer?”

I frowned, looking up at Rod. “Who is this?”

“What's it ta you, eh,” the voice slurred, interrupted by a hiccup. I had to pull the receiver away, the voice was too loud. “You... you called me!” it accused.

“Where did you find this phone?”

“Where... what?! Always had this thing, me. Since I was a bairn. Me old... mum, she give us...”

The voice trailed off. There was another grunt, followed by a loud belch, and then a clattering that I could only guess was the phone falling to the floor. Muffled, I could here the inane rambling carrying on.

“Either she dropped her phone, or someone has taken it from her,” I explained, not yet hanging up. “Some... drunk has it.”

[Rod Stafford]

Rod felt suddenly cold. He threw off his hat and glasses and stood, wide-eyed. He extended his hand, wishing to be handed the telephone.

"We need to hang up. Quick! Pass me the phone so we can call the police."

[Gabriel Rodermark]

I did as Rod asked, slightly taken aback as he sprung to his feet. Getting the police involved was not a good idea. Not only would it compromise the security of the Masquerade, but the mortal law enforcement would put up a pitiful fight against the brunt of the Sabbat. Thankfully, the police were a largely inept group and would not make any immediate response to the call, refusing to act on any missing persons report until after a number of days had passed. In that time, Salisbury and the others would be able to erase all knowledge of the call ever having been placed.

As Rod dialed out once again, I felt a slight prickle on the back of my neck and a brief compulsion to leave the room. It was the work of the Ventrue, exuding Presence so that I was aware of their arrival. The pull was strong, enough that I could tell that Roland had come with them. I listened, in the quiet, for any noise that they might make.

“I hope nothing has happened to her...”

[Rod Stafford]

"Hello, my friend seems to have gone missing from her home, a drunk has her moveable phone and we don't know where to find her. Can you help, please?"

The woman on the end of the line asked Rod to slowly explain what had happened and he did; he told her about the open door and the abandoned letters, about meeting Gabriel and calling her phone. She instructed him to remain calm and quickly search the house for any signs of a burglary and to keep an eye open for any notes or messages.

"Messages?"

"Anything to make sure that you're not overreacting; check tables, the fridge door, her bedside, anywhere she might've left some clue as to where she was going. I'll stay on the line for you," she said in a well-rehearsed voice.

"Okay, I'll do that now. Thank you."

He placed the reciever on its side and stood. He looked at Gabriel.

"We need to do a quick search of the house. Look for any messages or signs of a burglary."

He hurried into the corridoor.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

There was no time to protest. Rod had sprung up once again, and as quick as a flash he was out in the hallway. His panic was only natural, of course, but not helping. I followed quickly and had been able to, finally, exert my own ability to gain some control over him, when I heard a door swinging open. He had gone to the kitchen first.

Inside, the Ventrue – all dressed in black – were in the process of removing the body of Emilie. There were nine of them in total. Four were carrying the body, another four were beginning the clean-up job. The last, evidently the one in charge, was overseeing the operation. As the door opened, he turned, expecting to see the Prince of London, but instead seeing some pauper. A mortal.

“Stop,” he commanded, an order Rod would have found impossible to deny. “Listen to me...”

As he spoke, it seemed as if there were a hundred voices speaking, all of them whispering into Rod's mind. They all espoused just how important this man was, and how whatever he said must surely be fascinating and that to ignore him would be foolish.

“What is your name?”

His voice seemed to penetrate Rod's mind, as if shining undeniably light on the truth within.

[Rod Stafford]

Rod suddenly choked back his coughing and spluttering. He was immediately calm and still. His eyes glistened from the pungent stench festering in the kitchen but he couldn't bring himself to rub them. His stinging eyes remained fixed on the stranger across the room, he found himself lost in his eyes. He answered his question.

"My name is René Galanis."

