Chapter 7

     Daedalus looked at his friend worriedly.
     Julian had come back an hour later than he had promised. He had climbed into the car without 
uttering a word and now sat in the corner, his unhappiness palpable. The Nosferatu understood that 
this wasn't a frustrated sexual desire, but a pain to be reckoned with. He had realized by now that 
Julian's love for Caitlin wasn't just another fancy for a beautiful human woman, but a deep, 
encompassing emotion that should be respected. 
     "Julian," Daedalus was trying to soften his words by whispering, "you must concentrate on 
what you're doing. Put Caitlin out of your mind for the time being, for your sake as well as for 
hers. For us all."
     "Of course, Daedalus." Julian's voice was expressionless, but he burrowed further into his 
corner, huddling up. 
     The Nosferatu put a hand on his friend's arm in a comforting gesture. He wanted to say 
something more, offer some consolation, but he felt the other man shiver under his touch and 
decided that no words would help. Nothing else was said during the next hour. Daedalus glanced at 
the dash board clock. In another fifteen minutes they would reach the airport.
     There was a soft chime, but Julian didn't react. Daedalus picked up the phone. He listened for 
a moment and then shouted to the driver:
     "Stop the car!"
     The car stopped immediately, the breaks screaming, and Julian came out of his stupor with a 
start. For a split second he thought that the Nosferatu had betrayed him and his eyes started to 
change. 
     "Julian!" For the second time this day Daedalus lost control of his voice. "The plane, it has 
exploded!" 
     They stared at each other for another moment.
     "Out!" Julian was the first to react. 
     He opened the door on his side and threw himself out. He turned around to see that Daedalus, 
the bodyguard, and the driver followed suit. He dragged them along into the protecting wood, but 
they could still feel the heat of the flames from the blast that destroyed their car. Within minutes the 
four Kindred had disappeared into the dark woods of Washington State. Had they been human, 
their situation might have been precarious, but they weren't, and there was no danger of their getting 
lost or freezing to death. By noon the next day, Julian and the two Gangrels were back in San 
Francisco. Daedalus, who could not travel on commercial airlines, arrived in the early evening. The 
Nosferatu had their own resources.
     The bomb had been planted by someone who knew exactly when Julian left Stephen's house 
and how long it would take to drive to the airport: someone who knew exactly when the plane 
should be in the air above the mountains, but didn't know that love would interfere. The bomb in 
the car was meant for the loyal Gangrel driver and whoever might be with him.
     The war had started. 

     James Byrne hid the papers and made sure that the radio was turned off when Caitlin came 
into the kitchen. He wanted to tell her himself that Julian Luna's plane had been destroyed by a 
bomb only minutes before her fiancé had entered it. That he had been only a few miles from the 
airport when it happened. That he was safe. That the wreck of the burnt-out car was found later that 
morning. Fortunately, there were no bodies.
     Caitlin showed her father the letter Julian had left for her. It stated that he was in trouble and 
begged her to stay in her father's house. No explanations were given. James Byrne repeated what 
Julian had told him before he left.
     "The poor fellow was scared out of his wits," he said. "Not so much for himself, but for you. I 
don't know what he's up against, but I'm putting my money on him. I think he cares for you very 
much." 
     Caitlin was surprised by the tenderness in her father's voice.
     "You've come to like him, haven't you?" she asked.
     The old man cocked his head.
     "I must be getting soft in my old age." He smiled. "Yes, I like him, but what's more important, 
you like him, and he seems to like you too. Enough to postpone his return to San Francisco just to 
come here to... kiss you goodnight. To miss the bomb on his plane."
     "Oh, my God!" Caitlin's eyes filled with tears. "I didn't realize..." She started to cry in 
earnest.
     Caitlin had been angry with Julian for leaving her behind. She was sure that he had planned it 
in advance and had lured her along on this trip out of San Francisco. Whatever trouble he was in, it 
wasn't financial in nature. His fear and desperation were palpable, his life was in peril, and the 
bombs had confirmed that. Caitlin resented being kept out, but she had come under crossfire before 
and was able to understand Julian's desperate measures to keep her out of harm's way. On the 
other hand, she hated being parted from her lover, and missing him was worse than physical pain.
 
 
     The memory of the scant hours they had spent together before he had returned to San 
Francisco made her sad and frightened at the same time. There had been something utterly 
desperate in the way he had made love to her, as if he were afraid that it was the last time they would 
be together: the brutal selfishness and the sweetest tenderness. He would not be deceived by her 
performance, and, eventually, she had to give in, allow him to overcome the fear and apprehension 
that he had implanted in her. Let him make her forget everything, if only for a short moment.
     Caitlin tried to call Julian every other day but was told that he was out of town. It surprised her 
because he had seldom left San Francisco before. When she tried to inquire for more information, 
she was told that he was on a business trip to Chicago on one occasion, the next time he was in 
Kansas City. 
     When he called at last, it was from Santa Fe. She asked him what he was doing in New 
Mexico and he said that he had business problems.
     "What problems?" she had asked.
     "A hostile takeover," he had answered and laughed. He sounded hysterical, and Caitlin didn?t 
think it was a laughing matter either. He refused to say anything more.
     Julian had laughed because, essentially, he had told her the truth. However, the extent of the 
hostility would be beyond Caitlin's grasp. Slowly, he was beginning to understand that it was 
beyond his own grasp.
     Nick Marliss was perpetually angry, but now he was angrier than ever. 
