Never the Twain by Lianne Burwell Carpe Noctem Book Three Chapter One n the middle of winter, January or February, when the skies are grey and the winds blow, the people of Toronto think longingly of summer, sunny and warm. But come summer, with the heat and humidity and the aroma of a city in August, people think fondly of cold and snow, forgetting the slush and bitter winds. That was normal. What was not normal was having an August heat wave that lasted most of the month, and tempers were starting to fray. And when tempers frayed, violence was the result. Deaths like the one that the police were currently investigating in an alleyway not far from one of the many dance clubs that made Toronto's nightlife what it was. As expected, a crowd of curious bystanders had collected, kept to the other side of the street by yellow tape and the glares of the sweating police officers. It was a large crowd, even though it was well after midnight. So large that no one noticed that one person at the back of the crowd didn't seem to fit in. Older and better dressed, wearing a discrete charcoal grey suit that was surely tailored just for him. He ignored the excited speculation of the crowd surrounding him. Instead, he was craning his neck, just like the rest of them, trying to see the covered gurney being loaded into the back of an ambulance for the trip to the morgue. He also seemed to be trying to hear the discussions of the police, even though he should not be able to hear them from that distance. After a bit, the man walked away, heading down the street at a measured pace. No one gave him a second glance, even though a well-dressed black man leaving the scene of a crime normally would. As soon as he was around the corner and out of sight, he pulled a cellphone from his pocket and hit a single quick-dial button. "We have another one," he said, then tucked the phone back into his pocket. Jackie Janczyk, junior Agency operative and Malkavian, made her way through the dance club crowd, her ears open for any interesting tidbits of information to relay back to her Prince. Gossip, both heard and spread, was the purpose of the court's Harpies, and while she far too young to be a full Harpy, she planned on eventually being the chief Harpy of Toronto. She'd be a good one, too; she was sure of it. Most Harpies devoted themselves to the ins and outs of Kindred society, but the Prince of Toronto was also heavily involved in human society as the Director of the Agency, so Jackie was using that for her personal training. She'd already identified three major drug dealers in the last month alone who were moving into Toronto to take advantage of the vacuum left by Ramirez's takeover and subsequent destruction. The Director had decided to leave those dealers unopposed for the time being until the situation had stabilized. While she—and most of the people who worked for her—considered drugs to be a blight on the so-called civilized world, she wasn't willing to allow the chaos caused by addicts without a source. However, once things had stabilized, those dealers would find their trade strictly controlled. This was the Director's chance to expand her reach, to impose her own form of order on the city, and she was going to take it. But gossip wasn't Jackie's only reason for hunting through Toronto's nightlife. Neither was the dancing or the chance to hunt. No, she was looking for someone. Someone very specific. LiAnn Tsei. It had been several months now since she'd caught a glimpse of the woman—or at least one who looked remarkably like her—at a rave. She hadn't mentioned it to the Director or anyone else though since it had only been a glimpse, so she couldn't prove that it had been the oriental. For one thing, LiAnn was supposed to still be in China. It had been nearly six months since the traumatized agent had climbed onto a flight to go home to confront the parents who had sold her to a brothel as a child, since the Director felt that she needed to get some closure on her past. However it had been more than five months since anyone had heard from her, and Jackie knew that the Director was getting worried, not that the woman would willingly let anyone know. Certainly she wasn't about to let Mac or Vic know. They would probably do something boneheaded and macho, like get on a plane and rush off to China to rescue her. Assuming she needed rescue. Unfortunately, Asia was just about the only part of the world where the Camarilla's hand couldn't reach, although Jackie didn't know why. All she knew was that Kindred—any Kindred —who dared to go to that part of the world never came back, unless it was in pieces. Even the Princes respected whatever was there. So they had a missing agent, out of reach on the other side of the world, but Jackie was sure that she'd seen the woman here in Toronto. It was a mystery and she loved mysteries. It was her one big weakness and she had the bookcase full of crime novels to prove it. So her spare time was spent haunting the Toronto night scene, asking questions and keeping her eyes and ears open. She hadn't seen LiAnn again, but showing her picture around had found a few leads. Like this one. "Yeah!" the young man said, nodding vigorously over the photograph, still dancing in place. "Saw her a couple of nights ago. Maybe last week." "Where?" He shrugged. "Was she with anyone?" "Yeah. Jack... something or other." Jackie rolled her eyes. Still, from the wasted look of the guy, she should probably counter herself lucky that he could remember his own name, assuming he could. "Can you at least tell me what he looks like?" She yelled over the heavy beat of the music. "Sure! He had a wicked new do. Purple with silver tips." "Do you know where I can find him?" He shrugged again. "Haven't seen him since then," he hollered, obviously not concerned. She opened her mouth to ask another question, but someone passing by snagged the guy's arm and dragged him away. She thought about going after him, then decided that she'd probably gotten every bit of useful information from him that she was going to. Instead, she made her way off the dance floor and to the bar where she squeezed her way to the front. "Tequila," she yelled to the bartender when she had his attention. Almost as if by magic, a shot glass, saltshaker and lime wedge appeared in front of her. She went through the ritual with practiced ease before tossing back the liquor and sighing as the buzz hit. Not much of one, but a buzz nonetheless. "Want another?" a voice asked behind her. Jackie twisted and had to look up to see the man's face. Smug, slick and very definitely good-looking. He had black hair, dark eyes and dusky skin that suggested India. One eyebrow was quirked up in both question and invitation, and that invitation was obviously for more than just a drink. Jackie found herself almost mesmerized by the glitter of the man's eyes. "Well?" he said. He wasn't shouting, but she could hear him clearly, despite the music and the shouted conversations going on around him. Before she could answer, a vibration at her waist broke the spell. She pulled the pager from her belt and checked the tiny LCD screen. "Home. Now. D." "Shit. I'll have to take a rain check on that drink," she yelled to the man, more than a little disappointed. He was definitely the most interesting thing she'd run across in a while. He nodded. "No problem. I'll see you later." She started to ask his name, but he vanished into the crowd before she could form the question. Strange, though, how he could sound so confident of seeing her again considering she'd never seen him before. Still, she didn't have time to wonder about tall, dark and mysterious. Shaking off the encounter, she headed for the door. Whatever had made the Director call her in on a night off, it had to be big. Vic shifted his weight, then checked the front of the suburban home he was watching, for the umpteenth time, before turning his attention back to the book he'd been reading. It had been a long night—the third one in a row for him—and he'd read half of the fat novel since arriving. He'd hated stakeouts as a cop and he still hated them. The worst thing about stakeouts was the boredom, since very little ever happened on them. This one seemed especially pointless. They knew that the creep had left the country, but for some reason, the Director was convinced that he was going to be back. Personally, Vic thought he'd have to be pretty damn stupid to come home after ripping off the Council and the Agency. Again. On the other hand, Dr. Fry had never been the most intelligent of guys. Smart as hell and stupid at the same time. Still, you'd think he would have learned his lesson after Desmond Happy and Area 52, not to mention what happened to his girlfriend. Vic shifted again and groaned. All of the pros that came with being Kindred, but one thing hadn't changed: Vampire or not, he still got numb-butt from sitting in a car all night. But even that would have been okay if he had Mac to keep him company instead of Anne Rice's laughable excuse for vampires and a cooler with a couple packs of blood to replace the old thermos of coffee. Unfortunately the Director had figured—probably rightly—that if she put the two of them together in a car for long periods of time there wouldn't have been much watching going on. So, with LiAnn still in China and Jackie off doing her own thing, he'd been given a choice between Dobrinsky and Nathan. After about two seconds' thought, he'd decided to go for that door number three that the Director like to go on about and do the stakeout solo. However, he was beginning to wonder if even Nathan the paranoid ghoul would have been a better choice. He finished the chapter and tossed the paperback into the backseat in disgust. He still wasn't sure how he'd let Mac talk him into trying to read that piece of pulp, especially since he was now living it, so to speak. Tomorrow night, assuming that this useless stakeout was still on, he was bringing something easier to digest. A Louis L'Amour, perhaps. Now there was a guy who could write. Vic leaned forward to turn up the radio as the hourly news came on. He didn't get to participate much in the daytime world anymore, but he still liked to keep up to date. Then he paused as a figure came down the street, heading for the house. A very recognizable figure. "I don't believe it. I don't fucking believe it," Vic muttered to himself. He checked his gun, then got out of the car. The plump little man was making a big production of looking in all directions as he sneaked towards the house, but still managed to completely miss seeing Vic until the agent was practically on top of him. "Hello, Dr. Fry," Vic said, reaching out to grab the man's arm. Fry nearly jumped out of his skin. "Ack! Mansfield! Don't do that." Vic just snorted and started tugging him towards the car. "Where are we going? I've got things to do, you know. Important things." "Sure you do," Vic said, holstering his gun so that he could pull out his handcuffs without letting go of the little weasel. Fry was too out of shape to get far before Vic caught him again, but he really didn't want to have to go to that effort. He handcuffed the renegade scientist quickly, then opened the door of the car and tossed him face down in the back seat. "Hey! You don't have to be so rough," the man protested. "Yes, I do," Vic replied, shoving him in a little further so that he could close and lock the door. He headed around to the driver's side and slip in behind the wheel. He had just started the engine when his cellphone beeped him. He picked it up with a grimace. "Mansfield," he said. "What? Well he just showed up, so I'm on my way in already. Tell her I'll be there in twenty minutes. Fine, fifteen. Yeah, right. Bye." He disconnected and tossed the cell into the passenger seat with a groan. "Listen, this isn't a good time for you either. I can tell. So how about you just leave me here and we'll do this some other time, okay?" "Shut up, Fry," Vic said, putting the car into gear. He still missed his beloved pickup truck, but he had to admit that the sedan had some benefits, the back seat being a big one. Mac had gleefully reintroduced him to the joys of making out in a back seat, and now it gave him someplace to stick Fry where he didn't have to actually look at the pudgy little weasel. "Oooooh, Anne Rice. Isn't she a fantastic writer? Have you read#151;" "Shut up," Vic snapped, taking a corner a little faster than he should have. There was a loud thump in the back as Fry went rolling and he couldn't help smirking. It had been a long night and it looked like it was going to get even longer. He had to grab what little entertainment he could when he could. Mac glanced down at the address written on the slip of paper, then looked back up at the building that matched that address. The house was a tiny, semi-detached home, probably from early in the century. From the outside it looked nothing like what he'd expected. It looked... normal. For a moment, he was tempted to just turn around and head home. Or maybe join Vic on his stakeout and see if he could distract the older man. Then he shoved his nervousness aside, squared his shoulders and marched up the short walk to the front door. It had taken more than a month to get this point and he wasn't going to chicken out now. He almost hesitated again at the door, but quickly knocked before he could stop to think about it. A moment later, the door cracked open, the chain keeping it from opening too far. "Hi," he said awkwardly, unable to see who was on the other side of the door. "I was told to ask for... Sofia?" He winced. He sounded like a complete idiot. "Mac Ramsey?" The voice was female and firm. "Um... yeah?" The door shut in his face. Before he could react, he heard the chain slide out of the way. Then the door opened again. "Come in." Mac moved cautiously into the dark, narrow hallway, then turned as the door shut behind him. The woman turned around and he blinked in surprise again. Like the house, the woman wasn't exactly what he'd expected from a gypsy. She was dressed in pressed linen slacks with a dark green blouse made of silk which set off her olive skin-tones. Her hair was cut very short, making a dark cap. She wore no jewelry and what little make-up she had on was very tastefully applied. She also couldn't be much older than himself. "Follow me," she said, passing him close enough for him to smell her very subtle perfume. She led him to the door at the end of the hallway which turned out to open into the kitchen. In contrast to the dark space he'd come through, the kitchen was light and airy, even though it was dark outside. The walls were painted a cheery yellow and the wood cabinets were covered with a light, pickled finish. The linoleum floor looked new. The back door was open, letting in the chirping of night insects. "Would you like some tea?" the young woman asked, already putting the kettle on to boil. There was only a faint hint of an accent in her voice. Too faint to be identified. "Um... thanks," Mac said, feeling a little off-balance. He glanced around, then sat when she waved him to the table. "I was supposed to see#151;" "Sofia. And here I am." Mac blinked. "Oh. Sorry." "Quite alright. Let me guess. You were expecting someone at least ninety, dressed in colorful patchwork skirts with large gold hoop earrings. Am I right?" The really embarrassing thing was she was right. "Sorry," he said with a sheepish grin. "Don't sweat it. I get that a lot." The kettle on the stove started to whistle, and she poured the boiling water into a teapot after throwing in a handful of loose tea leaves. She set a couple of mugs and a pitcher of cream on the table. "The tea just needs to steep for a bit," she said, carrying the pot over. "Now, what seems to be your problem?" Mac hesitated. "What makes you think I have a problem?" he hedged. She smirked. "It's what usually brings people to me. If you just wanted a tarot reading or a love spell, you could have found that in a dozen different shops in town. To be passed on to me, your problem must be bigger. So come on. Tell Sofia all about it." While she waited, she poured the tea into the mugs and pushed one in front of Mac. She added a dollop of honey and a touch of cream to her own and sipped at it carefully. Mac wrapped his hands around his own mug and lifted it to take a long sniff. It smelled wonderful, but he knew from experience that if he were to drink it, it would taste like nothing more than hot water. One of the trade-offs of becoming Kindred was enhanced sense of smell for a weakened sense of taste except for blood it seemed. Now he knew why Vic still liked to cook, even though he didn't eat. Finally, he decided to go with the easier question. "I recently had a run-in with someone who claimed I was Gypsy. I'm looking to find some sort of confirmation." "Do you have any information I can go with?" Mac pulled the printout from his pocket. He'd combined his meager childhood memories with what he'd been able to coax out of the Agency computers and the result had been a single page with a depressingly small amount of information. Sofia scanned the print, then put the page aside. "You do realize that we don't exactly keep records," she said. He nodded, knowing that probably this would be a dead end, like his other attempts over the years to learn more about his family, either on his mother's side or his father's. One died when he was young, and the other... Well, you couldn't exactly trust anything his dad said. "Still," she added, "I'll put out the word and see if anyone knows anything. I'll let you know if anything comes of it," she said, tapping the bottom of the page where he'd added his personal cellphone number. "So, now that we've dealt with that, is there anything else you wanted?" Mac licked his lips, but stayed silent. He was trying to figure out how to say anything without sounding like a lunatic. Sofia looked amused. "What, no more questions? I would have thought you'd want to ask about the Ravnos or the Draba hanging around your neck." Mac gaped at her, his hand coming up to touch his pendant. "Draba?" he asked in confusion. Yes, he wanted to know about the Ravnos, but what the hell was a Draba? "The pendant. Has anything strange happened while you're wearing it?" He shook his head. "Some weird dreams, maybe," he said slowly, although he wasn't sure why that had popped out. "Hmm... I might have expected more. Who gave it to you?" Mac smiled. He was probably blushing. "My... lover," he said. "Is she Gypsy?" He laughed. "No, Vic is definitely not Gypsy. He found it in a shop in San Francisco and bought it for me." The woman actually looked floored by that, but he didn't think it was because he'd named a man as his lover. She reached across the table and gently touched the pendant, closing her