[Gabriel Rodermark]

As I rounded the hallway to the kitchen door, I saw Rod frozen there. I paced carefully behind him and saw, over his shoulder, Roland standing in the darkness, a coterie of Kindred scurrying about behind him. Salisbury was a no nonsense kind of man, and had gotten to the point immediately. I heard him question Rod, who confessed that his name was in fact René Galanis – not exactly a common name in Liverpool.

“Tell me about yourself, René,” Roland continued. Though it appeared to Rod that he was still staring directly forwards, his eyes had shifted to the face of Gabriel, shrouded in darkness. When his lips moved again, they made no sound to the entranced Galanis.

“Sir,” he nodded. “I take it he arrived after you did?”

“Yes... he was in the sitting room when I called you. He's a friend of the girls.”

[Rod Stafford]

"I was born in Leicester in eleven eighty-seven. My mother was a Christian spy from France. My father was Greek and worked for the Order of Hermes. When I was nine years old, my father took me to Greece. I lived in Athens and studied with my uncle..."

Sedated and trapped beneath his own flesh, Rod couldn't even feel his lips move. His words sounded like a distant echo. He'd felt like this before. The dark figures fumbled with the rotten corpse on the table, unbinding its limbs. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

There was a moment of stillness. Even the Ventrue working at disposing of the body seemed to be aware that something unusual had just happened. Roland and I exchanged glances, as I slipped past the frozen mortal into the kitchen with the others.

“The Order of Hermes...” The progenitors of Clan Tremere, once House Tremere. 'Rod' had gone from awkward Liverpudlian to Athenian Mage in a matter of seconds. Suddenly his eccentricity seemed far less perplexing.

“What do you want to do, sir?” Salisbury asked.

“Release him.”

[Rod Stafford]

There was a great flash of red light and a thunderous boom. Three of the kindred's lackeys were blasted through the kitchen window into the back yard, two others were thrown through the back door to join them. Rod threw himself upon Gabriel, his face a twisted visage of fury.

"What have you done with Sansa, beast?"

[Gabriel Rodermark]

“I have done nothing!” Gabriel's eyes seemed to flash in the darkness, his kindred blood causing his gaze to instill in Rod a sudden dread. Roland lurched forwards, meaning to seize the Mage physically, but drew back at Rodermark's expression: there was genuine anger in it. None the less, he began to apply his influence over the Hermites will once again, intending to Dominate any further outbursts.

Behind Roland, the Ventrue were picking themselves up off the floor, casting anxious glances left and right as neighbors would doubtlessly have heard the shattering glass. The situation had taken an unexpected turn, and not for the better.

“Your help is not needed here, Mage,” Roland intoned, in the absence of any word from Gabriel: “She has been taken by a foe beyond your power.”

[Rod Stafford]

"I will not suffer the guidance of a wretched cainite. Be silent!" he barked.

His fingers were still tightly wrapped around Gabriel's smart clothes. Their faces were close. He panted heavily, feeling the effects of the vampire's fierce gaze, but he wouldn't let go. There was something stopping him from touching the magical tapestries. He tasted the foul decay in the air and snarled.

"Who is the corpse?"

[Gabriel Rodermark]

“Miss Martin's flatmate,” Roland explained, as he retrieved a flip phone from his pocket and began to dial out. The body had been dropped: the Mage's handiwork. The Ventrue carried on regardless, as Salisbury asked calmly for another coterie to be dispatched, citing 'unexpected variables' that needed to be dealt with.

Gabriel had yet to move, though he spoke at last: “I understand your anger, but there is no way you can help her now... I will see to her safety.”

[Rod Stafford]

The vampire was so calm and Rod had to wonder if this was another one of his mind tricks. Another deception. He hated the way Gabriel assumed he had some exclusive right to her. I will see to her safety.

"I did not come to London to be given orders. I came for Sansa, and I won't stand idly by and let her become a plaything for the immortals."