     The death of Joe was a reality that was difficult to accept. They had been close friends for 
years, fueling each other's anger at virtually everything. All the evidence was there, the autopsy had 
been done, but Nick had trouble believing that a man like Joe Montegna, who practically lived in the 
woods, could be killed by some carnivorous animal like any other greenhorn. Besides, Joe had been 
armed. There had been nothing wrong with his rifle; a bullet had been fired from it, but they hadn't 
found it. Nor had they found anything shot in the ravine. Not like Joe at all.
     Nick's Indian ancestors would have said that an evil spirit had killed Joe, but Nick had trouble 
believing in spirits, evil or otherwise. Not that he was entirely sure that they didn't exist; after all, 
this was an evil world. Nick had seen every wound and injury that animals could inflict, and there 
was definitely something wrong with the wounds they had found on Joe?s decomposing body. But 
Nick was only a simple policeman, and the forensic experts had concluded that Joe had died of 
injuries caused by one or several animals, probably wolves. Case closed. Nick had stolen the file 
afterwards and kept it at home. Nobody would miss it anyway. He looked through it now and then, 
but when he put it away, it was always with an uneasy feeling that he had missed something, and his 
anger would rise again. The last time Joe had been seen was in the house of that snooty astronomer, 
after his wife's funeral. He had almost come to blows with the stranger from San Francisco who 
had presented himself as Caitlin Byrne's fiancé. Nothing strange about that. If Joe had disliked the 
man, he would have punched him, even at a funeral. But those who had seen the incident told Nick 
that the thin man had fended off Joe's attack with unbelievable ease. Caitlin's fiancé had left the 
next day and Joe had disappeared. They found his dead body in the ravine, less than two miles from 
the old Byrne house, more than a week later. Strange.
     Nick had a suspicious mind. He contacted the San Francisco P. D. discretely. But when he 
mentioned Julian Luna, all he got back were shrugs. He came to talk to Frank Kohanek by sheer 
coincidence. Someone told him that Frank knew the elusive businessman. Nick described what he 
knew, it didn?t take long.
     "You say that Luna was there the day your guy disappeared?" Frank wanted to make sure.
     "Yes."
     There was a long silence.
     "Let me put it this way," Frank said at last, "and remember, I never said this. If Luna was in 
any way involved, then your man must have done something incredibly stupid. Like go after him 
with a gun, or something equally idiotic. In any case, he would have deserved what he got."
     "I never would have thought that you would defend one of your local mobsters," Nick said 
derisively and it made Frank angry.
     "Let me make a few things clear," he retorted. "First, Julian Luna is not a mobster. We've got 
enough of those here to know the difference. Second, there's no love lost between us, so I'm not 
defending him. But I know him. I can bet on two things. If, and I say if, he killed somebody, then 
this somebody has asked for it, and you'll never be able to pin it on him anyway."
     "Yeah!" Nick's anger flared up. "We'll see about that!"
     It made Frank laugh.
     "Look," he said, "between us cops. I've tried to pin quite a lot on him during recent years. You 
could just as well try to pin a medal on one of your grizzly bears, or whatever ferocious animals 
you've got up there. Give it a rest, he's out of your reach."
     "Hey! We hunt bears up here," Nick answered and Frank laughed again.
     "You can hunt him all you want. Be my guest. Just don't be surprised if you end up ripped to 
pieces like your friend did. He was out hunting too, I guess."
     Frank was thinking about what the native cop had told him. It all added up. The stupid jerk 
must have gone after Luna with a gun, maybe even shot him. Would that make the Kindred mad 
enough to kill a human? After all, Frank had shot Luna once and was shrugged off as nuisance. 
Frank picked up the phone and dialed the number that Nick Marliss had given him.
     "It's Frank Kohanek," he said. "I just thought of something."
     "What's that?"
     "It's a long shot, but I told you, I know him. He wouldn't kill anybody for fun. But if 
someone else were endangered... someone close to him," he had almost said a human, "then he 
might do just that. I think you should talk to Miss Byrne. She's up there, isn't she?"
     "Thanks pal." Nick's anger subsided considerably. "I'll do that."
     "Be careful." Frank almost regretted what he was doing. "He is very protective when it comes 
to her."
     "Don't worry," Nick answered. "I'll just talk to her."
     Julian Luna and those Kindred that he trusted were on the move all the time. Within a few 
days they were able to find out how big Servio's following was, at least in the western states. To 
Julian's relief, the Gangrel Prince of Chicago didn't intend to support the crazy plan of the New 
York Ventrue. He wasn't interested in supporting anybody, but Julian managed to convince him 
that being neutral on this situation might prove fatal. The Nosferatu Primogen in Chicago helped. 
The Gangrel Prince was on their side. To Daedalus' satisfaction, almost all the Nosferatu they came 
into contact with opposed Servio. To have the Nosferatu Clan on their side might make the 
difference. However, most Brujah and many Ventrue, were convinced that the Kindred could take 
over the United States of America. No amount of quoting numbers and repeating arguments 
appeared to sway them in their delusions. 
     "My mind is made up, don't confuse me with facts," they seemed to say. Julian was appalled. 
The Ventrue haughtiness. Partly the cause of both the French and the Russian revolutions. Well, at 
least both Hitler and Stalin were human. 
     The messages from Stephen stated that there was no untoward activity across the Canadian 
border, and that Servio seemed to accept the support of the Prince of Seattle. However, the fact that 
Stephen and Julian were blood brothers seemed to make the Ancient suspicious. Stephen was able 
to collect very little information. After a week the messages stopped coming; the Prince of Seattle 
had disappeared without a trace. Julian was devastated. 
     "Stephen has been found out," he complained to Daedalus. "I shouldn't have let him do this. 
That maniac has murdered him."
     "We don?t know that." Daedalus was trying to be realistic. "Stephen isn't stupid, he might be 
hiding. Let's wait and see."
     But they didn't hear from Stephen again. 