eyes. A moment later, she opened them again. "Impressive," she said. "It's nearly drained, which is why it can only work through dreams, but for it to have retained potency this long, especially if it ended up in a shop, its maker must have been pretty powerful." "What is it?" Mac asked, a little peeved at the obscure pronouncements. "A draba. Um... think of it as a magic object. A tool someone has made." "What does it do?" "That depends on what its maker wanted it to do. And before you ask, I can't tell what this one was. You'll just have to figure that out for yourself." Mac really hated it when people pulled this sort of cryptic crap on him, but before he could say anything, demand better answers, his pager went off. Cursing softly, he pulled out the techie toy and checked the tiny screen. The message was short and to the point: Get your ass to the Agency. Now. "I've got to go," he said with a sigh, getting to his feet. The mug of cooling tea was left on the table, still un-sipped. He wasn't sure whether he was relieved or disappointed that they hadn't made it to the subject of the Ravnos clan before the interruption. He still didn't know just how she knew about them and how much she knew about the Kindred in general. Sofia escorted him to the door and opened it for him. "Come by any time, if you want to talk," she said. "About anything. And I'll let you know if I find out anything about your family." "Thanks. I guess I'll see you," he said. Still a little dazed by the conversation and the unanswered questions it had left, he barely heard her reply as he headed for his car to answer the Director's summons. "Oh, you certainly will." Chapter Two Vic pulled to a stop in front of the Toronto headquarters of the Agency, just barely within the fifteen minute deadline he'd been given, then got out and opened the back door and hauled Fry out, then picked him up off the pavement when the man stumbled. Other than the brief periods of silence after he deliberately cornered the car to throw the idiot around, Fry hadn't shut up the entire drive. Vic had gotten an earful about the man's taste for horror novels, fine dining, his new girlfriend—who sounded about as intelligent as the last one—and his latest incomprehensible research. Vic was about ready to shoot the man just to get him to stay quiet. He was certainly planning on investing on a really good gag for the glove compartment. Surely the Director would be able to tell him what kind would be best to buy. Once the man was back on his feet, he shoved him in the direction of the door leading into the hillside, not bothering to take the cuffs off the man. There was nothing about the place that said "Headquarters of a Shadowy Government Agency." In fact, if you checked a city map you would find it listed as one of the water reservoirs that served the population. Hell, for all he knew it had been a reservoir originally. All he really knew was that the place was huge. The Director had once sent LiAnn to the thirteenth floor to get some sort of report. Actually, they didn't have floors. The whole place was below ground, so sub-level might be a better term. And just because she was sent to the thirteenth floor didn't even necessarily mean that there were that many. LiAnn had described the whole thing as a bureaucratic hell that seemed more like something out of a fever dream than real life. She'd spent hours in lineups, only to be told that she was in the wrong line. She spent days running from floor to floor, lineup to lineup until she'd finally pulled a gun and threatened extreme violence if they didn't giver her the information she was after, right there, right then. The whole story seemed so implausible that Vic figured that it had all been staged for her benefit. LiAnn had a tendency to be a little too rule-bound. Vic wouldn't be surprised if the whole point of the exercise—which had been a punishment to begin with—had been designed to get her to move outside the rules. Of course, he did wish that the Director had chosen a time when his, Mac's and Jackie's lived hadn't depended on that information. Still, he was surprised that LiAnn hadn't been able to figure it out for herself. Fry stumbled and Vic grabbed him by the collar to keep him on his feet. The man squawked, but a gun barrel jammed behind one ear convinced him to keep his mouth shut for once. "Ooooh, Bondage and s/m. Very kinky, Vic. I'll have to remember that." Vic blinked in surprise at finding Mac waiting for him just inside the doors. "I thought you had the night off," he said. Mac had been very secretive about his plans, so Vic hadn't expected to see him before morning. "So did I," Mac replied with a shrug. "Then I got beeped." "Any idea what's going on?" "Not a clue." "Well, you'll get a clue if you get your butts into the conference room," Dobrinsky said, appearing from one of the side corridors that were almost invisible if you weren't looking straight at them. Vic jumped, not having heard the man coming. "Jesus! Make a little noise, would you," Mac said, equally startled. "Aw, what's the matter, Sport? Scare ya?" The black man didn't seem at all worried at the idea. "Not in this lifetime," Mac blustered, even though they all knew that he was lying. Actually, Dobrinsky was pretty easy to get along with, as long as you stayed on his good side. Unfortunately, Mac had gotten on his bad side the day they'd met and that hadn't changed in the years since. "If you say so," Dobrinsky said with a feral grin that showed too many teeth, making both Mac and Vic gulp. Discretely, of course. "In the meantime, I'll take the good doctor off your hands and put him in... storage. I suggest that the two of you get to the briefing before the boss gets peeved. You know how much she dislikes tardiness." Vic didn't have to be told twice. He pushed Fry in Dobrinsky's direction, then grabbed Mac's elbow and hustled him down the hall. He ignored the thump and outraged squawk behind them as Dobrinsky did nothing to keep the man on his feet. Vic wasn't the only one who disliked the creep. In fact, other than the man's ex-wife, former girlfriend and supposed current girlfriend, Vic didn't know of anyone who did like the man. And since the wife was in a nuthouse, the first girlfriend was dead and the new one was just hearsay... Of course, it was hard to like someone whose field of research was screwing with peoples' minds, both through drugs and mechanical means. Vic breathed a small sigh of relief on finding the briefing room empty except for the petite blonde already sitting at the table. From the way Jackie was dressed—flamboyant, tight and with even more skin showing than usual—he had the feeling that she'd been pulled in from her night off too. That was not a good sign. "Hi guys," Jackie said brightly as they came in. "Wow, must be big if she's calling in all of the big guns. Any ideas yet?" "Nope," Mac said. Vic just shrugged. There was no point in speculating before they had anything to speculate about. They took their seats and immediately, as if on cue, the Director came down the stairs from what they assumed was her private office. In fact, she had probably been waited up there for just the right moment to make her entrance. The Director was definitely the theatrical type. "Good morning, children," she said, sitting down at the head of the table and picking up a handheld control. She set down a pile of depressingly thick file folders. Vic to resist the urge to reply with 'Good morning, Miss,' as if he was back in grade school. She pressed a button and the large screen on the wall came to life with the picture of a young woman in her twenties. "Corinne Hamilton." Click. "Marco Escobar." Click. "Sara Green." Click. "Jack Murphy." Click. "Mandy Li." Click. The screen changed to show all five faces, side by side. Vic considered the faces. They showed a variety of ethnic backgrounds and personality types. Mandy was a Goth girl in every way, from her black dyed hair to her black lace gloves. Black makeup and black nail polish. In fact, she looked a lot like LiAnn had during the Melnick case. Marco looked like your typical young bravo. Jack was a fresh-faced kid whose freckles said he should have had red hair, only it was dyed a riot of colors, as if he couldn't make up his mind. Sara and Corinne looked like any university students from the U of T. The only obvious thing they had in common was that they were all in their early-to mid-twenties. "I assume they're all dead," Vic said a little sourly. He hated murder investigations. "You assume correctly." "This isn't like that thing with the Russians, is it?" Mac asked suspiciously. Vic shuddered, remembering being forced to work with Nikki, the daughter of one of the Director's old friends. "No, they are not washing up on foreign shores," the Director said in a slightly tired tone. "And there is no doubt that they are who their IDs say they are." "So why are we interested in them?" "Because it appears that we have a serial killer in town. All five have been killed in nearly identical ways over the last month." "The cops#151;" "Have no leads at this time," she cut him off. "So why are we interested in a current police investigation?" The Agency usually stuck to cases that they police either did not know about or did not have to resources to deal with. "Because I said so." She glared at him, then relented slightly. "Because of how they died." She clicked the control again and the image of the five young, smiling—except for Goth girl—faces was replaced by a crime scene photo. An alley, starkly lit by floodlights. The body was sprawled on the grimy pavement next to an overflowing dumpster. Several used condoms and a needle could be seen clearly. The body was male, so it was either Escobar or Murphy. The dark hair suggested Escobar as the victim. His leather pants were down around his knees and his silver mesh shirt was bunched up at his armpits. A kid out for a wild night, capped by some semi-public sex. Of course, if that was what he'd been looking for, he'd made a big mistake in his choice of partners. His throat had been torn out, right down to the bone, and that was just the beginning. His chest had been ripped open and his ribs gleamed almost while where they emerged at unnatural angles from the flesh. From the photo, Vic couldn't tell if any of the organs were missing except for the obvious one. "Oh my god," Mac said with a gulp next to him, squeezing his knees together. Vic was having pretty much the same reaction. Where the kid's cock and balls had once been, all that remained was a mess of torn flesh. Vic just prayed that the kid had already been dead by the time that had been done. "The photos from the other crime scenes are pretty much the same," the Director said coolly, mercifully turning the projector off. "The police are doing their best to keep the more... sensational details out of the papers, but it's just a matter of time before there's a leak." "I'm surprised that there hasn't been one already," Vic said, remembering his cop days. There were few things that a cop liked to do better than gossip, and while they would not deliberately leak information, they didn't always check to see who might be listening. And that didn't even take into consideration the witnesses. The Director smiled. "Let's just say we've... plugged a few leaks." Based on her expression, Vic didn't want to ask how. She slid three thick file folders towards them. "Here's what the police have come up with so far. I want the three of you to start examining the angles that they haven't considered." "So you think the killer isn't, like... normal," Jackie said, flipping her folder open and shuffling through the pages inside. She stopped on one and frowned. The Director raised one eyebrow. "Human killers don't usually use their bare hands, and they don't take the heart and liver with them." "Unless they're Dahlmer," Mac muttered to himself. The Director just looked at him. "You mean... Never mind, I don't want to know." He was looking a little green. The corner of the Director's mouth quirked up, making Vic wonder just how serious she was about that implication. She had a sense of humor, but it was a weird one, often showing up at the strangest moments. He didn't say anything though, since he wasn't sure he wanted to know whether or not the sicko had been Kindred any more than Mac did. Instead, he turned his attention to the files. Front and center were the crime scene photos and autopsy reports. He swallowed hard, feeling a little green himself. They didn't paint a pretty picture. The scrape of the Director's chair as she stood up was unexpected and echoingly loud in the large room. "Dawn is coming," she said. "Take the files home and review them. I expect you to get working as soon as the sun goes down. File a report by this time tomorrow. I want this stopped quickly, by any means necessarily, before the papers start screaming "Cannibal Killer" on their front pages. Is that understood?" Mac and Vic chorused their agreement, but Jackie was strangely silent. All three got to their feet and headed for the door. Vic stretched as he walked, feeling the vertebrae in his spine pop. Three nights in a car on stakeout did bad things to his back. He wanted a hot shower, something to eat and a good night's—or day's in his case—sleep before he started to plan. The walk to the main entrance was a little disturbing. Mac was silent—unusual for him, but not unheard of. But Jackie hadn't said a word since opening her folder. Vic couldn't remember the blonde ever being this quiet. She stopped when they reached the door, tapping her foot in what looked like a nervous tic. "Guys, I'm going to hit the clubs tonight. All our vics were taken while clubbing and dumped nearby, so maybe someone saw them with the killer." "The police will have done that," Vic pointed out. Jackie gave him a 'duh' expression. "You think that they're going to tell the police anything?" Vic shrugged. "Good point," he said, then fixed her with his best imitation of the Director's glare. "But that's all you do. No setting yourself up as bait, got it?" "We might need to do that." "Maybe, but not yet. And certainly not without wires, tracers and backup." Jackie looked like she was going to argue, then nodded, turned and left. Vic watched her go, wondering what the hell was up with her. There was definitely something off about Jackie's behavior. For a moment he wanted to go after her and demand an explanation, but he knew from long experience that it wouldn't do him any good. She was getting more and more like Director every day. Finally, he turned back to Mac. "Come on, we better get going." They both had their cars with them, so Vic nodded to his lover as they separated, heading for their individual vehicles. He did steal a kiss first, though. Nothing too intense. Just a promise for later. Jackie tossed her folder on the coffee table and headed for her bedroom without looking back. She stripped off her clothes and tossed them in the hamper. They smelled of stale smoke and human sweat. They certainly needed to be dry-cleaned before she'd be willing to wear them again. Naked now, she headed for the all-white bathroom. The same smells were also stuck in her hair and, it seemed to her, her skin. There was no way that she was going to be able to be able to sleep, dawn or not, until she washed the stink out. She would have liked to have had a long soak in a bubble bath before bed, but she didn't really have the time for that. Instead, she set the shower for pulsating spray and as hot as she could stand. She stepped in and reached for the shampoo first. A light, flowery scent replaced the smoky smell in her hair. Her favorite body wash did the same for her body as the stress she'd felt since opening the file folder started to drain away. It wasn't the brutality of the crime, she thought to her self as she pulled on a dark red terrycloth robe and headed back into the living room, toweling her hair dry. No, it was worse than anything she'd seen since her recruitment by the Agency and the Embrace that had come soon after, but she was a big girl. She could handle it. No, it wasn't the crime that had caught her off-guard, gruesome as it was. It was the victims. Or more to the point, one of the victims. She flipped the folder open again and pulled out the picture. Jack Murphy. Young and eager in the picture that the boss had shown them. Anything but in this one. The autopsy photo showed every detail of what he'd ended up like in full color, brightly lit by fluorescent lights. Every detain including his hairdo. "A wicked new do. Purple with silver tips." That was what the guy she'd been talking to tonight had said. "Jack... something or other." Jack Murphy. He was the boy who'd been seen with LiAnn Tsei. LiAnn, who wasn't supposed to even be in the country. LiAnn, who seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth. What the hell did it mean? Vic actually managed to get home before Mac did, which was amazing considering the way that the younger man drove. Sometimes it seemed like Mac thought he was on the Grand Prix circuit or something. He considered taking a shower, then decided that there wasn't really time for that. He had a lot of reading to do, a lot of planning. Shower could wait until evening. Instead, he stuck a mug of blood into the microwave to warm up, then started spreading the material they'd been given out on the dining table. He also grabbed a map of downtown Toronto from the bookcase next to the stereo and opened it too. The victims had each been traced to a different nightclub, but they were all clustered together in the downtown core. There'd been no deaths in the areas surrounding Toronto. That meant that the killer had a preferred hunting ground, which made him predictable. However, the cops were smart enough to have picked up on that too. The police presence in the area had increased dramatically, but that hadn't done any good. Two more kids had been killed since then with no one the wiser until the bodies had been stumbled across in alleys in the same area. Even the usual homeless squatters and horny kids who normally haunted those alleys claimed that they hadn't seen or heard a thing. Vic was beginning to agree with the Director. Between that and the autopsy reports, no way the killer was human. Unfortunately, that still left a lot of possibilities. Sometimes he wished that he could go back in time. The world had been so much simpler before San Francisco. Vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters and all the other things that went bump in the night had only existed in movies and horror novels for him back then. On the other hand, not knowing about them didn't make them any less real. Hiding your head in the sand didn't work, no matter what the ostriches might think. As well, knowing