He was still angry but his aggression diminished. There were greater things at stake than his feud with the kindred. They were organised and influencial. Clearly, they had a significant presence in the city and they would find Sansa before he could. He wouldn't leave her to the whims of monsters. He relinquished his hold on Gabriel and took a step back.

"Take me with you."

[Gabriel Rodermark]

It looked as if Gabriel was about to say something, but restrained himself.

Or what, I wanted to ask? What would he do? Who was this Mage to demand I took him anywhere in my city? The flare of anger had clouded my mind, if only for a moment. I felt a surge of pride, as if Sansa's protection was my sole responsibility. Her blood ran so deeply in my veins; it was bringing out a naive bravado. I caught myself before I blurted out anything foolish. Roland, who was still on the phone and apparently oblivious to the severity of the situation, caught my eye. He nodded, indicating the more Kindred were on the way, then held his hand over the receiver of the cell.

“With all due respect, Mr. Galanis... you are no match for even one tame vampire - a rabid pack of Tzimisce would tear you to ribbons faster than you could say Ars Magica. I'm sure that Miss Martin would be happier to see you alive, at the end of all this, than hear you died in a vain quest to save her.”

[Rod Stafford]

"Tell me, immortal," Rod said, his eyes were still fixed upon Gabriel. He knew who was in charge.

"Have you ever heard of the Massasa War?" he didn't pause, "Of course, you have. More cainites have been slain by my hand than you'd care to imagine. I am no stranger to war with the kindred and I daresay, you will find me useful."

The burning look from Gabriel's eyes gave Rod chills. He could jump him at anytime. They all could, and he would die. But he would not grant the fiends the satisfaction of seeing him afraid.

"Take me with you. Please."

[Gabriel Rodermark]

I considered the request in silence. Roland had ended his phone call, so the only sound was the soft shuffling footsteps of the Ventrue, barely audible. The Sabbat had a sorcerer of their own, a Tremere who had betrayed his clan and in doing so gained access to arcane magicks beyond the realm of Camarilla knowledge. He was the Archbishop's wildcard; this Mage would be mine.

“You may come with us... on the grounds that you respect our wishes. This is an affair of the Kindred, and the rescue will be made on our terms.”

There was a buzzing. Roland glanced down; it was the pager in his pocket. He read the screen, then looked up over the top of his dark glasses at Gabriel. “I don't mean to interrupt, sir, but it would be best if we all vacated the premises A.S.A.P. The police are on the way. Some of the boys will stay behind to set things straight. We can head back to the haven and take a closer look at that body.”

He watched the Prince expectantly, while Gabriel in turn looked to Rod, waiting for an agreement to be made.

[Rod Stafford]

"My sole concern is that Sansa returns safely home," he answered, resolute.

In the moment of silence, he heard the distant siren of a police car. He nodded.

"I will respect your wishes and assist you to the best of my ability."

[Gabriel Rodermark]

“Alright – let's go.”

Their various belongings gathered up, the trio exited through the back door of the flat. In the street behind the house, two sleek black cars were already waiting when another pulled up to the curb. A group of Ventrue filled out calmly, some dressed in Metropolitan Police uniforms. The doors were left open, and Roland slid into the front passenger seat, immediately entering into conversation with the driver, receiving various status reports.

Gabriel and Rod took their seats in the back, with Rod's rucksack taking up a large portion of the space. As the doors clicked closed, the car pulled away smoothly. The vehicles lights were turned off, though the driver did not seem at all affected by the fact.

“No word from any of the others, sir,” Roland said over his shoulder. “Or at least, nothing worth noting. No one has heard from Saul yet, though I'm sure that if he had uncovered anything you would have heard by now.”

Gabriel nodded slowly, his eyes wandering to the night scenes passing by the car window: the sickly lights of lamp-posts and bus-shelters; the occasional lone shadow sloping through the gloom. He glanced forwards and saw in the rear view mirror that another car was following them, doubtlessly bringing Emilie's body with them.

“I didn't mean for her to get involved in any of this, René,” he said, shaking his head slowly.