     Cash and Cameron were able to cleanse San Francisco of the newcomers. They showed no 
mercy: the blood bath even attracted some human notice. But the Kindred were able to sweep away 
all the evidence before the police found out what was going on. Heeding Daedalus' advice, Julian 
contacted Frank Kohanek. 
     "I was wondering what had happened to you," the policeman said as soon as he heard Julian's 
voice. "Do you know that there is a cop in Seattle who has got this idea in his head that you've 
done away with his buddy there. Isn't San Francisco big enough for you anymore?"
     Julian was stunned. It took him a moment to remember Joe Montegna.
     "I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "However, I want you to know that 
whatever is happening in San Francisco is a Kindred affair. Try to look the other way so you won't 
get caught in the middle."
     "What is going on?" Frank was curious and it made Julian smile.
     "If I promise to tell you when it's over, will you heed my advice? This doesn't concern 
humans." 
     The hell it doesn't! Julian thought, but he didn't inform Frank about what was at stake. If 
things went wrong, the policeman would know soon enough.
     There were no more attempts on Julian's life, but he continued to be very cautious, and 
Daedalus seldom left his side. Through the Nosferatu Clan they got word from Los Angeles that 
the danger had been contained. Cyrus had kept his word. Once they were sure that New Mexico 
was free of the plague and that Chicago had never seemed to be infested, they decided that it was 
time to move east. There were four important cities that were their main targets: New Orleans, 
Miami, Washington DC and, of course, New York. They would have to split up in order to act 
simultaneously. Cash would start in New York: he was the one who could blend in there without 
any difficulties. Washington, the only city of the Nosferatu, was, of course, for Daedalus. There 
was hardly any doubt about where the Nosferatu stood, but Julian wanted to make sure anyway. Being 
the center of political power, the capital was important. Daedalus hated having to leave Julian, 
but his protests made the Prince angry.
     "I can take care of myself!" he shouted, his famous temper making no impact on the 
Nosferatu Primogen. "I'm not a child in need of protection. You go to Washington, Cameron goes 
to Miami, and I'll visit my old hometown, New Orleans."
     Daedalus arrived in Washington without any problems.
     The string of helpful Nosferatu hands stretched across the country. Vorth, the Nosferatu 
Prince of Washington, welcomed him warmly. As far as the Kindred population was concerned, the 
capital was better organized than any other city in the United States. The Nosferatu Prince used the 
closely-knit Ventrue Clan as a buffer zone between themselves and the humans. In reality, the go-
between Ventrue had more power than any other group in the country, and they guarded their 
position zealously. But, as all men in high places, they fell into the trap of believing themselves 
invincible. A Nosferatu in his right mind would never be blinded by his power.
     Daedalus explained to Vorth what had been hatched in New York. His Clansman reacted with 
disbelief.
     "It takes a Ventrue to get that mad," he concluded in the end.
     "Not all Ventrue are crazy," Daedalus retorted defending his own Prince. "If it weren?t for 
Julian Luna, the entire West Coast would be in Servio?s hand by now."
     But Vorth hadn't been convinced.
     "What about Stephen? He's been seen at Servio's side?" he asked.
     Daedalus' relief was visible.
     "Stephen's alive! That'll make Julian happy. We thought that Servio had done away with 
him." Daedalus told Vorth about their plan for the involvement of Julian's blood brother.
     But in Washington everything was quiet: no newcomers had arrived. It wasn't surprising, the 
Kindred of the capital didn't encourage migration into their city. Daniel, the Ventrue Primogen, 
vowed that there was no way that Servio would gain a foothold there. Daniel would not give up his 
power, nor would he share it with anyone else.
     "Daniel has all that he ever wanted," Vorth commented. "He can manipulate the human affairs 
without having to stoop to the indignity of coaxing voters, congressmen, and senators. He'll never 
give into Servio's lure because he considers himself superior to the New York Prince. And he'd 
hate to become a public figure; he enjoys spinning his threads in the dark."
     "Are you sure?" Daedalus asked.
     "You should never trust him," Vorth responded, "but you can trust his personality."
     Daedalus accepted Vorth's opinion.
     Washington seemed to be secure. He decided to go on to New York and contact Cash, maybe 
even find Stephen, before seeking out Julian in New Orleans.
     Julian, he thought, a shadow of anxiety on his face, are you all right?
     Julian was alone with Arthur in Louisiana and it worried Daedalus. For years there had always 
been scores of bodyguards around the Prince, and still he managed somehow to get into trouble. If 
not with rivals for power, then with women, or their jealous men or whatever... He almost got killed 
by Goth, by the Brujah in Manzanita, by Lillie?s treason, by Frank Kohanek's persecution...
     Had it been up to Daedalus, Julian Luna would be locked up in his mansion and never allowed 
to go out unless ten guards followed. It was impossible of course, and Daedalus smiled at his own 
wishful thinking. Julian Luna was a Prince, free to come and go as he pleased. He?d probably get 
into more trouble in the future than Daedalus? lively imagination could conjure.
     But right now there was every reason to worry.
     Julian was somewhere in the seething south, amidst the most superstitious of the humans in 
America, barring the Native Americans. Anything could happen there. And only Arthur to protect 
him. Although Daedalus had to admit that Julian was quite capable of taking care of himself, just as 
he claimed, the Nosferatu hated to be somewhere else. Besides, Daedalus didn't like Arthur.
     Julian had sired Arthur five or six years ago, and the gay Venture had stayed at the Prince's 
side ever since. He was big and strong enough to be a challenge to a Nosferatu - a perfect 
bodyguard. He loved Julian, that was quite obvious, and would never betray him. But Daedalus 
sometimes wondered whether Arthur loved him as the Prince, the way Julian had loved Archon, or 
as a man. Daedalus was a keen observer, and he had noticed how Arthur's eyes followed Julian, 
always.