the full truth could mean the difference between life and death. True death. No, he was better off knowing. The sound of the elevator down the hall from the apartment he shared with Mac brought him out of his reverie and he was surprised to realize that it had been nearly half an hour since he'd gotten home, and here was Mac, just arriving. "Get lost?" he quipped as the young man carefully hung up his jacket, trying to cover his worry. He turned his chair so that he was facing Mac. "Hmm?" Mac said, looking a little distracted. "Nah, just needed to think. I do that better while driving." It might have been Vic's imagination, but Mac looked a little guilty. "If you say so," he said with a snort, trying to lighten the mood. "Might explain a few things." "Hey! And what is that supposed to mean?" Mac shot back, the familiar bantering tone back in his voice. "Oh, nothing." He waited for Mac to glare at him. "Just remembering a few stakeouts where you decided to jump the perps because you were bored." "I only did that once!" Vic just looked at him. "Okay, a couple of times. I got bored." Vic snorted. "Just as long as you don't get bored with me," he said, then immediately wished that he could take the words back. Mac's brow scrunched up for a moment, then he smiled. He moved over to where Vic was sitting and slowly, deliberately straddled his lap and sat down. Vic wrapped his arms around the younger man's waist and opened up eagerly to the kiss planted on his lips. Mac plundered his mouth for several minutes, getting a lot of use out of the fact that vampires didn't really need to breathe, then pulled back. "Trust me," he said hoarsely, his eyes dilated with desire. "I don't think I'm ever going to get bored of you." Then he jumped off with a saucy grin. "Besides, with our jobs, who's got time to be bored?" "Stakeouts." "Okay, except on stakeouts. And now I've got you to keep me from being bored on them." Vic laughed softly. "Tease." "And you love it," Mac shot back, heading for the kitchen. Vic turned back to the files, but his concentration had been broken. Checking his watch showed that it was nearly dawn anyway. Time for bed. In the kitchen, he could hear the ping of the microwave. "So," he said casually, pushing away from the table and getting to his feet. "Did you enjoy yourself tonight?" He stretched a bit and stifled a yawn. Mac emerged from the kitchen, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Well, it was informative," he said. "Oh? How so?" Mac shrugged and disappeared into the bathroom. Vic found the evasion more than a little disturbing. He gave the files one last look, then headed for the bedroom. He stripped down to his skin, then went into the bathroom to brush his teeth, all the while wondering what it meant. They went through their usual pre-bed ritual in a silence that felt a little off. Even though he tried not to, Vic felt a little worried and a little hurt that Mac didn't seem to want him to know what he'd been doing that night. But once they were in bed, Mac cuddled close like he always did. Vic pushed aside the sting of doubts and let himself enjoy the feeling of being so completely entwined with another person. Mac snuggled a little closer until his nose was practically in Vic's ear. "I'll tell you about it tonight," he barely whispered, then looked up at the light fixture above the bed in a very deliberate way. Vic breathed a small sigh of relief at that. It wasn't that Mac didn't want to tell him about it, he just didn't want to tell the Director about it, and saying anything in an Agency apartment was doing just that. Of course, there was still the question about what "it" was, which was a worry in itself. Still, he felt a lot better as the sun came up and he fell asleep. Chapter Three As soon as the sun was down, they were up and on their way. Mac would have liked to laze around in bed for an hour or two, maybe indulge in a marathon bout of mind-blowing sex, but he knew better. Although she'd appeared calm and cool that morning, the Director obviously wanted this killer stopped and fast. Hell, after seeing the photos, so did Mac. Anyway, under the circumstances, putting on a show for the inevitable surveillance cameras would just piss her off. He'd only seen her pissed off a couple of times before, and on one of those occasions she'd actually shot at him. He didn't want repeat. So they'd showered together instead. He'd sucked Vic off, enjoying the flavor of the man the way he enjoyed nothing else—except, maybe, the taste of blood—these days. Then Vic had jerked him off while whispering dirty tales of what he was going to do to Mac when they had the time to do things right. In fact, it was the voice more than the hands that had gotten him off. Then they'd dressed, downed some 'breakfast' and headed out the door. "So," Mac said as they climbed into Vic's car. "Got any ideas on how we should go on this?" Vic tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, an indication of deep though in the man. The voice of a CBC news reporter was droning on from the radio in the background. "First we need a cover," he said. "The cops are going to be all over this one and if they see us popping up, they're going to get suspicious." "And no chance that they'll miss seeing you, ex-cop and all," Mac pointed out. "Exactly," Vic said. Mac noticed that the man's voice hid none of the bitterness it would have just a year ago. In the aftermath of the police scandal the year before when a dealer who got religion decided to expose his dealings with the Narcotics squad, proof had been found that the squad leader, Joe McDowell, had framed Vic because he thought the man was going to expose them. Vic's conviction had been quietly overturned, clearing his name. Vic had accepted the very non-public apology—a public one would have just stirred up the press again—then had gone back to work even though the Director's hold over him was gone. When Mac had broached the subject Vic had shrugged and said that he didn't really have anything else to do. "So, an ex-cop and an ex-thief working together, showing up at scenes related to a series of murders. What possible reason could we have?" Mac mused. Then he grinned. "Private eyes!" he crowed. "Hired by one of the families unsatisfied with the progress of the police investigation." Vic chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "Corinne Hamilton's father is CEO of a corporation that does a lot of business with the Agency." "Right," Mac said and pulled out his cell-phone. Unfortunately, Dobrinsky answered at the other end instead of the Director, but he said that he would see to it that James Hamilton backed up their cover and that the paperwork proving that they were licensed investigators would be taken care of. Hell, knowing the Agency the paperwork was probably already in place, dated years earlier. Still, it meant that all they had to do was drop by the Agency at some point to pick up the necessary IDs. Mac was nearly rubbing his hands with glee at the thought. Growing up, he'd loved the hard-boiled detective novels and movies. He had always wanted to be Sam Spade, cool and debonair, a gorgeous blonde on his arm. Okay, the blonde was out, but he did have Vic. "Okay, so now we have our cover. Where do we start?" They all had their strengths and Vic's was the investigative side. Mac didn't mind admitting that, since his niche was the break and enter while LiAnn usually handled the undercover work. Jackie's role on the team hadn't been nailed down yet, but while he still wasn't too crazy about the blonde, he had to admit that her knowledge of the North American crime world beat his own, although he could outdo her when it came to Asia and Europe. "Well, since Hamilton's going to play ball, let's start at his daughter's apartment. The deaths were each a week apart, so maybe the killer 'courts' his victims first." "The cops didn't find anything," Mac pointed out. "Yeah, but she was first, so they probably wouldn't have been quite as thorough as at the later sites." "You hope." "You got a better idea?" Mac shook his head, holding up his hands in surrender. "You're the boss," he said. Vic just grinned. They decided to go straight to the apartment instead of detouring out of their way to the Agency to pick up those IDs and the apartment key. Instead, Mac pulled out his lockpick set and exercised the skills that he brought to the team. It wasn't much of a challenge, so it only took him a couple of seconds to pop the lock. Even though Corinne had been dead for about a month now, her apartment looked as if she'd just left it. Assuming, of course, that you ignored a few smears of fingerprint powder here and there. Other than that, it looked as if it had just been cleaned. Someone had been here after the police gone through. Vic assumed that Daddy Hamilton had arranged that. Vic started by doing a walk-through the apartment, trying to get a feel for it and its former owner. Mac watch from the entryway with a slightly bemused expression, but Vic ignored him for the moment. This was the sort of thing he'd been working his way up to when his brothers in blue had decided to frame him. Patrol, Vice, Narcotics. After that it would have been Robbery, probably, then either Homicide or Major Crimes, the last being the place he wanted to be. Well, he certainly dealt with major crimes now, just from outside official channels. The expensive computer on the corner desk was his first stop. It had a modem, so he dialed up the Agency server and started transferring everything on the machine. Computer experts would check the files and filter out anything not related to the case. Next, the bedroom. Corinne had a taste for expensive toiletries and clothing that looked like they came from a thrift store, it seemed. She also had an interesting selection of sex toys in her bedside table, he noted. Either she didn't bring anyone home or her partners had... interesting tastes. The bathroom was pretty much the same, so he moved to join Mac who was going through the living room. "Find anything interesting?" he asked. "A lot of junk mail and art supplies," Mac said. He held up a watercolor nightscape that matched the view from the balcony. "Not bad, but I hope she wasn't planning on a career as an artist," he said critically. Vic shook his head. "Advertising," he said, not bothering to point out that the information had been in the folders they were given. "She was supposed to graduate next year." Mac shrugged. "She had a good eye, at least." He put the painting down and moved to the kitchen while Vic sorted through the mail that had already been opened, then piled on the coffee table. Bills, bills and more bills, as well as the junk mail Mac had referred to, but nothing personal. "So, last night..." he called out casually. "Hmm? Oh right, that." Mac reappeared in the doorway. "There isn't really much to tell. Ever since that incident with her," he didn't need to say who, "I've been trying to learn more about Gypsies. She implied that my mother was one, and that the Ravnos were too, and since the Director hasn't exactly been forthcoming, especially about just what a Ravnos is, I figured I better find out on my own. And my mother... Anyway, that's what I've been doing in my spare time and last night it seemed like I'd hit paydirt, but I got beeped before I could learn much. Still, it's a start and I plan to go back." Vic blinked, a little surprised. He hadn't realized that Mac was even interested in that sort of thing. He knew the basics about the Gangrel himself, mainly about the specialized abilities and weaknesses of the clan, but he had no interest in learning more. Considering what he'd seen of Moira and her "people," not learning more seemed like a good idea. "Okay, finding more about the Ravnos makes sense," he said slowly. "After all, who knows what pitfalls there might be." Like the narrow pupils that he now saw whenever he looked in the mirror. They'd been like that ever since his fight with Katya; the 'she' that Mac refused to name. It was a weird look that strangely didn't bother him and which Mac just thought were sexy. "But your mother?" All Vic knew about the woman was that she was dead. Mac looked down at his feet and scuffed at the carpet with one of them. "How much do you know about your parents?" "Too much," Vic said with a snort. A controlling father and a distant mother, he hadn't seen them since he'd left home to join the Police Academy and he liked it that way. "Yeah, well I can't exactly say the same." Mac sighed softly, then grinned wryly. "Okay, maybe about my dad, but hey, I've only seen him a handful of times in the last decade, usually when he wanted help with some con, but my mom, she died when I was still a kid. I don't really remember much about her. I want to know something about her. Maybe that will make her feel, I dunno, closer?" Vic moved to stand in front of Mac, pulled by the sadness in the young man's voice. He wiped away one pink-tinged tear from Mac's cheek. "You've never mentioned this before." "Usually I try not to think about it," Mac said with a small, bitter laugh. "After all, she's dead and I don't even know where she's buried." Vic kissed him softly, responding to the pain in his voice. "If you need any help, let me know," he said. "I will," Mac said, then turned back to his search, his cocky mask back in place, and Vic knew that he wouldn't. Despite their relationship and the bond that had grown between them over the years, Mac was still a very private person. Not to mention independent. Asking for help would be a last resort. He should have seen it coming, he realized. If there was one driving force behind Mac his entire life it was family, probably because of how many families he'd lost. LiAnn had pointed it out to him more than once. Mac's dad pops up with a crazy scheme and nearly sucks Mac in. Mac turning frantic when the man disappears and he thinks he's dying. Mac risking his life to reconcile with Old Man Tang. Mac's failed attempt to get married. Everything in an attempt to recover a family. And was it really any different from Vic's need to feel part of a team? He'd risked death and worse himself for that. Vic returned to his own search, determined that he would support Mac in this, even if he could only do so by being there for the younger man. "Hey! Vic!" "Yeah?" Vic called back from the bookcase where he was checking titles and flipping through volumes looking for notes. Like the sex toys in the bedroom, the books indicated that Corinne's good-girl appearance was only skin deep, if that. "Take a look at this." Vic moved into the kitchen. Mac had found a tall, thin drawer that filled the space between the stove and main cabinet. In a lot of space-conscious homes and apartments, that space was used for holding cookie sheets and the like. Corinne, it seemed, used it for something else. Mac was pulling out boards, the type used by artists for pencil and pastel drawings. He felt around inside to make sure that he'd found everything, then slid the drawer shut. It had been cleverly designed so that it was nearly invisible when closed. They set the drawings out on the counter and kitchen table. Mac whistled softly. "She drew people better than she did landscapes," he said, and Vic had to agree. Of course, the subject matter was... interesting. Some people kept photos of their conquests. Corinne, it seemed, drew them. There was a baker's dozen of portraits. Very intimate portraits. Each of a different person; nine men and four women. They ranged from the discrete—a young man sleeping angelically on what was recognizably Corinne's bed, the tangled sheet doing little to disguise his nudity—to the outré—another man, pierced in ways that made Vic wince, tied up so tightly that you could almost see the bruises forming, with a trickle of blood starting at the corner of his mouth and a wild grin on his face as he stared intently off the page. Mac was checking the dates and names on the back of each board. "This one was done three days before her death," he said. "No name, though." He turned it over and gasped. Vic's eyes widened too at the almost familiar features. At first glance he could have sworn that he was looking at a picture of their absent partner, the woman both he and Mac had been in love with. LiAnn Tsei. Mac stared at the portrait, fascinated in spite of himself. He reached out to touch the familiar features in front of him, then stopped himself before he could smudge the delicate pencil markings on the smooth board. The resemblance was uncanny. "Weird," Vic said, echoing Mac's thoughts. The skin between his eyebrows was wrinkled in a most appealing way as he started at the portrait. It made Mac want to reach over and smooth it out. "You don't think it is her, do you?" he asked a little uncertainly. Vic shook his head. "You've known her longer than I have. Have you ever seen LiAnn looking like that?" "Point taken. But, it sure looks like her, doesn't it?" The only reply was a soft grunt. It was uncanny, though. Like the others, the portrait was almost photographic in quality. It was the image of a woman who could have been LiAnn's identical twin. She was sitting cross-legged on a bed, completely unconcerned by her nudity. That was the first clue that it couldn't be LiAnn, since the woman he knew was far too demure to display herself so unashamedly. The next clue was the large tattoo that stretched across her chest; the image of a Chinese dragon, depicted in great detail, with the head falling on one bicep, the tail curling around the other arm all the way down to her wrist and the main body covering her upper chest with the claws of two feet clutched around her nipples. It was an incredible piece of work, assuming that it hadn't been added to the picture out of the artist's fevered imagination. The final clue was the hungry expression in her eyes, so completely unlike LiAnn. They seemed to glow on the page, ready to devour the viewer. It wasn't just uncanny, it was disturbing. "I wonder who she is," Mac said softly, turning the board over to look at the back again. Every other portrait had both a name and a date on it. This one only had a date. "I don't know, but I plan on finding out," Vic said. "And it that doesn't look like Corinne's bedroom either, so where might be a good question too." He started piling the portraits up, organizing them in chronological order. Then he went looking for something to put them in. Mac stayed in the kitchen, considering the new puzzle they'd been presented with. The resemblance to their absent partner was probably pure coincidence, but deep down, he had the feeling that there was more to it than that. Much more. Life was good, as far as Khalil was concerned. He'd been living in Toronto for three months now and he was enjoying himself immensely. He'd been looking