[Rod Stafford]

When Gabriel used his real name, Rod's jaw clenched. The fact that a vampire was privy to such private information infuriated him. He stared out of the car window into the street instead of looking at the creature when they talked. He scoffed.

"I'm sure your intentions were noble and good."

An ugly side was surfacing within Rod. He was angry that Gabriel had entangled Sansa in a kindred feud but that wasn't all that fueled his resentment of the man. He hated his voice. He hated his authority. He hated his followers. He hated his good looks. He hated his cars. He hated that he had Sansa's phone number.

"Why did you get her involved in this?"

[Gabriel Rodermark]

“I didn't. We enjoyed one another's company, that was all. I spoke to no one of my... relationship with her. I'm at a loss as to how the Sabbat could have linked us together.”

When I said that I had been quiet about my association with Sansa, I was not lying. There was not a single soul in the city aware of the time we were spending together, with the exception of the Ventrue Primogen. The other Primogen were aware of the girls existence, and that I had met with her to ensure that her memories of the Barbican were sufficiently altered, but that was it. There was absolutely no one else that could have known.

[Rod Stafford]

Rod irritably glanced about the car's interior while Gabriel spoke. The smell of new leather hung in the air. The man in the passenger seat talking low and gesturing with a gloved hand. He still wore those dark glasses. Then he remembered his own glasses and hat back at the house and hoped the vampires didn't miss them on their clean-up.

"What I meant was: Don't you have any pretty vampire girls to keep you company? Sansa isn't exactly capable of defending herself from your kind and now she's probably..."

He cut himself off. His teeth clamped shut and a balled fist lashed out and thumped his rucksack. It toppled to one side, taking up more room.

"You're all the same and you've never changed. You're so presumptuous to think that mortals are there just for you so you can do whatever you want with them and they're none the wiser."

He thumped his rucksack harder and it rattled. He shook his head.

"Fecking vampires."

[Gabriel Rodermark]

“You know nothing of me.” I waved a dismissive hand, glancing back into the car into briefly, a frown pressing my brow: “...I didn't bring you with us to be lectured, so spare me your moral posturing.”

[Rod Stafford]

It took a great deal of willpower for Rod to be silent but he knew it was in his best interests to do so. He felt a prickly sensation in his neck and his face felt warm. Gabriel kept himself so calm and it made Rod think about his place in the world of the kindred. He glanced at him then looked outside the window once more.

A long silence followed. Rod watched with growing interested the sights that passed by outside the window, eager to remember where the car took him. The people walking the streets were completely oblivious to the world that existed right before their eyes, hidden by a thin veil of secrecy and manipulation. He was impressed with the degree of sophistication with which vampires maintained the Masquerade. He thought about Sansa and where she could be while staring absently into the street.

"How did you meet her?"

[Gabriel Rodermark]

“At the Barbican Art Gallery. Our annual New Year's Eve party was held there this year. Someone arrived with Sansa as their guest for the evening... she was the only mortal present. Just before midnight, the Sabbat attacked. I took responsibility for Sansa and her safety, ensuring that she was not seen by and did not see those attacking. It wasn't my intention, initially, to continue seeing her. It just... happened that way.”

As the car rolled on, it became clear that we were headed to one of the more upmarket areas of London. Given the number of kindred in attendance at Sansa's flat, we would convene at one of the larger havens, typically used as a meeting point for the Primogen. Roland explained that Elizabeth Atkinson was already waiting for us, along with a small Toreador coterie. It would take another quarter of an hour to arrive there, in which time Rod would probably have many more questions to ask.

[Rod Stafford]

It burned Rod that he had known Sansa longer than him. He thought back to his first meeting with Sansa and how she'd failed to mention Gabriel to him. Then he recalled the marks on her neck and the tale of her drunken escapades on New Year's Eve. He looked at Gabriel.

"That night, was it you who bit her on the neck and altered her memory?"