     Am I jealous? Daedalus wondered, then shrugged. Whatever Arthur's feelings were, Julian 
didn?t seem to notice. His eyes and his desire were only for Caitlin. And Daedalus respected 
Caitlin; she had saved Julian's life.

     Nick Marliss' anger subsided considerably when he met Caitlin Byrne.
     The fact that he thought that she was the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen might 
have something to do with Nick's change of mood. That she was kind and polite, not at all like her 
father, helped, of course.
     He called her and presented himself, telling her that he was investigating Joe's death. She 
didn't know that officially the case was closed and that she didn't have to answer any questions.
     "We need your statement," he told her over the phone. "Can we meet, please?"
     She agreed and he invited her to a restaurant nearby.
     She arrived on time, as he sat in the bar waiting for her, inventing ways to coax the truth out of 
her.
     "The waiter told me that you're Nick Marliss." The soft voice behind him startled him. He 
turned around and tried to get up, overturning his chair in the process. She smiled, and all of Nick's 
carefully prepared lines were gone.
     Joe had babbled about her to Nick, the week before he disappeared. She had come from San 
Francisco because her mother had been very ill and then had died. Joe had known Caitlin when she 
was just a young girl, but now, when he met her again after so many years, he was apparently 
smitten with her, and Nick had scorned him for that.
     But seeing Caitlin, Nick understood what Joe had been babbling about. She was indeed the 
sweetest creature in the Lord's creation? as Joe had put it.
     She allowed Nick to gather his wits, and he didn't start asking questions until they came to the 
main course. She didn't have much to say. She had met Joe a couple of times during the time she 
was here. He had asked her out but she had declined. Her mother was dying, and besides, there was 
someone else.
     "Julian Luna," Nick said and Caitlin looked up in surprise.
     "How did you know?" she asked.
     "According to our investigation, Joe had a disagreement with Mr. Luna after the funeral of 
your mother. It was the day before Joe disappeared." Nick tried to sound as neutral as he could.
     "Come again!" Caitlin laughed. "I don't know what they said to each other, I didn't hear them. 
But Julian had walked around introducing himself as my fiancé and Joe took a swing at him when 
he heard that. Joe was always like that. He'd punch first and ask questions later. Hardly a 
disagreement."
     "And that's true?" Nick asked.
     "What's true?" Caitlin had missed his point.
     "That Mr. Luna is your fiancé"
     "Yes, he is." Caitlin's smile was underlined by her blushing, and Nick felt his anger rise again. 
He shook his head, banishing the picture of Julian Luna, the one he got from San Francisco P. D., 
from his mind.
     "The witnesses said that Joe's... attack wasn't successful," Nick went on and Caitlin laughed 
again.
     "No, it wasn't," she said. "But then, nobody's ever is."
     "Oh?" Nick sounded offended. "Are you telling me that your fiancé is some sort of 
superman?"
     He is, Caitlin thought.
     "No," she said, "but he's stronger than anyone I know." She frowned. "Joe took a couple of 
swings at Julian, but was just shrugged off. That, I did see. Joe wasn't stupid. He backed off and 
didn't get in Julian's way again that night."
     "Aha." Nick jumped at the opportunity. "Not that night. What about the next day?" Nick knew 
that Joe had been alive the evening preceding his disappearance because he had seen Joe with his 
rifle. Joe had been going on about teaching somebody a lesson. Nick hadn't told anybody about it, 
but now he was sure that Frank Kohanek had been right. Joe had gone after Julian Luna with a gun 
and had got what he deserved. But Joe had been Nick's friend; Nick didn't know Julian Luna, and 
now Nick resented the man even more, because he had Caitlin Byrne.
     Caitlin looked up at Nick, suddenly serious.
     "We didn't see Joe again," she said. "We were together all morning and then Julian left for 
San Francisco." She averted her eyes and Nick knew instantly that she wasn't telling the truth. He 
decided to let it be for the moment.
     "What about during the night?" he asked, but Caitlin shook her head. The blush was there 
again.
     "Julian was with me all night," she said. "That I know for sure. And in the morning, he was 
with my father." She looked up at Nick again. "What are you trying to do?" she asked. "I thought 
that Joe had been killed by animals."
     "Yes," Nick answered, "I just wanted to make sure about everybody's whereabouts. No more 
questions but one." He smiled at her reassuringly. "Do you dance?"
     Before Caitlin knew how it happened, she was engulfed in Nick's arms, swinging to the soft 
music. As they danced she became aware of his nearness in a way that made her cheeks burn, Nick 
was very tall, heavy-boned, his big hand on her back felt like a hot stamp. Caitlin let her head rest on 
his chest and allowed him to lead her in the slow dance. He wasn't the one to press her harder 
against him, but somehow, she leaned close instinctively, the way she would have done with Julian, 
and his response was the same that Julian's would have been. She knew that what she was doing 
was wrong, but something deep inside reveled in the power she was wielding.
     He drove her home in silence and walked with her to the door. Before she got her keys out, he 
took her in his arms and kissed her. Caitlin responded to the kiss, both surprised and appalled by 
the desire it evoked in her.
     "There is something I want to show you," Nick said when they stopped kissing. "I'll come by 
tomorrow."
     He kissed her again and then turned and left without saying good night.

     Cash disappeared in the underground world of New York.