forward to this for years, dreaming of it, planning what he would do. His parents had wanted him to go to a school closer to home, but he'd convinced them that the University of Toronto was the best school for him. As their first-born son, how could they deny him the best? And so, his parents had reluctantly agreed. And it was an excellent school. But the best thing about it was the fact that it was far enough from home that he could only be expected to return for the Christmas holidays and the summer. As well, his parents were unlikely to appear for an unannounced visit. He'd even convinced them to let him come for the summer term, although he would be expected to go home next summer. Getting a head start on his degree work being the reason he had given them. So he was finally free! Free of the demands of his family, the expectations of his community, the rules of his heritage. Free to experience all that life had to offer and which had been forbidden before. Experience number one had been alcohol, and he had discovered that he could live without it. Not because of religion or anything: He just didn't like it. The euphoria wasn't worth the taste of the beer before and the pain of the hangover after. No, the interdiction against alcohol he could accept. But that left plenty of vices to indulge in. Dancing was forbidden by his parents, so here he was at a dance club, on a school night, no less. His first trip, he'd just watched. Then he'd gone back to the tiny apartment he would be sharing once the fall term started, locked the doors and practiced what he'd seen. The next night, he had danced the night away. He loved it. Sex was turning out to be a little trickier. Being a nineteen year old virgin might be fine and dandy back in the old country, but as far as Khalil was concerned, it was a brand of shame. A stigma that he wanted to get rid of as quickly as possible. But he couldn't exactly go up to a girl and ask her to sleep with him without being slapped or worse, laughed at, so he still hadn't come up with a way of losing his shameful virginity. He could always go out and find a prostitute, but it was a distasteful thought, even without the threat of disease. Khalil danced his way across the floor, enjoying the way that the music's beat made his bones vibrate. He let it drive his movements while he scanned the crowd. He saw some familiar faces among the unfamiliar. A few classmates, here and there. Some others that he saw only at the clubs. Familiar faces for which he knew very few names. Then a new face caught his attention, making his breath catch. She was beautiful. There was no other word for it. Slim and graceful as she danced. She was Chinese or something, although he couldn't really be sure. Oriental, certainly. Her perfectly curved body was tightly hugged by red leather and black silk. She was the perfect example of the bad girl he'd always been warned about. He started to drift towards her, completely hypnotized by the way she moved. Amazingly, she seemed to be alone, no one else paying any attention to her. How could someone so incredible be ignored completely? Then she turned and their eyes met. Khalil stopped dead in his tracks, stunned by the promise in those dark, almond-shaped eyes. Her lips, painted a dark red to match the leather, curved into a cool smile. She continued to dance, but she never broke eye contact. To Khalil, it seemed like she was dancing just for him. His cock was painfully hard in his jeans, making a bulge that would be obvious to anyone who cared to look. No one did. He might as well have been invisible to everyone except the mysterious beauty. Gradually, her eyes warmed until he felt as if he was going to melt. She started to move away, the crowd parting easily before her, but her eyes never left him. She quirked a finger and he followed. It was like he was on a leash, incapable of not following. He followed her into the back corridor, past the bathrooms and the chatting men and women there, down the hall to the emergency exit and out into the night. Chapter Four It was well past midnight by the time Vic pulled up outside the main entrance to the Agency headquarters. Anyone passing by might have wondered why someone would be visiting one of the city reservoirs at that hour of the night. They might even be suspicious enough to call the police, which would be a bad thing. However, the former reservoir was isolated enough that there was little chance of there being anyone passing by. Inside, the place was bright and modern, in contrast to the old- fashioned exterior. The top-level was usually pretty deserted, especially at night. After years of working for the Agency and wondering why he rarely saw anyone walking around, Vic had finally figured out why. Support staff kept to the lower levels so that if some idiot decided to try to break in, there wouldn't be much to see. They even had separate entrances all over town, connected to the facility by a private mini-subway system that didn't appear on any maps. Field agents, who needed to get in and out quickly, were the only ones who actually used the ground-level entrance or the top level. The leather portfolio tucked under his arm, Vic headed through that level to the briefing room that the Director also used as her public office, Mac right on his heels. The room was empty, so he put the case on the table and sat down to wait. Security would let their boss know that they were there, he knew. After a minute or two of fidgeting, Mac sat down too. "So boys, what have you got for me?" the Director asked as she descended the steps that led to what was presumably her private office. Vic had to fight the urge to jump to his feet. The Director had always been intimidating, but now that she was his Prince, she was even more so. As well, even after six months, he could still taste her blood, a rich liquor rolling across his tongue. Still, the respectful gesture was almost instinct, but he refused to give in to instinct. Occasional smirks told him that she knew what he was doing and found it... amusing. Vic opened the portfolio and pulled out the portrait of the LiAnn look-alike. He slid it down the table towards her as she sat down. She looked down at it and actually seemed disconcerted by the image staring up at her for a moment before covering up her reaction. "It's dated only days before Corinne Hamilton died," Mac pointed out. "And it was found in her apartment?" "Yes. She had a collection of them tucked away. Portraits of her conquests, we assume," Vic said. "Interesting." She picked up the portrait for closer study. "Very interesting indeed." Vic waited, but there was no further comment. "I'd think it was LiAnn," he finally said, "except that LiAnn wouldn't be caught dead looking like that. So to speak," he added, remembering that technically speaking, all three persons in the room were dead. "But?" The Director raised an eyebrow and waited with a small smile that said she knew the answer to the question and was waiting to see if he would get it correct. He hated tests. "But... The resemblance is uncanny. How many kinds of shapeshifters are capable of this, and would any of them have reason to want to?" The Director nodded, so he had obviously come up with the answer she wanted. "The obvious one is the Assamite. They are Kindred, but outside of the Camarilla and Sabbat. Rather like the Gangrel in that. However, they are assassins. As well, one of the clan's skills is illusion. And of the two sides, they work most often for the Sabbat, since they are more inclined towards using assassination to further their plans." Vic winced and carefully did not mention the Cleaners. "Guylaine again?" he suggested. Then his nose twitched. Something strange was going on. The Director seemed to be only half-involved in the conversation. As well, he'd been feeling edgy ever since they'd arrived, and it was just getting worse. Something was going on, but he wasn't sure what. For a moment, a flash of plain flickered across his boss's face at the mention of her older sister. For centuries they'd been on opposite sides of an ongoing battle: One Sabbat and the other Camarilla in alliance. "I don't think so," she said softly. "To her, I would not have suffered enough yet. She likes to give me plenty of time to mull over our encounters and my failures." She glanced over to Mac but didn't say anything. She didn't need to. Her failure, as she saw it, had allowed Mac to be Embraced by a clan on the fringes of Kindred society. Certainly not the clan she had planned for him. Mac flinched, no doubt aware of her thoughts. "So why would an Assamite assassin be killing kids in Toronto?" Vic asked, making a mental note to do some more research. He obviously needed to learn more about the various clans. More than the Director was willing to say before she had to, certainly. The Director lifted her hands in the classic 'who knows?' gesture. "Do you have any ideas?" she asked. Only she wasn't looking at either Vic or Mac as she spoke. Instead, she was looking towards the stairs she'd so recently descended. "I don't know. It doesn't exactly fit the Assamite pattern," a half-remembered but at the same time very familiar voice said from the shadows at the top. The man started down, coming into view. "Cash!" Mac said delightedly, practically bouncing out of his seat in a most unMac-like way. The two men met in the middle of the room, pounding each other on the back and grinning like madmen. Vic tried to conceal his discomfort at the sight. The Director was watching him with far too sharp eyes, and he knew he hadn't been very successful. He had to fight the urge to growl at the sight of his lover in another man's arms. Not a good reaction, unless he wanted to scare Mac off. Six months as lovers, three months as roommates, and he was still worried that Mac was going get commitment-shy and head for the hills. He was pitiful. But then Cash looked over Mac's shoulder at him, and his hostility drained away so quickly that it might as well never have existed. "Vic," Cash said with a smile. He held out his hand. This time it was Vic who was in Cash's arms before he could even consider the idea. After a short mental struggle, Vic buried his nose in the man's neck, inhaling deeply. The scent that had been tugging at the edges of his mind earlier now surrounded him, holding him safe. It was like... coming home. Finally, Cash let go. Vic reluctantly let him step away, a little embarrassed at his reaction. He barely knew the guy, and here he was, clinging to him like... Like a lover. Or a child. He wasn't sure which. "This is all very touching, I'm sure," the Director drawled from her seat, effectively breaking the mood. "However, we do have business to discuss. Cash is not here for pleasure," she added pointedly. Vic returned to his seat, followed by a reluctant Mac. "What sort of business?" Vic said with a frown, ignoring the dark look Mac was giving both him and their boss. "San Francisco is a long way to come. Besides, I thought that business between Princes was only done during a conclave." "That isn't exactly true," the Director said as Cash dropped into a chair with the fluid grace that the older Kindred all seemed to have. Vic wondered just how old the Gangrel was. Cash didn't look a day over thirty—younger than himself—but in this case, looks could be very deceiving. But that wasn't important right then. With a mental shake of the head, he turned his attention back to what his boss was saying. "While the important business is done at the conclaves, information is constantly flowing between cities. Especially when it affects more than one city." "So they send messengers?" Mac broke in. "Hello, this is the twenty-first century. Hasn't anyone heard of e-mail? Or how about the telephone?" Cash snorted softly. "Technology can be tapped," he pointed out. "But no, messengers aren't the norm. I just happened to be passing through the area, so I was tapped to deliver the information personally." "Passing through? Where are you going?" Mac said, echoing Vic's thoughts. Cash shrugged. "North," he said simply. "Preferably someplace without people. I'll know when I get there." "What about Julian?" Cash frowned slightly at Mac. "What about him?" he asked with an edge in his voice. "Focus, people," the Director said, breaking in again. She was starting to sound a little pissed. "You can play twenty questions to your heart's content. Later." Immediately, all tension disappeared from Cash's expression. He exchanged a quick, conspiratorial grin with Vic and Mac, then carefully sobered. "As you know," he said, businesslike enough for even the Director, "San Francisco has a very large, very old Chinatown. Not the oldest in North America, but pretty damn close. It's also the only part of the city that the Prince has no control of. In fact, if you're Kindred, you don't want to go anywhere near Chinatown. Strange things happen in Chinatown." Vic rolled his eyes at the cryptic statement, while Mac snorted. Cash ignored both of them. "However, we do have some eyes and ears there, and the word is that there are parties in China that have taken an interest in Toronto." "Okay, that was a whole lot of nothing," Mac said wryly. "Are we talking Triads or any of the other criminal organizations? 'Cause if you are, I hate to tell you this, but that isn't exactly news." And Mac would certainly know, having spent years as member of one of those organizations that straddled east and west, operating out of Hong Kong. Cash's eyes flashed silver. "This interest is non-human," he said. "And while they've been building a presence in North America, they've never moved past the west coast before. Vancouver and San Francisco has always seemed to be the limit of their interest, and they've never actively interfered with the Kindred. This is... unusual." "So what are we talking about?" Mac asked. "Vampires or something else?" Cash just shrugged. "Nobody knows for sure. The mysterious east is just that. We know that they have some sort of supernatural population, but we don't know what kind. All we know is that any Kindred who tries to enter Asia ends up dead. Whatever they are, they don't seem to like us much." Mac snorted softly. "I never noticed anything supernatural when I lived on the streets in Hong Kong," he said. "And how long did it take you to notice it here, hmmm?" the Director asked. Mac winced. "Point taken," he said wryly. "Actually, there are a few theories about that," she said, taking pity on him. "For some reason, normal humans seem to be almost incapable of noticing anything related to us. Those that do usually end up dead or institutionalized or Embraced. Call it... protective coloration." Vic noted that she didn't mention the hunters that Moira had warned him about. Then she sat up a little straighter, the lecturing teacher giving way to the Prince and Director. "However, while that is something to keep in mind, don't let it make you careless." "So," Vic broke in, returning to the original topic. "Do you have any idea what sort of interest these mysterious somethings have in our city?" Cash shrugged again. "That's all we know. The human servant was murdered before she could send a more detailed warning." Vic's eyebrows went up. "That's it? How do you know that she wasn't mistaken?" he asked dubiously. That got him glared at. "A police detective assigned to Narcotics and specializing in Chinatown gangs is not exactly the sort of person to make mistakes. She had more than twenty years on the force, and since she was murdered an hour after sending the initial message, I think it's more than a little suspicious. Unless, of course, you believe in coincidence." "How did she die?" Cash's expression went dark. "She was torn to pieces in the middle of a busy street in broad daylight. Strangely enough, no one saw a thing," he added sarcastically. Vic just nodded. He remembered when the 'I didn't see nothing' phenomenon. "Torn apart" Mac looked both disgusted and fascinated. "Any chance it's related to our case?" It was a good question too. After all, their victims had been killed in a pretty brutal way. The Director waved a hand at him. "Finding that out is your job," she pointed out. Cash frowned, obviously confused by the turn, and opened him mouth to say something. She shook her head, and he stayed silent. "But even if it doesn't, I want the two of you to keep your eyes open. Whether it's the Sabbat or some other group, I don't like anyone showing too much interest in my territory." Stronger men than Vic would cringe before this woman's wrath. He just froze, like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi. It wasn't a comfortable feeling. Then the fire faded, and she was just the tired, overworked Director of a shadowy government agency again. Mac was tapping a finger on the table, though. "What about LiAnn?" The Director frowned. "And what does she have to do with anything right now?" Mac's head came up and he glared at her in a foolhardy way. "You said that Asia was off-limits to Kindred. Kindred get killed there. But you sent LiAnn to China." That hadn't occurred to Vic yet, and Cash looked shocked. The Director just looked... cold. "LiAnn isn't Kindred," she said in a soft, dangerous voice. "So what?" Mac shot back. "When is LiAnn coming back?" The Director didn't reply. She just glared at him. Vic was starting to feel uncomfortable. "When is the last time you even heard from her." The Director stood. "That is not important right now. There is a killer in my city and I want him stopped. Outsiders are interested in my city and I want to know why. That is what is important. Now go." You didn't have to tell them twice. A moment later, the three men were standing in the hallway, the door closing behind them with an ominous click. Mac slapped the wall, then winced. The bright yellow paint covered plaster over concrete. It was hard on the hand. "LiAnn's been looking after herself all her life," Vic said softly, trying to reassure Mac. "She'll be fine." "But, you heard..." "She isn't Kindred," Cash said. "The Kindred do have a presence in Hong Kong and a couple of the other large cities. Kindred are fair game, but their servants are usually left alone." "Usually?" Mac protested. "Mac, trust her. I'll bet on Li Ann against just about anything." Mac looked like he wanted to protest, but then he slumped. "Fine, but if I haven't heard from her by the end of the month, I'm going to make a fuss." It wasn't an idle threat either. Mac on a rampage was not to be taken lightly. "Okay," Mac said, suddenly all business. "Now what?" Vic looked at his watch. "Three hours to sunrise," he said. "Not much we can do in the time. Pick up the credentials Dobrinsky promised, check to see if the computer geeks got anything useful off Hamilton's computer, see if Nathan's come up with