[Gabriel Rodermark]

“I did not bite her then. Those were the marks of the vampire who had brought her to the Barbican in the first place... but I did alter her memory. If she had known the truth of what went on there that night, once the Sabbat attacked... it would have driven her insane.”

I had been protecting her. The minds of mortals were far too delicate to be exposed to the brutality of Kindred society so suddenly.

[Rod Stafford]

"Speaking of truth, what does Sansa know about you?"

Rod carefully gauged his body language as he answered his questions. They were questions of a relatively mundane nature but of matters which were important to him. As such, he couldn't imagine why Gabriel would have any reason to lie to him about his relationship with Sansa and that was what bothered him.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

“She doesn't not know what I am, of course,” I replied, looking Rod in the eye then. “She knows that I work with the local art galleries, as well as having contacts in the art community throughout the world. I have remained as truthful as possible. I don't take pleasure in lying to her.”

I imagined myself, as Rod must have seen me, the image of me in his mind. The Kindred and Mages had never seen eye to eye. Our knowledge of one another's cultures was limited at best. Perhaps his perception of me was of the stereotypical vampire as portrayed in the modern media: both a cruel, unfeeling puppet-master and a vicious killer, when in fact the Camarilla and the Masquerade had been set into place, in part, to combat Cainities exactly like that.

[Rod Stafford]

Rod's eyes narrowed. He looked out of the window again, deep in thought. He wasn't happy with Gabriel's responses; the notion that a vampire, any vampire, could be even remotely selfless confounded him. The times had changed a lot since when he last encountered vampires and maybe even vampires can change. The mutilated corpse from the kitchen suggested otherwise and there was only one certainty in his head: the company of a vampire is no good, especially for Sansa.

The car turned into a long road flanked by a number of grand estates. It was of no suprise to Rod that the kindred chose to live in luxury. The vanity of a vampire was as certain as the sunrise. A thought came to him and he muttered.

"Something tells me you won't have to worry about lying to her anymore."

He looked back to him and asked, "Do you have any idea who might have done this to her?"

[Gabriel Rodermark]

“The Sabbat.” There was no need to second guess it. I was sure of it. “Emilie's body bore the marks of vicissitude... the flesh-craft is a practice of the Tzimisce, solely. They made certain that I knew who had been responsible.”

The car was slowing. We pulled into a long, graveled driveway. There were a number of figures loitering outside in the darkness. I stepped out into the night, stones crunching under my feet. Almost immediately I was accosted by a young man. He was a ghoul under my employ, who oversaw the upkeep of my Knightsbridge haven when I was not there myself. He seemed on edge.

“Sir, there's a letter here for you.”

“Roland, take everyone inside... have them gather in the dining hall.”

The crowd that had lingered outside followed the others that emerged from the second car, the shadow of Emilie's body between them. I walked with the ghoul, who seemed eager to separate me from the others.

[Rod Stafford]

When Rod stepped out of the car, he had to give himself a moment to adjust to the darkness. He stared in the direction Gabriel walked and slowly, a number of shadowy figures came into view. He made his way around the back of the car and saw the corpse being removed from the second vehicle. He stood behind Gabriel, not wanting to intrude on his dealings, and noticed suddenly that there were a lot more moving sillouettes than he'd at first seen. He was in dangerous territory.

The vampire called Roland lead him and the rest of the kindred away from Gabriel and towards the looming residence. He was flanked by two suited men, they didn't look in his direction but he could almost feel the eyes of them and every other vampire on him. He kept his eyes fixed forward and followed Roland in through the large front doors. A rush a cold air hit his face.

He was suprised to find the interior of the haven well lit. Everything else was as he had expected, it had a hint of gothic design but was overall luxurious and well kept. The vampires split into two groups; he stayed with the larger group with Roland while the other group carted the corpse on Sansa's flatmate into a door under the staircase and they disappeared into the basement. He was lead through a door decorated with ornate wood carvings, he and the vampires passed through a corridoor and found themselves in the dining room.