     Whatever he managed to find out or accomplish in the center of Servio's conspiracy never 
reached his friends or Julian Luna. He had no idea who had betrayed him nor how the information 
of his whereabouts was conveyed to the Prince of New York. All he knew was that he was followed 
and watched from the moment he entered the city. He knew within a few hours that he would never 
be allowed to leave and that the news of his arrival had preceded him. There was a traitor among 
them. Someone close to Julian. It meant that everybody was endangered: the Prince most of all. He 
tried desperately to get a message out about what was afoot. But to try to find Julian in New 
Orleans or Daedalus in Washington was not possible. He called San Francisco, hoping that he 
would find Sasha, but she wasn't in the mansion. In the Brujah compound nobody picked up the 
phone, and there was no answer in the Haven either. 
     In a last act of heroic recklessness, he called Frank Kohanek.
     "It's Cash," he said to the baffled policeman. "Don't ask anything, just listen. If Julian 
contacts you, tell him that there is a traitor."
     "What? Who?..."
     But Cash didn't let him continue.
     "Shut up! Don't tell anybody else! Not Lillie, not Sonny. Only Julian. Do you understand?"
     "I don't understand a bloody thing!" Frank shouted. "What is going on?"
     "You don't want to know," Cash answered tiredly. "Just do it!" There was a short silence 
before Cash added, "if you see Sasha... tell her that I loved her." 
     The phone went dead in Frank's ear and he stared at it for a long moment before putting it 
down.
     He thought about Cash's use of past tense and it scared him.
     What the hell is going on?!
     Cash's body was never found.

     Nick's anger had been exchanged for dizziness. He had wanted Caitlin the moment he saw 
her. She had pressed herself against his body when they danced giving his desire a promise. Her 
soft lips had responded to his kisses. He didn't care if she had done it to protect her boyfriend, 
Luna. He didn't care about anything but her warm body, her smile, her... he was making himself 
sick with wanting.
     Nick had a special remedy for every pain - he ran. After several hours of running in the night, 
he allowed himself the luxury of a shower and rest. But he couldn't sleep. He took out the file 
marked 'Joseph Montegna' that he had leafed through so many times. He looked at the pictures 
taken in the ravine and then at the photograph of Julian Luna. The information he had stated that 
Luna was thirty-four. He looked at the photo again. Something in the man's eyes, an air of maturity 
suggested that he was older than that, at least ten years older. On the other hand, the unlined skin of 
his face and neck seemed to point in the opposite direction, much younger, certainly under thirty. 
Weird. Nick was thirty-five, and he was quite sure that his skin looked much older than that of 
Julian Luna.
     Something was wrong here, another mystery, and Nick hated mysteries. He was sure of one 
thing though, Caitlin had lied. Something had happened on the morning of Julian's departure, and 
Caitlin had kept her mouth shut. 
     Well, Nick intended to find out what had happened, even if he had to seduce her to do so.
     Hell! He wanted to seduce her, whether she was telling the truth or not.
     Nick spent most of the next day chasing and cursing a drunken driver who had lost control of 
his car and had driven off the road. The fence around old Engelson?s cottage had been destroyed 
but nobody had been hurt. Nevertheless, it was police business and Nick was the police officer on 
duty. The drunken driver had turned out to be Mr. Engelson?s own grandson, and everybody was 
very embarrassed, except for Nick who, as usual, was angry. In the end, old Engelson had to pay the 
fines in order to keep his grandson out of prison. When all the commotion was over, it was past 
nine in the evening, and Nick realized that he would have to wait to see Caitlin until the next 
morning. It made him angry again.
     Cameron had spent ten years pretending to be something he wasn't: hiding his true feelings 
and learning the ways of the mighty. He had survived the blood bath in Manzanita, the clan-wars in 
San Francisco and the wrath of the Prince. He had killed Archon. In the end he had managed to get 
himself elected the Primogen of the Brujah Clan. Cameron was proud of himself, and he had every 
right to be.
     He had watched Julian's rise to power - it seemed so easy. But then, Julian Luna had been 
groomed for that position by Archon himself. Everybody seemed to know that. They had been 
waiting for him to take over, their hopes rising and falling, depending on what they expected. 
Cameron had waited too.
     Know your enemy, the old saying went, and Cameron knew his enemy well; that knowledge 
had saved his own life. Whatever Julian Luna was, he wasn't evil. He believed in right and wrong 
and he had a conscience. A sign of weakness to be taken advantage of. Cameron had done just that. 
In fact, the Prince was as civilized as a Kindred could be. Another weakness. He missed his 
humanity and liked and respected mortals. More weaknesses. And, just as Lillie had pointed out, he 
was an easy prey for the so-called weaker sex. They could call him Don Juan all they wanted. 
According to Cameron, it was a weakness too.
     Cameron had been lucky. In order to gain information about Caitlin, he had taken up with one 
of her colleagues, Donna, a voluptuous creature who accepted his explanation that he was married 
and that they had to keep their affair a secret. It had paid off better than Cameron had expected, and 
he was now in possession of a very special diskette. It contained a copy of the diary of the missing 
girl, Anamaria Weatherstone, and if Cameron played his cards right, it might become the downfall 
of the mighty Prince. How wonderful that the stupid woman had disappeared. What had happened 
to her didn't concern Cameron. He didn't suspect that Julian had killed her, but the fact that she 
was gone was enough. If the diary became public knowledge, Julian Luna, the Prince of San 
Francisco, would have to go too. Beautiful!
     "Anamaria gave it to me the day before she was found missing," Donna had told Cameron. 
"She asked me to give it to her father if anything happened to her, but whenever I tried to contact 
Mr. Weatherstone, he was never available to see me, so I got tired of it."
     Donna wasn't the most responsible of citizens and it made Cameron happy.
     "Why didn't you go to the police?" Cameron had wondered aloud. Donna had shrugged.