anything in Records." "Anything that doesn't involve aliens or Alex Trebek," Mac added. "What about you, Cash?" For a moment, Vic had forgotten about the older Gangrel. The man was so silent that if you weren't looking directly at him, you wouldn't realize he was there. Cash shook his head. "This place is just... weird," he muttered to himself. "No. The Prince gave me permission to stay here for the day. As soon as the sun goes down again, I'm back on the road. I really need to get away from cities for a while." Mac looked worried, despite the reassurance. "Are you okay, Cash? You didn't have a fight with Julian or something, did you?" Vic wanted to tell him to shut up: Cash was a big boy and could take care of himself. Cash just looked amused. "No, we didn't fight. I was feeling... restless." "So you just left him?" Mac sounded shocked. Now Cash was looking peeved. "No, I did not 'just leave him,'" he snapped. "I have served him for forty years and been his lover for most of that. Sometimes we need to spend some time apart. As well, I've been in San Francisco for more than a decade and people are starting to comment on how little I've changed in that time. I need to leave town. So, I'm taking a vacation. In a few years, it will be time for Julian to change identities and I'll rejoin him then." Then he softened a little. "When you've got the chance to be together for centuries, a few years apart are nothing. Hell, if nothing else it'll give us something new to talk about." Mac shook his head. "I just don't understand how you can simply walk away like that." Neither could Vic, for that matter. Cash chuckled. "That's because the two of you are so young. You haven't learned to see the long run yet. Wait a few decades and you'll understand." Mac still looked dubious. As for Vic, his mind said that it made sense, but his gut hated the idea of leaving everyone and heading out into the wilderness alone. But like Cash said, he hadn't learned to think that far ahead yet. He'd needed to learn to think in terms of decades and centuries. By this time, they'd reached the exit. Cash stopped and looked at them for a moment. "Vic, can I talk to you for a moment?" The pointed look in Mac's direction added the word 'alone' to the request. Mac didn't look happy about it. "I'll meet you at the car," he told Vic flatly, then walked away. The soles of his shoes slapped inelegantly against the pavement. Vic winced, then turned back to Cash. He leaned back against the wall, folded his arms over his chest and waited for the man to say whatever it was he hadn't wanted to say in front of Mac. "Come with me," Cash said. Vic waited, but there was no elaboration. "Where?" he finally asked. "North. Or south. Wherever the road takes us." Cash reached over and touched his arm. "My Sire Embraced me, then vanished. I had to figure out everything on my own. I always said that I wouldn't do the same to any Childe of mine. For the last six months, I've regretted letting her take you away. I want to correct that mistake. There's so much I can teach you." He sounded... wistful. "I've had a teacher," Vic pointed out. Cash shook his head. "It's not the same. How could it be without the blood bond? Even after all this time, I'm sure you can still feel it." And he could. It was like an elastic band, pulling him towards the other man, no matter how much he fought it. He wasn't even sure he wanted to fight it. But there other bonds, just as strong. Two in particular restrained him. "She won't let me go," he said. Cash would know who he was talking about. "She said she would if you decided you wanted to go." For a moment, hope flared. He liked his work and his partners— hell, even his boss most of the time—but he felt trapped too. He hadn't been given a choice about coming to work for the Agency, and he'd been told more than once that he couldn't leave unless she decided to let him. Now he could. Freedom to travel, to see the world, a larger world now that he knew the truth. But freedom always had a price. "What about Mac?" Cash wouldn't meet his eyes. "He stays." And sometimes the price was too high. "Forget it. I'm not going to abandon him." Cash just looked resigned. "I had the feeling you'd say that. I did try, but she wasn't willing to let you both go." Vic laughed, a bitter sound. "Of course not. She knows I wouldn't leave him, so she gives me the illusion of a choice that is really no choice at all." "I'm going to be at the Hockley Valley nature reserve for a week or so. If you change your mind..." Vic nodded. "I won't, but I appreciate the offer." "Take care of yourself then, Vic." Giving in to impulse, Vic hugged the man tightly, then kissed him. Lips were closed and there was no tongue involved, but it wasn't a simple peck on the cheek either. Then he pulled away, turned and walked out the door. He didn't look back. Mac was waiting for him in the car. The engine was running and something with a heavy beat was blaring from the speakers. Vic opened the passenger side door and slid in. "What did he want?" Vic looked at Mac, but the younger man stared straight ahead, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. "He wanted me to go with him. The Director said yes." There was no visible reaction. "When do you leave?" "I don't. I'm staying." There was a long moment of silence. Then all the tension drained away. "You are?" "Of course I am," Vic snapped, a little annoyed that Mac thought he would just leave like that. "Idiot. Now, are we going home, or are we just going to sit here until the sun comes up?" "I thought we needed to talk to Dobrinsky, Nathan and the techs?" Mac said, teasing now. Despite the words, he'd already put the car into drive and was headed for the road. "They can wait until tonight. I just want to go home." "Good," Mac said cryptically. The drive was silent, as was the ride up in the elevator to their floor. Vic was getting a little worried. Mac was never silent, unless he was upset or up to something. The door shut behind them, and Vic opened his mouth to ask Mac what was up and to try to reassure him again that he wasn't going anywhere. Before he could say anything, though, Mac had slammed him up against the door and was doing his best to suck his tongue out of his head. Mac tore at his clothes with hungry hands as Vic tried to steer them towards the bedroom. He still wasn't sure what had gotten into his partner, but he had the feeling that he was going to want something soft under him for whatever was going to happen next. Not that he was objecting, of course. His hands were just as busy at the task of stripping Mac. He knew that they were leaving a trail of clothing behind them, but his usual neatnik instincts didn't mind. Hell, considering the number of things in their path they'd knocked over, the place probably looked like a hurricane had swept through. They hit the bed still clawing at each other, but there was nothing left to remove except skin. Fingernails were leaving bloody trials, but the sting of the scrapes just added to the heat of the moment. As soon as his back hit the mattress, Vic was flipped over onto his stomach. He could have fought back, but by now he was so hot that he didn't care what Mac did to him as long as he fucked him now. And he got his wish faster than he'd expected. Mac pulled him up onto his knees and spread his ass cheeks as wide as they would go. Then there was a hawking sound and something cool and slimy hit his asshole with amazing accuracy. Then his ass was pulled a little higher and Mac thrust home in one quick thrust without any preparation. Vic bit into the bedspread as pain and pleasure merged. Mac was thrusting hard and fast, his fingers digging into Vic's hips to hold him in place. Vic was hard enough to break boards, but he couldn't reach back to take care of himself. He needed both hands to brace himself against the force of Mac's fucking. He tried to push back against Mac's thrusts, but the grip on his hips kept him from moving. All he could do was stay where he was and take it. The pressure was building now, and a keeping sound vibrated in the back of his throat. He was shaking with the force of the approaching explosion. He threw his head back, then howled as Mac's fangs buried in his shoulder. His semen pulsed out of his cock in the same rhythm as the blood from the wound. Completely limp now, he collapsed. Mac followed him down, continuing to pound into him, uncaring of anything by his own need. Thankfully he didn't take long before he froze, pulsing inside of Vic. Mac pulled out of Vic's throbbing ass and collapsed next to him. Vic knew that they were going to stink come nightfall if they didn't get cleaned up, but nothing on earth was going to get him to move, not even food. Mac didn't seem interested in leaving the bed either. Instead, he wrapped himself tightly around Vic, already mostly asleep. "Don't go," was the last thing he mumbled. "I won't," Vic promised, hugging him even tighter. Chapter Five Khalil woke late the next day. In fact, he woke so late that he realized that he had missed all his classes for the day. For a moment he felt a wave of guilt over that. Despite the fact that his main goal at the moment was to live life like he hadn't been allowed to while living under his parent's thumbs, this was the first time he'd actually missed a class. Getting a degree so that he could get a good job was important to staying out of his parent's control. But he quickly shook off the guilt, pointing out to himself that he could easily catch up on any class work. Besides, exams were just around the corner, so most of his summer courses were just recapping anyway. And really, what had happened the night before had been far more important. He stretched out on the stained sheets, reliving the night in his mind. His cock twitched a little, but refused to get hard. He'd been completely drained. She'd been incredible. She had done things to him that he hadn't even thought humanly possible. The things she'd shown him would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life, he was sure. And then, sometime just before dawn, she'd left. He'd been completely limp, but she'd been bursting with energy, humming under her breath as she dressed. Then she'd kissed him one last time before leaving, setting the apartment door to lock behind herself. Khalil pulled himself out of bed and staggered down the short hallway to the bathroom. His reflection spoke eloquently of how exhausting the previous night had been. His face was pale under the beard stubble and his eyes were bloodshot. The skin surrounding them looked almost bruised. Real bruises ringed his throat and dotted what he could see of his chest in the mirror, marking all the places she'd sucked and bitten. He looked like hell. He felt fantastic. Completely devoid of energy, but fantastic. He grinned at his reflection. No longer would the stigma of virginity be attached to him. He was now a man. His only regret was that she'd refused to tell him her name. How could he properly immortalize her? And more importantly, how could he find her again? A hot shower and a meal later, he was feeling human again. He also had a plan of action. As soon as the clubs opened, he would go back to the club that evening; the club where he'd met his exotic temptress. Maybe she would be there again. Maybe she would do all those wonderful things to him again. Until then, he might not know her name, but her image still glowed brightly in his mind. He pulled out the leather-bound journal his mother had given him for his poetry and opened it to the first blank page, then picked up his pen and began to write. Sunset found Jackie preparing for the night, getting ready to prowl. A pair of tight, black leather shorts and a black tank top two sizes too small, with a loose silver mesh shirt over them, and spike-heeled boots built the look of a typical young woman on the make. She wouldn't go unnoticed, not with her assets, but she wouldn't stand out in the clubs. She was hunting. She grinned and let a hint of her true nature show through. A gleam of silver to the eyes and teeth slightly sharper than the norm. It was just enough to make a human nervous without being sure why they were nervous. She giggled, then dampened it down. Playing with humans was fun—LiAnn had been a blast before she'd found out about the Kindred, so easy to make all antsy—but she didn't want to scare them away tonight. Kind of difficult to pump them for info if they didn't want to be anywhere near you. After one last check in the mirror to make sure that running away was the last thing anyone was going to be doing, Jackie grabbed her tiny purse, barely large enough to hold LiAnn's photo and some money, and headed for the door. The cab driver gave her an appreciative look as she slid into the back seat and directed him to the club that Jack Murphy had been seen at his last night. She grinned: Maybe she'd get to do some hunting of a different sort that night as well. Mac woke in gradual stages, buoyed by a bone-deep feeling of satisfaction. He felt so good that he didn't even want to wake up. He rolled over and pulled the covers up over his head. Unfortunately, his lover had different ideas. The blankets were torn off the bed, exposing him to a cold, cruel and way too bright world. This was made up for by a mug of warm, fragrant blood held out to him as he reluctantly sat up, though. He snatched it out of the man's hands, unable to restrain a growl. He was starving for some reason, and the beast was rattling its chains. He finished the mug in about three gulps, calming the beast slightly, but not satiating it completely. A second mug was handed to him, and this time he took his time to savor the flavor. In a way, he still missed the pleasure of drinking his favorite Chinese beer, as well as the taste of proper Hong Kong cuisine, but he couldn't remember them ever tasting as satisfying as this, sick as that might sound. He set the second mug down on the bedside table, next to the first, with a satisfied sigh. The beast was purring deep inside. The he stiffened. Now that the hunger was out of the way, he remembered just why he'd been so ravenous. He hadn't eaten before sleeping because he'd... He looked up at Vic. The man was standing in the bedroom doorway, leaning against the frame wearing nothing but a pair of ratty old jeans. His bare chest still showed the marks of frenzied—and violent—sex, especially the deep bite marks on his shoulder, and considering how fast the Kindred healed, that said a lot. "Oh, boy." Vic's lips twitched, but his expression didn't change. "About this morning..." Mac tried again, then floundered. His stomach clenched, and for a moment he was sure that his meal was going to come right back up again. "Are you mad?" he finally asked. Silence. Mac shut his eyes with a groan, wondering if he'd managed to screw things up so badly that Vic might reconsider Cash's offer. The moment he wasn't looking at Vic anymore, he was tackled. The only warning he had was a slight breeze as the man moved. In a flash, he was pinned to the mattress. Vic was staring down at him through eyes that were completely inhuman now. There was no trace of the original green color left. Instead, his eyes were silver, with pupils that had narrowed to thin cat-like slits. His lips pulled back in a feral expression that exposed fully extended fangs. Mac froze, afraid of his partner for the first time he could remember. Then Vic's fangs were sinking into his completely unprepared neck. Mac gasped at the flash of pain, then was distracted by Vic's hips grinding against his groin. The feel of the denim covered zipper rubbing against his cock was painful, but he was also getting hard. With a bit of struggle, he was able to get his arms free, but instead of pushing Vic away, he found himself pulling the man even closer. It was all too intense to last. Mac's back arched so hard that he felt like it was going to snap and came all over the front of Vic's jeans. He collapsed back onto the mattress, a limp, sticky mess. Vic was licking at the sluggishly bleeding gash in his neck. Then Vic lifted his head. The fangs were hidden and his eyes were green again. The only hints of his other nature were the still slightly narrow pupils and the smear of blood at the corner of his now smiling mouth. "Are you mad?" Vic asked, speaking for the first time since Mac had woken up. "Huh?" "For this." Vic gestured down at their post-sex state. Mac stared up at him in disbelief. "Are you kidding? It was... incredible! I've never been into the rough stuff, but this..." His paused, trying to find the words. "Then that should answer your question. Just don't do it too often." It took Mac a moment to figure out what he meant. Vic rolled off of him and stood up, scratching at the crotch of his jeans. The fabric looked to be soaked from both sides. Obviously, he wasn't the only one who had gotten off—literally—on Vic's idea of an explanation. "Come on," the man said, swatting Mac's leg. "We've got a ton of work to do, and the night won't last forever." He stripped the jeans off, showing that he wasn't wearing anything underneath and confirming that he had come in them. He headed for the door to the bathroom, then stopped and looked over his shoulder at Mac who was fascinated by the movement of his ass. "Wash my back?" he suggested. A minute earlier, Mac would have said that he couldn't move to save his own life. Now he couldn't move fast enough to suit himself. The shower ended up being very long, leaving Mac feeling completely refreshed. He'd ended up washing Vic's back, as well as every other part of his body, and had the favor returned. Neither one of them was up to a second round so soon, but he could feel Vic's blood humming through his veins, and knew that the other man felt the same. The sense of connection was almost as good as sex. Then they dressed quickly, had a second meal, and got on their way. Unfortunately, his high spirits didn't last. Vic was whistling along with the radio as he drove, one of those old-fashioned blues songs he loved to listen to, while Mac tried to hold off the doubts he'd been having earlier. It wasn't easy, though, and Mac hated it. He'd never thought himself this... needy. After several minutes of this, Vic suddenly swerved out of traffic, ignoring a few irritated honks, and stopped on the side of the road, only five minutes away from the Agency. "All right, enough already," he snapped. "What is your problem?" Mac stared at him in shock, completely thrown off guard by the sudden stop. "Huh?" "You've been brooding ever since you saw Cash last night, and I want to know what's wrong. Talk." "Or what?" Mac shot back. Vic shrugged. "Or don't." He sighed. "I can't force you to tell me what's wrong, but can't you trust me?" "Of course I trust you!" Vic just stared at