The table was long and prepared with the finest china and crystal glass, candle light sent shadows flickering across the tall walls. Noone took a seat, instead they gathered about the table in silence. Rod took a seat next to Roland, who had slipped off his gloves and pulled at the one seat at the head of the table. He returned to his place and told Rod that Mr. Rodermark would join them shortly. They waited and not another word was spoken, the crackling fire being the only indication of life in the room.

[Gabriel Rodermark]

I was lead aside to one of the smaller parlors within the manor. Waiting inside, Elizabeth Atkinson – the Toreador Primogen – stood pacing the room back and forth. At my entrance, she threw her hands in the air, exasperated. “Finally! Well, what is it, what happened?”

“In a minute, Elizabeth...” I would have sighed, if I had breath in my lungs. I turned away from the frustrated blond in front of me, and to the ghoul. He motioned gingerly to the small, round table in the center of the room, on which there sat a padded envelope. I frowned.

“This arrived at your apartment today, sir. As you can see from the postmark,” he explained, picking the letter up, “It was delivered from France.”

“France?” I looked to Elizabeth, my frown growing. It had been some time since there had been any communication between myself and the Parisian Prince. I had no other real allies in that area of the continent, and doubted that Byron would have taken the time to write to me as such, even in spite of his fondness for the now archaic tradition of the postal service.

I could feel Elizabeth's, and even the ghouls, eyes on me, willing me to open it. As I tore the paper with one sharp fingernail, it felt as if I was opening Pandora's Box. A handkerchief was buried, inside, amidst a mass of padding. The faintest aroma of blood came from within, a scent I knew well. I froze, feeling as if I might vomit. Elizabeth spoke to me, presumably asking what was inside, but I was deaf to her. I turned away, a sudden restlessness coming over me.

For a moment or so, I did nothing. Why was I surprised that it had come to this? I had known from the moment that I had set eyes upon the scene of slaughter in the kitchen that this would happen, and yet I could not stave away my anger and sadness at the sight of what the envelope contained. The feelings washed over me anew, now amplified as I felt the pain burning through the Polaroids (http://sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?s=&threadid=41223). I could hardly bring myself to look at them for more than a second, but a second was enough. I pushed them away into the breast pocket of my jacket, setting the envelope and handkerchief aside.

“Well?!” Elizabeth's voice, I could hear it again, so demanding. “For Nod's sake, Gabriel. Speak!”

“Silence!” My hatred for the Sabbat bubbled over the brim of my self-control, and I shot Atkinson a glare that would have driven any mortal woman to derangement. She recoiled visibly, at the harsh reminder of my superiority over her, ordinarily so rarely shown. The ghoul all but dove out of the way as I stalked towards the door, leaving for the dining hall.

As I came into the room, I found the gathered Kindred in silence. Elizabeth entered on my heels and quickly, silently, took a seat amongst them. Those present were primarily of Clan Ventrue and Toreador. Their eyes lifted, looking to me for some explanation. I could feel the pictures in my pocket, burning with a guilty heat.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” I began, with an assumed air of calm, much as I always did in such meetings. “I have gathered you here tonight to inform you all of further developments in our current conflict with the Sabbat... As you know, the Archbishop of Moscow launched an assault on our city at the beginning of January. Since then, there have been a small number of lesser attacks, but nothing of extreme consequence. I believe now, however, the true battle is almost upon us...

“Why do I believe this?” I asked, as if reading the minds of those watching me. “I have received, this night, a personal message from the Archbishop. This message was delivered to my private haven. She has taken from me an item of great personal importance... I cannot presume to know what she intends to do with it. Perhaps it is her plan to use it as a bargaining chip, or bait, but one thing is clear. She will not have taken it without reason; it is a gesture loaded with symbolic significance. An affront upon my person is an affront upon London.

We stand on the precipice of a greater conflict...

Something is coming.”