     "I didn't like her. I like Caitlin, and besides, Mr. Luna has been very generous to us. The 
employees of The San Francisco Times are better paid than those of any other paper in the city."
     "You didn't intend to use it for your own purposes?" Cameron had chided her, and she had 
been insulted. 
     Eventually she gave him the diskette, assuring him that it was the only copy she had. Cameron 
had every intention of using it. But right now it sat in a vault in a San Francisco bank, and he was 
involved in a war that might prove fatal not only to Julian Luna but to himself as well. He put away 
his thoughts of revenge and concentrated on the task at hand.
     Cameron had managed to get to Florida, pretending that he was a refugee from the West Coast. 
It was known that he had killed Archon, and it was easy to convince the Brujah idiot of 
Miami that Julian Luna was after him. Cameron didn't have to pretend that he hated Luna, all he 
had to do was to make the Brujah Prince believe that that he was supporting Servio. It wasn't 
difficult either. The Prince of Miami was from Cuba, almost illiterate, vicious as a snake, profoundly 
hated by everybody, and more stupid than Eddie Fiori had ever been.
     Guys like him give the Brujah Clan a bad reputation, Cameron concluded.
      To arrange the demise of the Prince of Miami was child?s play for Cameron. When he 
looked at the decapitated body at his feet he couldn't help wondering:
     Why couldn't it be just as easy to get rid of Julian Luna?
     He's trusted, loved and respected, his mind told him. You'll never turn his own Clansmen or 
the other Primogens against him the way you've done with this one.
     To Cameron's surprise, he was asked to take over. It was a tempting proposition but he 
declined, suggesting that Gerald, one of the more moderate and intelligent of the Clan, should be the 
one to be chosen. The fact that Gerald opposed Servio was the main reason for Cameron's advice. 
Gerald was appointed the new Prince of Miami and Cameron gained an important friend. A friend 
indebted to him.
     Yes, Cameron realized, this is the way: the way to power.
     Something that Julian Luna had known for more than a century and Cameron was just learning about:
 Powerful friends. 

     It was nine in the morning and James Byrne paled visibly when he saw an uniformed 
policeman outside his door.
     "Yes?" he asked.
     "I'd like to see Miss Byrne," Nick said. He could almost smell the old man's fear. 
     "What's happened?" James Byrne blocked the door with his body.
     "Nothing has happened." Nick was wondering suddenly if he were chasing the wrong man. 
Could old Byrne be the one who had done away with Joe? Why? He decided on direct attack. 
     "We're investigating the death of Joseph Montegna," he said watching the other man?s face 
carefully. To his relief, Caitlin's father relaxed immediately. Whatever he was afraid of, it had 
nothing to do with Joe?s death.
     "There are a few things that Caitlin... er... Miss Byrne promised to help me straighten out," he 
continued.
     Nick was let inside.
     Caitlin offered him coffee and they sat down in the kitchen. Her father left them alone.
     "Caitlin," Nick was trying to sound kind, "I know that something happened the morning after 
your mother's funeral." He watched her face turn violently red. "What was it?" He was determined 
to find out the truth.
     "Julian..." her voice was barely a whisper, "Julian was shot."
     "WHAT?!" Nick had not expected that one. "Where?"
     "In the leg." Caitlin pointed at a spot a few inches above his knee. "Right there, the bullet went 
through his leg, just like that. He said that it wasn?t much of an injury, but it looked awful."
     "You were there when it happened?" Nick continued watching her.
     "Yes," she said, and Nick remembered what Frank had told him.
     "Where you near him?" he asked and her embarrassment answered his question.
     "Let's go," he said and seeing her frown added, "I want you to show me where it happened."
     They went to the old pine and Caitlin pointed out the spot on the ground. Nick lay on the 
ground and asked Caitlin to direct him into the position Julian had been in. He leaned away from 
the tree, the way Julian had done, and bent his left leg, his knee coming up.
     "Like that?" he asked and Caitlin nodded.
     "And you were?" When she didn't answer he continued, "on top?" She nodded again.
     Nick heard Frank's voice in his head again, 'if someone close were endangered?' He put a finger 
on the spot on his leg that Caitlin had pointed out. Nick was at least three inches taller than 
Julian Luna. He moved his finger up his thigh. 
     "Caitlin," he looked at her, "please, don't get me wrong, but I want you to come down on me, 
the way you did with your fiancé."
     She stared at him, appalled.
     "No!"
     "Caitlin, please, it's important, just for a second, please."
     She continued to stare at the man in the snow a little longer and then did as he asked of her. 
     He strained his head to the left, trying to see his leg.
     "How far up was his knee?" he asked. 
     "I don't know!" There was anger in her voice. "I was busy."
     "Did his leg touch you? Were you sitting up or lying down on him? Try to remember!"
     The barrage of questions made her head spin, or was it being this close to him? She closed her 
eyes and leaned forward.
     "I was down," she said. "Julian's thigh was touching me. I heard the shot..." Remembering 
made her shiver. "It was terrible!" She started to cry.
     Nick put his arm around her and pressed her to his chest. His leg came closer, until his thigh 
touched her. Looking over Caitlin's shoulder he measured the distance with his hand.
     Four inches, maybe five, he thought. Damn close.
     "Okay," he said, "let's get up. It's rather cold here in the snow."
     They got up and brushed the snow off their clothes. 
     Four or five inches, no wonder Julian Luna got mad. Nick was mad too, and this time with 
Joe. No matter how good you are with the rifle, you can always miss. A target that could move in 
any direction at any moment. A couple having sex. Anything could have happened.
     Nick walked down the slight slope, turning and crouching several times. How close did Joe 
have to come to see the raised knee? When he couldn't see the top of the hill any longer, he turned 
and started back. 