him. Mac slumped back against the headrest. "It's stupid," he muttered to himself. "So what else is new?" The obvious humor and concern took the sting out of the words. "Is it LiAnn?" Mac almost took the convenient excuse, but couldn't bring himself to do it. "No, you were right. She can take care of herself. And she knows the country. It's not like she'd stand out like we would." "So what then? Mac..." Vic's voice trailed off as he gave Mac his best 'I'm worried' look. It was pretty obvious what Vic was doing: He was trying to guilt Mac into telling him what was wrong. Even worse, it was working. "Cash left Julian," he finally said. "So?" Mac fidgeted, feeling a little foolish. He knew his feelings were silly, and he didn't want to have to put them into words. Thankfully, Vic quickly put two and two together. He bounced his forehead against the steering wheel for a moment. Then he sat up straight, in perfect control. "Mac, I wish I could say that I'll never leave you, but we both know how foolish those sorts of promises can be. But I have no intention of going anywhere, not if I have any say in it." "Yeah, but Cash talked like getting the urge to pull up stakes and leave was normal for Gangrels." "Well, yeah. At least that's what Moira said. But are you saying that you wouldn't come with me when it happens?" For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Mac's eyes went wide as he realized that there was a possibility that he hadn't considered. "Do you think she'd agree?" he asked. "Who the fuck cares?" Vic shot back with a snarl. Then he sighed. "I let her stop me from leaving this time by hanging onto you, but I didn't really want to go, at least not yet," he said a little more calmly. "Listen, there's no guarantees for either of us. Either one of us could end up permanently dead, tomorrow or next year. Or you could decide that you don't want to be with me anymore. But I promise you this: If I ever need to leave, and we're still together, you're coming with me." Then his expression turned impish. "Even if I have to bash you over the head and pack you in my luggage. Got it?" Mac laughed at the mental image. "Got it," he agreed, feeling relieved. "Good." Vic released the brake and pulled the car back into traffic. "Of course, if we don't do our job we won't have to worry about it, because the Director will kill us herself." The Karnak was the latest in a long stream of themed dance clubs to occupy the old brick building at the center of the nightlife district of downtown Toronto. It had originally been built as a warehouse, but back in the days when even warehouses were designed to have appealing exteriors. Old-fashioned but nice was Jackie's verdict as she paid the cabbie. She resisted the urge to slap the old letch when he openly looked down her front as she leaned over. Yep, old-fashioned. If you ignored the neon pyramid on the roof and the patching neon sign—complete with palm trees—on the front of the building, of course. Inside, the theme was carried over in everything. The floor was a glittery gold, obviously intended to look like sand. There were a couple really fake looking sarcophagi in the corners to add ambiance and the wall behind the bar was painted with a huge mural of camels and sand dunes and pyramids. It, at least, wasn't half-bad. Jackie squeezed in close to the bar. The shooters all had cheesy names, so she settled with asking for a glass of white wine. It wasn't cheap, and she tipped heavily to soften the bartender up before pulling out LiAnn's picture and asking if he'd seen her. He looked at the picture for a moment, then handed it back, shaking his head. "Nope. Haven't seen her around," he said, quite definitively. "Are you sure?" "Yeah, I'm sure," he said sarcastically. "Look, in this line of work, you learn to recognize faces. Trust me, I'd remember that face." He frowned suddenly. "But there was a kid, maybe a week ago. Had a piece of paper with a painting, of all things, on it. Looked like her. He was asking the same question. Said he'd met her here. Couldn't help him either." "Do you remember his name?" Jackie asked, although she was pretty sure who it had been. "Nah. He drank Molson Extra. I remember the faces and the drinks. It's all I need to know about them." "Well then, what did he look like?" "Maybe twenty, freckled. Five foot nine. Skinny. Purple hair with glitter on the ends. Haven't seen him in a while. 'Scuse me, gotta get back to work." He was at the other end of the bar mixing drinks for impatient customers before Jackie could point out that Jack Murphy wasn't going to be back ever. It was a little strange that he didn't know about it, since the police would have talked to everyone in the place after Murphy died. Maybe he hadn't been working that night. Still, it was strange. Jackie tucked the picture back in her purse, then picked up her wineglass and moved away from the bar, trying to avoid having it spilled down her front by a stray elbow. Almost as if by magic, a path opened up, leading to one of those tiny bar tables that you had to stand up at. It was miraculously empty, so she grabbed it before anyone else could. She leaned against the table and sipped her wine. The bar was elevated above the dance floor, so she had a good view looking out over the sea of gyrating bodies as she considered her next move. Did she go looking for friends of Jack Murphy, looking for the story of the woman he had been hunting for, or did she keep asking about LiAnn? And for that matter, what did she tell her boss? She now had one person who had seen vic #5 with her before his death, and another who said that the vic had been looking for her after that. It was a little strange that the kid had had a painting instead of a photo, though. "Hello. All alone?" Jackie looked up, ready with the brush-off, then stopped in surprise. It was Mister 'Tall, Dark and Handsome' from the other night and another club. He grinned at her expression, his teeth a brilliant white against dusky skin. "I told you I'd see you again," he said. "I'm usually right. So, interested in that rain check yet?" Alarm bells were going off in her head: How had he known where to find her? Stalker, coincidence or one of those damned Vampire Hunters were possibilities that quickly occurred to her. And yet there was something about his eyes... All of a sudden, she decided to throw caution to the winds and just enjoy herself. She tossed back the last of her wine, then stepped away from the table. "Why not? But first, I'm in the mood to dance." She held out her hand and he took it, bowing slightly at the waist, his eyes never leaving hers. They were very expressive eyes, almost seeming to be laughing. "If you wish to dance, then so be it." Mac was seeming more like his old cheerful self by the time they got out of the car, but Vic still watched him carefully. Even after several years of working together, he'd never really seen just how deep Mac's insecurities went; the younger man did too good a job covering them up with juvenile humor and brash behavior. Part of him was angry that his partner had been so willing to believe that he would just walk away from him like that, without a second thought. Luckily, he'd been able to hang onto his temper long enough for logic to kick in. After all, hadn't Mac's father done just that? And in a way, so had LiAnn. As for the Tangs, they had pushed him to the breaking point, then turned their backs on him. When put that way, Vic's jealousy of seeing Mac hugging a man he'd spent just one night with seemed pretty petty. It wasn't as if Cash was going to take Mac away from him or anything. The Director was nowhere to be found. Neither was Dobrinsky, much to Mac's relief and Vic's suspicion. It was like they were being avoided for some reason. However, there was a packet on the boardroom table addressed to the two of them. Inside was all the documentation they needed for their nonexistent detective agency. Licenses to investigate, licenses to carry weapons, even a history. Vic would bet money that if he opened up a phonebook, he would find Mansfield and Ramsey Investigations listed. Hell, they probably even had a web-site. Never let it be said that the Agency did a sloppy job. That taken care of, they continued on to the next item on their list of things not done the night before; checking to see if forensics got anything useful off of Corinne Hamilton's computer. "Sorry guys," the man said. "Nothing even slightly interesting for you in the girl's files. A lot of homework assignments, personal email, that sort of stuff. No diary, and the email doesn't mention her meeting anyone new. Gotta say, though, this girl was seriously kinky. You should see some of the mailing lists she's on." Before Vic could ask, he was handed a several page printout listing those mailing lists and their members. Maybe the other victims were on the same lists, although he doubted it. Still, it was worth a try. "We also found a web-site in her name. Nothing there. Some scans of her artwork, the usual junk about her favorite bands and what she's reading. No hidden files, and it hadn't been updated since March." In other words, a dead end. "Thanks, Kyle," Vic said. He hadn't expected much, so he wasn't too disappointed. The police experts would have gone over the machine with a fine-toothed comb already. On the other hand, they had missed the portraits, so it had been worth a try. Next stop was records. The place was dead silent. "Nathan!" Vic hollered when the nervous little man didn't appear immediately. "Nathan's not here. Dobrinsky said he needed him for something." "I'll bet," Mac said with a smirk. Vic was just trying not to picture what that something might involve. Then he took a closer look at the attractive blonde who had spoken. "Careena?" he said in disbelief. "Hey, Vic. Long time no see." She shifted the large pile of file folder she was holding and nearly lost the top half. Vic moved to help her, but Mac beat him to it. "Thanks," she said, directing him towards the table. "Who's your new friend, Vic?" "Oh, sorry. You two never met, did you? Careena, this is my partner, Mac. Mac, Careena. She headed this department before Nathan." "Pleased to meet you," Mac said, holding out his hand. They shook, each eyeing the other. Vic wasn't sure what they were looking for, but Careena, at least, seemed satisfied. Mac's expression was perfectly blank. "Partner?" Careena said, turning back to Vic. "What happened to LiAnn?" "Don't you know?" Vic teased. "I thought that the people in records knew everything." "Well, considering I just got back from Tierra del Fuego, I'm a little behind in the gossip." "Tierra del Fuego?" Mac said in disbelief. "What did you do to piss off the Director?" She shrugged. "I haven't a clue, but it must have been big. Actually, it wasn't too bad. The place was beautiful, if a little cold in the winter. But boring as hell. So, what's the scoop?" "Not much to say," Vic told her. "The Director recruited Mac and assigned him to work with me and LiAnn, since he'd worked with her back before they joined the Agency. LiAnn had a bad experience a few months ago and was sent home to China to recover, so it's just the two of us now." "You and LiAnn still an item?" "Uh, no, not for a couple years now. Why?" "Great! I know this nice little restaurant, great music. How about dinner tomorrow night, my treat? I'll show you my vacation pictures," she added suggestively. Vic froze. He and Careena had flirted, back before she'd been shipped off, but it had never really been serious since he'd been with LiAnn. Sure, she was attractive, but he'd never expected any real response. For a moment he could hear Nikki saying 'Forget it, she's not your type.' "Forget it," Mac said, all ice, echoing Nikki. "He's not available." "Oh, really?" Careena said, looking Mac up and down as he stepped closer to Vic. "Really," Vic confirmed, breaking in before there was any bloodshed. "So, do you have anything related to our case?" he asked, trying to change the subject to something a little less dangerous. Mac was staring daggers at Careena, while she just looked amused. "Actually, I do," she said, all business now. She started flipping open the file folders she'd placed on the table. "I took a walk through as many police databases, North American and Interpol, as I could get to, looking to see if there were any cases similar to yours. I hit paydirt. Vic sat down and picked up the first folder, scanning the information quickly. "Three deaths in Victoria," she continued. "Two in Vancouver, two more in Calgary. There was even one in Saskatoon, of all places. All with the same MO, all unsolved. I printed out everything about the cases that I could get at. I'm still searching, so there may be more. Have fun, guys." Ignoring Mac's growl, she brushed past Vic, unnecessarily close, as she left the room. Mac picked up one of the other folders and started reading, pointedly not looking at Vic. He found it kind of amusing. "Mac?" Vic said, looking up from the page in front of him. A soft grunt was the only reply he got. "She's not my type." Mac still didn't say anything, but at least he was smiling. Vic turned his attention back to the file, still hearing Nikki's voice in his head. 'Strippers, unwed mothers, any girl in trouble. It's the old wounded bird syndrome.' And, thank God, Mac. Chapter Six For the next few hours, they sat at the table in records, going through the files that Careena had produced for them. The crime scene photos from the first one was enough to convince them that yes, this was the same killer at work. After that determination, they started passing the files back and forth, each of them writing notes on pads of paper of all the details that seemed important. It might not have been Mac's forte, but he still managed to fill several pages. He was also seeing a pattern form. "All right," Vic said as he closed the last file and made a few last notes. "What have we got?" Mac glanced at his pad, flipping to the page where he'd plotted the deaths out according to date. "The first death was in Victoria, five months ago," he said, tapping his pen against the page. "Then Vancouver, Calgary, Saskatoon and now Toronto. Other than Saskatoon, where there was only one death, the killings took place one week apart, except for the lulls when the killer changed cities." "Assuming that there weren't deaths we don't know about yet," Vic pointed out. "But that makes him not your usual serial killer." Mac frowned. "I'm not sure I follow you." "Serial killers tend to stay in one area," Vic explained, descending into a surprising lecture mode. "They also usually want to be caught, so they make mistakes. This guy hasn't. He also isn't bragging to the press or taunting cops. Serial killers usually want attention." Vic stared at the page in front of him while Mac watched, fascinated. He could remember LiAnn talking about how unsophisticated Vic was, and hearing the undertones that said she also considered him barely educated, but here he was sounding more like a psych teacher. Or a cop who knew his stuff. He was struck again by how little LiAnn had known about the man she'd worked with for more than a year before his arrival, not to mention a man she'd planned to marry. "Now, spree killers do travel," Vic continued, "but they tend to be very sloppy, just killing anyone who gets in their way. As well, they usually just shoot them, or something similar. They certainly don't go to this level of effort. They also tend to escalate, killing more people, with shorter intervals between, until they get chased down." "And that certainly doesn't describe this guy either," Mac summed up for him. "So we're dealing with something new and different. Quelle surprise. But you keep saying 'he.'" Vic shrugged. "Most serial killers are male. The female ones are usually nurses poisoning patients or black widows killing husbands." "Yeah, but we've already decided that we're dealing with something out of the ordinary, so it could be a woman," Mac pointed out. "Besides, what about the portrait?" "We still don't know what, if anything, she had to do with Hamilton's death. If we can link her to any of the other victims, then she becomes a consideration." Mac was a little dubious. Vic might know more about police work and homicide than he did, but Mac had learned to trust his instincts. Right now, his gut was telling him that the portrait was very important and that the resemblance to LiAnn was more than just a coincidence. He kept silent, though, since there was no evidence to back up his gut. "As for choice of victims..." Vic trailed off, shaking his head. "They're all young and attractive, but other than that, they don't seem to have anything in common." Mac brightened up. "Yes they do," he said, pleased with himself for having noticed something that Vic hadn't. He flipped to the page he wanted while Vic waited expectantly. "Here we go. In Victoria, the victims were two musicians—one rock, on classical—and a sculptor. In Vancouver it was a writer and a jewelry maker. In Calgary, a dancer and a poet. In Saskatoon, a street busker. And here, a singer, a sculptor, a potter and two painters." He shut the pad with a slap and looked up. Vic was staring at him. "All in the arts, either as a living or a hobby," he said, then smacked his forehead. "How the hell did I miss that?" "Maybe because they aren't all in the same kind of arts?" Mac suggested. "I mean, if they were all painters, it would be obvious, but a painter, a writer and a busker? They don't seem to have much in common." "Until you look at the bigger picture," Vic finished for him. "Nice catch." Mac preened a little at the compliment. "Thanks, I had a good teacher." Then he deflated slightly. "Still doesn't tell us how they are picked or where." "But it's a start." Mac stared at the folders for a moment, waiting for Vic to say something. Finally, he gave in. "Vic, are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Vic snorted softly. "I could make some tasteless Pinky and the Brain joke, but yeah. The killings are in a line from the west coast heading east." "Cash's cryptic warning," Mac said. "Oriental interest in Toronto." "Of course, the killer could still be moving," Vic pointed out, sounding almost hopeful. "Maybe, but there hasn't been more than three killings in any one town. We've had five. And besides, if he does move one, where to? Montreal? Quebec City? He —assuming that it is a he—would still be killing kids." "So we stop him here." It was a statement, not a question. "We stop him here," Mac echoed, equally full of determination. Jackie couldn't remember the last time she'd enjoyed herself so much. Sanji— her mystery man's name, it turned out—was an excellent dancer. She'd never danced with anyone so completely in tune with his partner. It was almost uncanny, the