     Caitlin watched him in silence. He reminded her of a film about Indian scouts that she had 
seen recently. The police uniform made it seem unreal. 
     Suddenly Nick slipped and almost fell. His hand groped through the snow and came up with 
the object that made him loose his balance. It was rusty but he recognized it immediately. A bullet 
casing. He looked at Caitlin. 
     "This is where he was when he shot at you," he said. 
     He went back to her and looked at the trees on the other side of the hill. But there was no 
reason to look for the bullet. Nick knew all he needed to know about the shooting of Julian Luna. 
He turned to Caitlin again.
     "What happened afterwards?"
     "I went back to the house to get help. I called his car. I waited for them to come and then we 
came back here."
     "How long was he alone?"
     "A half of an hour, maybe a little longer." Caitlin looked at him challengingly. "Look, he 
couldn't have gone after Joe; his leg was shot through! His... associates had to carry him."
     "You mean his bodyguards, don't you?" Nick smiled at her, but Caitlin's anger flared up.
     "Yes, his bodyguards! After what happened here, don?t you think he needs them?!"
     But Nick didn't respond. 
     There was no way that Julian Luna could have pursued Joe into the ravine and killed him 
there. Not with the injured leg, not while Joe still had his rifle. But even if he hadn't been wounded, 
and Joe hadn't been armed, there simply wasn?t enough time. The motive was there, but no means.
     "Why wasn't the police informed?" he asked Caitlin sternly.
     "Julian had to go back to San Francisco in a hurry," she said quietly, "and he said... that there 
was no reason for my friend to go to jail."
     "So you did see Joe?"
     "No," Caitlin shook her head. "We didn't see him, we heard him run," she was trying to smile, 
"and Julian was guessing."
     "So you came back here; your fiancé was carried to the car. Did your father know what had 
happened?"
     "Yes," she looked away, "but Julian said that there was no need to make any fuss, he just 
wanted to leave. I went with him to the airport. I saw the plane take off." She anticipated the 
questions.
     Nick nodded. The airport had confirmed that much. The plane had taken off and had not come 
back until a few days ago. So much for that. Nick knew now what had happened on that fateful 
morning, but he was still no closer to understanding how Joe had died.
     "Okay, Caitlin, we're done here." He turned down the slope and she followed. "Let's go to 
my place. There's something I want to show you."

     Julian was surprised over how familiar Louisiana felt, although he hadn't been back since he 
left the state as a mortal, a century and a half ago. He flew into Baton Rouge, Arthur his only 
companion; they hired a car and drove to New Orleans. As unchanged as the countryside was, as 
changed was the city. Still, there was something in the air that brought back childhood memories, 
and Julian smiled - it was literally in the air.
     The smell... Well, New Orleans was never famous for its cleanliness. The ever-present noise 
made Julian realize that San Francisco, a much bigger city, was a place where silence could be 
found, especially if one were able to pay for it. But no amount of money could buy silence in New 
Orleans.
     Arthur watched with fascination as Julian transformed himself from the strict San Francisco 
businessman into a southern playboy in a white linen suit, only the gold chains and rings lacking. 
Julian Luna was quite prepared to pretend that he was gay, using Arthur's company as an excuse, 
but hanging several pounds of gold on himself was just more than he could take. 
      Arthur was also impressed by Julian's ability to blend into the city's nightlife, switching 
between French and English effortlessly. Louisiana had the biggest Kindred population of all the 
states, many of them Europeans. Within a few hours, Julian had found the right contacts. The next 
night they would meet Pierre de Guiche, the Prince of New Orleans.
     Pierre de Guiche was an old Ventrue. He had come to America with his own creation, La 
Fayette, barely escaping the guillotine. When the general returned to Europe, the French aristocrat 
had stayed, recreating his own little piece of France in Louisiana. He had survived the Inquisition 
and the French Revolution and Julian hoped that his experiences in Europe would prevent him from 
supporting Servio. But he was gay and quite explicit about it. Julian imagined that pretending that 
he was a homosexual too might give him a further advantage. Arthur had laughed at the idea. 

     When Caitlin and Nick approached the pickup truck that he had left outside the house, they 
found a stranger waiting for them on the doorstep. It was a thin man, very tall, his very light 
coloring reminded Caitlin of Arthur, although the stranger was at least twenty years older than her 
bodyguard. 
     He looked at them without blinking and all of a sudden Caitlin felt apprehension.
     "I'm looking for Julian Luna," the stranger said without presenting himself. 
     "He's not here." Caitlin instinctively backed away a couple of steps and was grateful when 
Nick put his arm around her shoulders.
     "Yes, I'm aware of that." The man continued staring at her. "I was hoping that you might 
know where he is."
     "I don't know where he is," Caitlin said staring back. "We don't keep contact," she added 
after a moment, and felt Nick's arm harden. 
     "I see." 
     The stranger came down from the steps and Caitlin moved closer to Nick.
     "What is it you want, Mr...?" Nick stretched up; he was just as tall as the other man, but twice 
as big.
     The stranger seemed to contemplate Nick?s police uniform for a few seconds; then, ignoring 
Nick's question, he turned to Caitlin again. 
     "If Julian contacts you, would you please inform me. Here is my number." He gave her a card.  
"It's very important," he added. 
     Caitlin looked at the card.
     Stephen Langhelis, it said in small, printed letters. There was a Seattle number written 
underneath the name in pencil. Nothing else, no address, no title.
     "It's very important," the man repeated and walked to a big foreign car that was parked 
nearby.