way he'd read her mind, anticipating her moves. So they had danced and drank and talked the night away until the bartender— not the one she'd been talking to earlier—announced last call. That was a shock. Jackie looked around and was surprised to find that the place was half-empty. "Come on," Sanji said. His hand was on her arm, urging her towards the door. Outside it was still hot and humid, even though it was well past midnight and on its way to morning. Neon lights flashed, up and down the street, and everyone was moving slowly, giving the scene an air of unreality. Sanji turned left just outside the Karnak's doors and they started to walk down the street, threading their way through the light crowds of drunk or stoned club hoppers, prostitutes and homeless. Jackie was feeling pleasantly buzzed, just enough to make her very cheerful and her body tingle. She felt good; not a care in the world. She leaned in closer to Sanji, enjoying the feel of his lean body pressed against her side. It had been a while since she'd taken a lover—Mac, before she'd been Embraced, and the Director and Dobrinsky for a little bit of fun. This guy had potential. "Want to take this someplace a little more private?" Sanji purred in her ear, echoing her thoughts. He had the most incredible voice. It was like... She tried to think of a good comparison, but the best she could come up with was the cliché about warm honey, smooth and oh so sweet. She was about to say yes when the blast from a car horn jolted her out of her pleasant haze. Dawn was only a few hours away, she suddenly realized. She'd managed to waste an entire night that was supposed to be spent tracing the victims, not to mention LiAnn. Instead, she'd been playing 'date' with the fascinating Sanji. The thought of trying to explain that to the Director was like being dropped in a tub of ice-water. Suddenly she was fully awake. "I can't," she said, coming to a sudden stop and checking the street for a cab. "Are you sure?" Sanji said, stroking her arm with a fingertip. He tugged her closer, but she resisted. "It seems a shame to end the night so soon." Jackie finally saw a cab and waved it down. It pulled over to the curb right next to them. "I have to be at work in a few hours," she said, pulling away from Sanji. "That's not what you said before." She pulled the cab door open, then paused, frowning. "What do you mean? What did I say before?" she asked, trying to remember and coming up blank. "That you were a secret agent and made your own hours," he said, his teeth flashing brightly in the glow of the street lights. Every hair on her body seemed to be standing on end. "And you believed that?" she said brightly, clutching the door frame. "What can I say?" he said with a grin. "You were very persuasive." "Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I'm just a receptionist and I need to be at work at nine," she lied. "If you say so," Sanji said as she slid halfway into the backseat of the cab. "I'll see you later." He turned and vanished into the sidewalk crowd that was growing in numbers as the clubs and bars closed, one by one. Jackie stared after him, trying to pick him out from the press of bodies without luck. "Listen, lady, do you want me to take you someplace or not? The meter's running." Still distracted, she climbed the rest of the way into the cab and gave the driver her address. The cab immediately pulled away from the curb in one of those death-defying traffic merges that cabbies seemed to love. Jackie didn't even notice. Last call had come and gone, and Khalil found himself wandering the streets of downtown Toronto, his eyes fixed on the cracked pavement and sweat trickling down the side of his face. The heat and humidity that had been hanging over the city for several weeks now combined into a soup that made breathing difficult. However, Khalil was oblivious to all that, sunk in a depressed haze. It had seemed so easy that afternoon: Go back to the club where he'd met his Goddess. There he would either find her or someone who knew her. But it hadn't worked out that way. No matter how many people he asked—club hoppers, bartenders or bouncers—he couldn't find anyone who would admit to having seen her. He couldn't understand how someone so... incredible could have been ignored like that. It was confusing. He could almost believe that it had all been a dream, except his dreams were never quite that vivid. No, it couldn't have been a dream. He refused to believe that. She was real and he was going to find her. It would just take a little longer. That was all. He just wasn't sure how he was going to find her. But it was too late to do anything that night. Even the bars were closing, spitting out a stream of drunken regulars, and Khalil had to consider how he was going to get home. It was too late for the transit and he didn't have enough cash for a cab. Khalil groaned in frustration. When he went clubbing, he usually either went with friends with a car or made sure he left before the trains stopped running. Luckily, walking home was do-able. It was a long walk, but he'd done longer. He quickly crossed over to the opposite sidewalk and headed down a side street at a brisk walk, not looking forward to the nearly an hour walk. He had two classes the next day that he couldn't miss, and he was going to be short on sleep already, so he wanted to get back to the apartment he would be sharing come fall term as quickly as possible. And after his classes he would hit the clubs again. Just because he hadn't found his Goddess the first time was no reason to give up. In fact, it was appropriate that he would have to labor greatly to find her again. True romance should never be easy. It never was in the classic tales. Khalil passed along the dark street whistling, cheered by that thought. The neon lights of the clubs were well behind him and there were fewer street lights as he moved into more residential areas. An eerie haze hung made it difficult to see, but he wasn't bothered. It wasn't until he heard an unexpected sound that he started paying attention to his surroundings again. The street was lined on both sides with older apartment buildings, silent as a tomb. No cars and no one else foolish enough to be out at that hour. He couldn't even hear the sounds of traffic from busier streets not too far away. He stopped and listened, a puzzled frown wrinkling his forehead. Then he heard it again: the sound of something hard scraping against metal. It wasn't very loud, but it seemed to echo in the silent street. Khalil followed the sound, letting his curiosity get the better of him. It lead him around the side of a short, squat brick building that was naked of anything even vaguely resembling an adornment. There he found an alleyway, empty except for a single chipped and battered dumpster, barely visible in the gloom. He couldn't see anything else, but the sound continued. He moved forward, trying to figure out what was making it. Rats? A bum? Something else? His eyes were adjusting to the darkness, letting him pick up on small movements from the top of the dumpster. Then there was a glint. It was a bird, black as the shadows. The glint had been a stray bit of light reflecting off a dark eye. An eye that seemed to be fixed on him. The bird—a raven, by the size—hopped across the dumpster, its talons scraping the metal making the sound that had drawn him into the shadows. It stopped at the edge of the dumpster, staring at him with a look of almost uncanny intelligence, making him think of Poe's classic poem. He almost expected it to croak "Nevermore." But when the bird's beak opened, all that came out was a harsh sound that made him flinch. The bird spread its wings and made another sound, this one suspiciously like a laugh. Khalil stiffened at the amused croak. He came from a heritage of warriors, and he would be damned if he would cower before a carrion eater. His hands clenched into fists and he stepped forward, not really thinking, but determined to do something. Immediately, the raven was in flight, heading directly for his face. Khalil ducked, purely on instinct, then cried out as a trailing talon slashed his forehead. The bird gone and the alley silent again, Khalil straightened up, gasping in the thick air. He touched fingertips to his forehead and winced. His fingers came away stained with the slick darkness of blood. Dizzy with confusion, Khalil backed up towards the slightly brighter street, watching the shadows for any other signs of movement. He didn't know much about ravens, but he had the feeling that this one's behavior wasn't normal. For one thing, weren't ravens day birds? Once he was out of the shadows, everything became normal again. He could hear a distant siren and car horn from the next block over, but he couldn't seem to shake a feeling of dread. Watching the skies as best he could for the bird returning, Khalil headed for home at a near run. Deciding that after running off at the mouth with Sanji—although she still didn't remember doing it—it was a little too late to worry about security, Jackie had the cab driver drop her off right in front of her apartment building. After paying the amazingly butch looking woman the fare, plus a generous tip that got her leered at, she hurried inside, already fumbling with her tiny purse to extract her apartment key. It wasn't until she was inside and the door was carefully locked behind her that she started to relax. She leaned back against the solidity of the door and laughed at herself, feeling more than a little foolish. Sure, it had been a weird evening, but that was no reason to be acting like one of those silly twits in a slasher movie. Of course, it didn't change the fact that something really strange was going on. She didn't usually forget her job like that, no matter how cute the guy was. Not to mention the fact that she'd apparently told Sanji things that she most definitely shouldn't have. If the Director found out, she would rip her a new one. No, something strange was definitely going on. She needed to know just who this Sanji was. She was also beginning to wonder if 'what' might even be a better question, considering how quickly and thoroughly he'd disappeared on the sidewalk. Sure, there was bit of a crowd, but not that big. Come nightfall, she needed to do some research, not that she had much to go on. And she was definitely needed to avoid him in the future. In the meantime, she stank. A long soak in a bubble bath was definitely in order, followed by something to eat and an early bed. Jackie toed out of her high-heeled boots and kicked them into the corner of the room with a sigh of pleasure. She loved the way they made her admittedly short legs look, but after being squeezed into them for an entire night, if felt damned good to be able to wriggle her toes in the thick carpet of the living room. She was headed for the bedroom, the mesh top already tossed onto the sofa and the tank top pulled up over her head, when she saw the message light blinking on the phone sitting on the counter between the kitchen and living room. She stared at it for a moment, debating on whether to check it now or leave it until she got a good day's sleep. On the one hand, it could be something important. On the other hand, it could be the Director wanting a progress report; something she couldn't exactly provide yet. Finally, curiosity got the better of her. She dropped the tank top on the floor, then walked over and punched the speaker button, followed by the code to listen to her messages. There were three. The first was from the Director, asking for that report she was dreading making. Her stomach clenched as she considered just what to tell the woman. As her boss, the woman could be pretty scary. As Prince of the city, the most important Kindred in town, she could be downright terrifying. The second one was from Vic, asking pretty much the same thing. That didn't worry her as much. Vic was an easy-going kind of guy. She knew that she could satisfy him with a quick answer of "nothing yet" and a promise to call him the moment she found anything out. She liked Vic, even if he had ignored all her attempts to get him into bed. But the third message was the one that really threw her for a loop. She froze as a very familiar voice dripping with sarcasm emerged from the phone speaker. It was amazingly clear. Almost preternaturally so. "Hello, Jackie. Still living life dangerously, I see. You really should be more careful about who you play with. Give my love to the boys. On second thought, don't bother." There was a beep, followed by an electronic squeal that made her slap her hands to her ears with a pained cry. Her ears were still ringing when her nostrils flared. She could smell smoke, ever so faintly. Opening eyes that she didn't remember closing, she was just in time to see her phone spark and die. She stared at in disbelief for a moment. Then she ran for the bedroom and the other phone. It was fine, so she hit the 'messages' button, and a recorded voice told her that she had two saved messages and no unheard messages. A check of the memory showed only two calls received, and she knew without checking that neither of the messages was going to be the one that had just fried her other phone. The one from LiAnn. Jackie sat down on the edge of the bed wearing only her skirt and bra, staring out at nothing. She'd almost begun to doubt that the woman she was tracking was really LiAnn, but now she was certain it was her. Only problem was, she wasn't sure about anything else. But now she had a bunch of new questions. How had LiAnn managed to make her phone explode like that? And just what had she meant about living dangerously or being more careful? As for the second question, the only thing she could think of was the mysterious Sanji. There was definitely something up with the man. But no problem. She'd already decided she was going to avoid him from now on. Then her eyes narrowed. If the message was about Sanji, how had LiAnn known she was with him? The only thing she could think of was that LiAnn was following one of them. The question was, which one? If it was Sanji, then she couldn't afford to avoid him. Because she finally had a lead. Chapter Seven Everyone involved in the hunt was well aware of the countdown over the next few days. The murders had happened at intervals of six to nine days. If they didn't find the killer in time, another mutilated body was going to turn up in a downtown alleyway. None of them wanted to see happen, so they were working at a furious rate guaranteed to attract attention, sooner or later. On the fourth night of their investigation it did. This was because the Agency wasn't the only organization investigating. The police were working were just as intently and just as aware of the fast approaching deadline. It was foolish to think that they wouldn't notice two men asking questions about the victims, or that they wouldn't be able to find out who they were. That was why when Vic and Mac came out of the Toronto Ceramic Arts co-op they found a man leaning against the side of Vic's car. Mac didn't need to see the man's badge to know what he was: his posture just screamed "Cop!" Vic came to a very casual stop and stuck his hands in his pockets. Mac followed his lead. "Can we help you?" Vic asked in a voice that showed only mild curiosity. Mac knew him better, though. Vic was practically glowing with tension. The man pushed away from the car with a glare. Mac wasn't impressed. The guy was five inches shorter than himself, but probably fifty pounds heavier, and not with muscle. He was wearing a dark suit made of fine materials and looked to be tailored specially for him, but it was far too heavy for the current heat wave. His face glistened in the light from the street lamps. "Victor Mansfield," the man said, his voice dripping with disdain. Vic didn't show any reaction, but Mac bristled on his behalf. "Well, you obviously know who I am, but I can't say the same," Vic said. "McKenzie. Homicide. And yes, I know all about you. A cop gone bad." "A cop framed, then cleared," Mac corrected him. The man's eyes flickered to him, then seemed to dismiss him. "McDowell was a friend of mine," the man said. "A good friend." That got a reaction from Vic. "Speaking of dirty cops," he spat. Mac took a moment before he remembered that Joe McDowell was Vic's old team lead from when he was a Narc. The man had framed him, sent him to jail, then tried to kill him years later thinking that he was the leak exposing corruption in the police force. The man was now serving time in a maximum security prison up near Kingston. The cop growled and took a step forward, his hand twitching towards the bulge that Mac assumed was a gun. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," Mac said, dropping into a ready stance. He stayed calm, but was ready to break the man's arm if he went for his weapon. Luckily, McKenzie wasn't a complete fool. This time he took a longer look at Mac, and obviously recognized that he was a pro. He held his hands out from his sides. "We got a problem, boy?" he asked sarcastically. "I don't know. You tell me," Mac said, but he didn't relax. They stared at each other, stalemated. Mac was ready to stay like that all night, but Vic coughed discreetly. "Is there a point to this?" he asked when he had their attention. "'Cause if not, how about getting out of the way." McKenzie's nostrils flared in an expression that might have been intimidating if it weren't for the beads of sweat running down the sides of his face to drop from his jowls. "You've been poking your nose where it doesn't belong. This is a police investigation and you're not a cop anymore, so you better stay out of it." "Can't do that," Vic said. "Hamilton isn't happy with the police progress, so he hired us to find his daughter's killer." "That's our job," McKenzie said stiffly. "And you're doing it so well, aren't you?" Mac sneered. "Not only haven't you caught the killer, there's been four more deaths since then. If you aren't going to stop him, I guess we'll have to." "Mac..." Vic's hiss sound irritated, so he decided to take the implied suggestion. He straightened up very deliberately, tugging his clothing back into place. The impression he was projecting was of perfectly casual ease, but he was keeping a very close eye on the cop. If McKenzie even looked like he was going to make a hostile move, Mac would have him on the ground, writhing in pain, before he even knew what hit him. Vic turned back to McKenzie. "Seems we're at an impasse," he said mildly. "You don't what us investigating, but that's what we've been paid to do. So unless you've got something else to say..." "You better believe I do," McKenzie snarled, stepping forward. Mac immediately stepped between them. The overweight cop stopped and glared at him for a moment before looking over his shoulder at Vic. "You and your pretty boy better watch yourselves. If there's even a hint that you're interfering in this investigation, you're going to find yourself back behind bars and playing bitch for any con who wants your pasty white ass." Then he smiled. "And I can name a few people there who would love to have a shot at you. Watch your back, Mansfield. I'll be keeping an eye on you. Both of you." "Awfully interested in your ass, isn't he?" Mac said loudly as the man walked away. "Maybe he wants to kiss it. He probably has a lot of practice." Vic shushed him. McKenzie stiffened for a moment, then kept on walking. Mac managed to resist the urge to stick out his tongue at the man's back. Barely. Once the man was out of sight, Mac turned to find Vic looking at him with an exasperated expression. "What?" he protested. "The idea was not to annoy the cops, remember?" Vic pointed out. Mac shrugged, but he blushed a little. "What can I say? He annoyed me first." Vic's expression softened. "He was an arrogant jerk, wasn't he?" Mac snorted. "That doesn't even begin to describe him," he said. "I mean, what a cliché. Where do they find these guys anyway?" Vic looked off to the side. They could both hear the squeal of tires as the cop pulled out of the parking a lot faster than was really safe. "I don't know," he said sadly. His eyes had the distant look of someone seeing the past, not the present. "Well, it looks like they didn't find all the bad apples, so we better be a little more careful." That got a bitter laugh out of his partner. "Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to jerk his chain." "Uh, right." Mac stared at his shoes, which had suddenly become very fascinating. "Sorry about that." He was, too. Everyone said that he acted without thinking. He hated it, but sometimes they were right. Now was one of those times. Mac's tone seemed to break through Vic's funk. He shook his head. "Don't worry about it. McKenzie was spoiling for a fight, and he'd have kept pushing buttons until he got one." "You know him?" Mac asked, curious in spite of himself. "Nah, but I know the type. Homicide cops always acted like they were superior to everyone else. Thankfully I didn't have to deal with them much." He paused and looked thoughtful. "You know, it might be an idea to run a check on him. If he's going to be trouble, we should get as much dirt on him as possible." "And if he was a friend of McDowell's, there should be plenty," Mac said, grinning broadly. He wanted to see McKenzie taken down a peg or two. Better yet, he wanted to be the one to do it. "So, what next?" he asked, changing the subject slightly. Vic blew a gust of air like a deflating tire. "I haven't a clue," he finally admitted. "We've gone through all of the victim's homes, talked to their friends, followed every lead that presented itself, and we've hit a wall. I'm stumped." Jackie was about ready to scream with frustration as she left yet another club after coming up blank yet again. After nearly a week of hunting, she hadn't gotten anywhere. She'd been to just about every dance club and bar in town without any luck. Not only hadn't she found LiAnn, the mysterious Sanji had also vanished into thin air. After their first two meetings, she'd expected him to just appear out of the woodwork, ready to make another move on her. After all, that's what he'd done the first two times. But there hadn't been any sign of him, and when she'd started asking bartenders about him as well, he'd turned out to be just as elusive as LiAnn. And as for LiAnn, there'd been no more cryptic messages or exploding phones. The next day, she'd replaced the phone, then gone into the headquarters on a whim to check the security tapes. Every Agency-owned apartment came with a seemingly endless supply of hidden cameras and microphones. They all knew it, or found out quickly. The official reason given if you complained was that it was for their own protection. Every agent managed to make enemies or become a target at some point in their career. Look at how many times Vic had been tracked down, usually by someone who wanted him dead or in bed. However, among the agents the favorite theory was that the Director was a voyeur; not hard to believe of a woman who was one of the founders of a kinky sex club. Whatever the reason, what was important was that the apartments were all under twenty-four hour monitoring, complete with video that was kept for a week before being overwritten. What she wanted to know was if LiAnn's message had been caught on those tapes. Any hopes she'd had of that were dashed when she arrived at the Agency just after dark and found the security staff in an uproar. There'd been an explosion in the monitoring room the previous night. No one had been hurt, thankfully, but all of the equipment had been destroyed, as well as several days worth of tapes and their backups. Sabotaging a phone was one thing, but getting into the Agency headquarters and blowing up a room in the heart of the security department was definitely something else altogether. Suddenly, every hair on her body was standing on end, and she couldn't get out of there fast enough. She hadn't been back since. Phone messages had gone unanswered as her hunt became more and more urgent. Sooner or later, she was going to have to explain herself, but not yet. The countdown was on, but it was becoming personal. LiAnn was out there, and she was up to something. Sanji was also out there, and who knew what he was up to. Well, she was going to find out. Assuming she could find either of them. She took a deep breath of the humid night air, stifling in its stillness, then turned and headed for the next place on her list. Forced to face the fact that they didn't have any leads left, Vic and Mac headed back to the Agency. Vic was hoping that Careena or Nathan had found something to help them, but he wasn't holding his breath. It was beginning to looked as if they were going to have to wait until there was another death, then strike while the trail was actually hot. He hated that idea. At two in the morning, the place was nearly empty. Coming off the elevator in the Records department, Vic called out "Hello?" The sound echoed through the space. Other than a room with a large table and a couple offices along one wall, the level was a single large room broken only by row after row of library type shelving. Dim lighting hid the ceiling, leaving the feeling that it was far over head. The one time that Vic had tried to find something on his own, he'd discovered that there was no apparent order or labeling of material. Since then, he'd let Nathan and his staff find him what he wanted, although he had no idea how they managed to do it. "What a coincidence," Careena said, emerging silently from behind a set of shelves. "I was just about to call you, Vic." Mac, she ignored. Vic felt a surge of hope. "Tell me you've got something for us," he pleased. "Oh, I've got plenty for you. All you have to do is ask," she said coyly. Behind him, he could hear Mac growling softly. He might have convinced Mac that he wasn't going to run out on him, but it didn't stop the younger man from acting jealous. At least he thought it was an act. "Down boy," Careena told Mac before turning her attention back to Vic. Vic rolled his eyes at their antics. "Do you have anything related to the case?" he clarified "As a matter of fact, I do, and it's going to blow your mind." She swept past, heading for the conference room. She didn't look back to make sure they were following. "The police reports on the victims from the various cities said that some of their homes and studios had been searched," she said once they were sitting down. Her lecturing posture was disturbingly reminiscent of the Director. "At the time, nothing seemed to be missing. Well, that might not be exactly true." "Is this going somewhere?" Mac asked, impatient as always. Careena glared at him, not that Mac seemed to care. "Turns out that Kyle Macklin, one of the first victims in Victoria, was working on a sculpture just before his death. The wax model turned up at a friend's studio, where he was getting ready to make the mold for a bronze." She picked up a control and pressed a button. The lights went out and an image was projected against the one clean, white wall. It was hard to tell from the image how tall it was, but a helpful legend said it was two feet. It depicted a young woman in a seated position. She was nude, but her bent legs and the arms wrapped around her breasts made it discrete. Her face was turned upwards, her shoulder-length hair falling back. It was difficult to be sure, considering the size of the wax figure and the angle of the camera, but the resemblance was obvious. "LiAnn," Vic said softly. "That's what I thought, so I did some checking," Careena said. "I couldn't get anything definite, but there's a rumor going around that LiAnn hasn't been heard from since she got to China, but that the higher-ups are keeping it quiet." "You got a copy of that picture?" In answer, the blonde researcher pushed several eight by ten black and white photos showing the figure from different angles across the table. Vic took them as he stoop up, carefully keeping himself under control. "C'mon, Mac." He headed out the door, striding towards the elevator. He could hear Mac trotting to catch up with him, but didn't slow down. "Where are we going?" Mac asked as he came up beside him. "To find the Director. This," he shook the photo, "combined with Hamilton's portrait is too much coincidence. It's time we found out where LiAnn is." The conference room on the main level was empty. Vic slapped the photos down on the long table, then started pacing. When the Director didn't appear in short order, he headed for the stairs to her private rooms. "I wouldn't do that if I was you, Sport." Vic spun to find Dobrinsky at the main entrance, casually leaning against the doorframe. "We need to talk to the Director," he said. "She's busy right now. Come back later." Vic's jaw clenched, along with his stomach. "What the hell is going on, Dobrinsky? Why is she avoiding us?" Dobrinsky shrugged, a bland smile on his face. "Why would she be avoiding you?" "You tell me," Vic said through clenched teeth. The Director might like to play mind-games, but this was more than that. "Why haven't we seen her since the night Cash was here?" "Did you ever think that she has more important things on her mind?" "More important that a serial killer loose in her town?" Vic asked in disbelief. Dobrinsky just looked back at him. Vic shivered suddenly. If there was something more important, and not just the Director jerking their chains for her own reasons, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. Once he was sure that he wasn't going to blow up, he opened his eyes again. "Okay. Fine. If the Director isn't available, can you answer some questions instead, then?" Dobrinsky finally moved into the room and sat down at the table in the Director's usual seat and folded his hands in front of him. "Shoot," he said. Vic gave Mac a warning glance before he could say something clichéd and stupid. He knew Mac well. "You know about the portrait we found in Corinne Hamilton's apartment," he said. Dobrinsky nodded, but stayed silent. "At the time," Vic said, sitting down as well, "we thought that we might be dealing with a shape-shifter that was disguising itself as LiAnn, especially considering what Cash told us." "And your point would be?" Dobrinsky asked. Vic pushed the photos towards Dobrinsky. The man picked them up and studied them with a slight frown. Vic had a flash of déjà vu, remembering the same expression on the Director's face when she'd examined the portrait. "And?" the man said. "That is the work of one of the first victims we've traced so far. In Victoria." Dobrinsky expression gave away nothing, but Vic had the feeling that the man knew exactly what he was getting at. Dobrinsky could be a sadist at times, but he was no fool. "A shape-shifter pretending to be LiAnn makes sense in Toronto," he said, since Dobrinsky obviously wanted him to spell it out. "But why in Victoria? There's no reason. So. I want to know. Where. Is. LiAnn?" Dobrinsky sat silent, considering the picture. The only sign of disquiet was the fingers of one hand drumming against the table top. That small movement spoke volumes for the man, and Vic didn't like what it was saying. Finally, Dobrinsky pushed the pile of photos away in a decisive gesture. "We don't know," he said simply. Those three words echoed in the room. Vic's jaw clenched. But before he could explode, Mac did it for him. "You don't know?" Mac moved forward, his normally brash manner gone, leaving a pure predator in its place. An angry predator. "What the fuck do you mean, you don't know?" "I mean, we don't know," Dobrinsky said, standing up. The fact that he was shorter than Mac didn't stop him from towering over the younger man. His eyes were flashing a warning, but Mac wasn't listening, so Vic grabbed his arm to restrain him. "What do you know, then?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm. One of them was going to have to be the voice of reason, and it looked like he'd been nominated, even though he wanted to rage at the senior agent himself. Dobrinsky moved around the table to face them and leaned back against the polished surface. He folded his arms over his chest and seemed to be considering how much to tell them. "She called after she arrived in Beijing and again when she reached her family's village," he said. "That's the last we heard from her. She was supposed to contact us every week." "You haven't heard from her in more than five months, but you never bothered to tell us?" Mac's voice was dangerously calm and his eyes were molten silver. Vic knew the warning signs when he saw them and hung on tighter. "What are you doing about it?" "There's nothing we can do," Dobrinsky shot back. "We have no way of operating in Asia. Until she contacts us, our hands are tied." To his credit, he sounded as frustrated about it as Vic felt. "The only thing is," Vic said, nodding to the photos, "she might not be in Asia anymore. She might be right here in Toronto." "Then maybe you should be out finding her, not arguing with me," Dobrinsky said. Mac growled, but Vic dragged him from the room before he could do something really foolish that might get him killed. As soon as they were out in the hallway, Mac pulled out of his grip. "I don't believe this," he muttered to himself as he started pacing back and forth fast enough to make a human dizzy. "I don't fucking believe this." Suddenly he stopped, just long enough to punch his fist into one of the concrete walls. Then he went back to pacing. Vic winced in sympathy, even though Mac didn't even seem to notice the pain he must be in. Kindred strength and Kindred healing didn't stop something like that from hurting like hell, but Mac was too lost in his anger to even notice that he was bleeding and had probably broken bones as well. "Mac..." Vic started to say, then broke off when his partner spun around. "Don't!" Mac vibrated in place. "Just... don't. I know you loved her, but she was my sister for five years before we became lovers. And now he," he gestured towards the doors to the meeting room, "says that she's been missing for nearly half a year and that there's nothing they can do? They should have told me!" "And what would you have done?" Vic asked "Gotten on a plane to China?" Of course, it was what he would have done, cryptic warnings aside, but he was still trying to play the voice of reason. Besides, he didn't have a price on his head in China. Mac did. In a way, trying to deal with Mac's anger was helping keep control of his own. He might not have known LiAnn as long as Mac, but he still loved her. Perhaps not in the marrying way he had once—he'd long since realized that they made better friends and partners than lovers—but the old feelings were still there. And of course there was basic loyalty. He was just as angry that they'd been left out of the loop, even if they still wouldn't have been able to do anything. Mac stopped suddenly in the middle of the empty hall. "I have to get out of here," he announced to the air in general, sounding a little desperate. "Mac?" Mac shook his head. "I just... I need to get away from this." He started to back away. Vic was getting worried now. Hell, he was more than worried. He'd promised Mac that he wasn't going to leave him, but he now realized that Mac had never promised him the same. He must have made some sort of sound, since Mac suddenly stopped his retreat. He moved in quickly to kiss Vic hard, then stepped away again. "Just give me a few hours alone, to get my head screwed on right," he said, sounding slightly calmer, less wild, although his eyes still glowed silver. "If I can't make it home before dawn, I'll call. I promise. Okay?" Mollified slightly by the promise, Vic nodded, although still a little reluctant to let Mac out of his sight. He was worried that the younger man would do something stupid. Mac blew him another kiss, then turned and ran. Vic slumped back against the concrete wall with a sigh, staring at the bloody smear left by Mac's punch. Part of him wanted to chase after Mac. Part of him wanted to start hunting for LiAnn, find out if she was in town, what had happened to her and why she hadn't contacted them. But the largest part of him wanted to got out a find a fight. The Beast demanded it. But he wasn't the Beast. He controlled the Beast, not the other away around, he told himself over and over again. So, instead he straightened up and headed down the hall in the opposite direction from the way Mac had gone, heading back down to records to start the search for anything that might be related to LiAnn. As he went, he pulled his cellphone from his pocket and punched in Jackie's number so that he could bring her up to date. At least they had a new line of investigation. Book III: Never the Twain continued lburwell@adan.kingston.net

Fandom/Series: John Woo's Once a Thief/Vampire: The Masquerade Title: Never the Twain Author/Pseudo: Lianne Burwell Series/Sequel: Book Three of Carpe Noctem Other Webpages: https://www.squidge.org/~lianne Series Summary: Mac adjusts to his new life, while a heat wave brings a series of murders to Toronto and a familiar face returns. I don't own the characters or the world. They are owned respectively by Alliance, Aaron Spelling and White Wolf Games. However, the story is my own invention. My other fanfic, including Always a Thief stories, can be found at: https://www.squidge.org/~lianne April 2001 back to top

[Stories by Author] [Stories by Title] [Fanart] [Episodes] [Characters] [Cast] [Resources] [Links] [Guestbook] [Mailing List] [Zines] [Home]