     Nick and Caitlin watched as a much younger man got out of the front passenger seat and 
opened the back door for the mysterious stranger. Caitlin recognized the pattern immediately. This 
was how it looked whenever Julian traveled by car. 
     She tried to move away from Nick, but his arm remained around her back.
     "Why did you lie to him?" he asked. 
     "I don't know him!" She managed to step away from Nick. "And I don't know where Julian 
is!"
     She ran into the house calling her father. Nick stayed outside.
     Caitlin's father was in the kitchen, still fuming.
     "The impertinent moron!" he exclaimed. "Coming here, asking questions!"
     "What did he want?"
     "He wanted Julian, and then started to ask about you. If you two were still together. The 
audacity...!" James Byrne was so angry that he sputtered.
     "What did you tell him?" Caitlin asked.
     "I told him to mind his own business!" He was surprised when Caitlin hugged and kissed 
him. "And then I threw him out!" he added with satisfaction. 
     When Caitlin came out of the house again, Nick and his pickup were gone.

     Julian woke up as the blare of music penetrated even the deep sleep of a Kindred. It was early 
afternoon. He locked himself in the bathroom and let the hot shower batter his body for almost an 
hour. But the memory would not be washed away. They had returned to the hotel before dawn and 
the clerk had given them their keys, apparently surprised that they didn?t share a room. It had made 
Arthur smile.
     "With proper training you could pass as gay," he had said making Julian frown.
     "Are you saying that my performance is lacking?" Julian had asked.
     "You wouldn?t have fooled me," was Arthur?s response, "nor any other of my persuasion."
     Julian had invited his bodyguard into his room.
     "I need your help, Arthur." He was ill at ease but decided to overcome his apprehension. "I 
must make a believable impression."
     "Julian, you're the straightest man I know. You couldn't fool me if your life depended on it."
     "Well, my life might depend on it," Julian had said quite seriously. "Stop laughing and show 
me how I should behave."
     Arthur had stopped laughing. 
     "It's not the question of how you should behave, but how you shouldn't behave." He had 
strolled over to Julian casually, and then suddenly threw his arms around him and kissed him on the 
mouth. As he had expected, Julian had recoiled from him with a shout.
     "There, you see," Arthur had commented. "If you want to pretend that you are gay, you must 
never show your disgust. You may show that you aren't interested in somebody's advances but 
you must not be revolted." 
     "Okay, I get the picture." Julian squared his shoulders. "Do it again!"
     Arthur did as he was told.
     Julian had had quite a few run-ins with the homosexuals in his life, especially in the sixties 
and seventies, when he was still Archon's glorified gopher. After all, he lived in San Francisco. He 
believed himself to be tolerant, as long as his own butt wasn't on the line. His Kindred strength 
allowed him to fend off any unwanted passes. But it was difficult to hide the discomfort he felt. 
     Arthur took hold of his arms and shook him a little.
     "You're as stiff as if you've swallowed your toothbrush. Loosen up a little, that's better." 
Julian had relaxed somewhat and closing his eyes allowed Arthur to kiss him again.
     "Now, respond!" Arthur demanded, and to his own surprise, Julian let their kiss become quite 
intimate. 
     It's not entirely unpleasant, he thought, but in the next moment Arthur touched him and he 
flinched away from the searching hand.
     "No, no!" Arthur was laughing again. "If you don't want the attention, you take my hand and 
remove it. Remember, you must not show fear or disgust. Try again!" The offending hand was 
back, closing on Julian with a force that made him wince. He took hold of the wrist and moved it 
away.
     "I'm being naughty." Arthur took his hand and smiled. "Nobody would do this to you unless 
invited. But I couldn't help making fun of you. Straight men seem to believe that we're all rapists!"
     It made Julian laugh.
     "Women seem to believe that we're all rapists," he retorted, and they both laughed again.
     "Anyway," Arthur continued, "what you must remember is that gay men touch each other 
much in the way women do. There's nothing sexual about it, and you must not shy away. We hug 
and hold each other a lot." He put his arm around Julian's shoulders and patted his knee. 
"Remember to do the same."
     "The clerk downstairs seemed to believe that we were together," Julian said. "It might be a 
good idea to let Pierre believe that we are."
     "The clerk downstairs doesn't know any better. He's straight." Arthur was thoughtful. 
"Fooling Pierre de Guiche might prove much more difficult." 
     "I'd hate him to come after me." Julian grimaced. "I might not be as tolerant with him as I'm 
with you." 
     "Just how tolerant do you think you are?!" There was anger in Arthur's voice. "Let me show 
you how much you can take!"
     He shoved Julian down on the bed and lay down beside him.
     "Stop me when you've had enough!" he growled and kissed Julian passionately.
     Julian willed himself to respond to the kiss. Arthur's hands moved over his body, sneaking 
inside his clothes with expert ease.
     Let's see how much I can take, Julian wondered. 
     The kisses and caresses sent a pleasant shiver up his spine. Then Arthur took Julian's hand 
and pressed it against himself. Julian felt the hardness strain against his fingers and heard Arthur's 
breath catch.
     "Don't you think it's enough?" he whispered to his bodyguard, surprised by the excitement in 
his own voice. 
     Arthur didn't stop. 
     Julian knew that his bodyguard was stronger than he was. But he didn't want to fight his way 
out anyway. It felt easier to give in to superior strength, his body pressed down by the other's 
weight against his back, his wrists locked in a steel grip, his legs forced apart. Arthur bit his 
shoulders and neck, making him gasp and shudder with pleasure. Something hot and hard was 
forced between his buttocks and he stiffened instinctively in defense.
     "Julian, I'll hurt you if you don't relax," Arthur's whisper was entreating.
     "Arthur, please, don't..." But it was too late, and the powerful thrust made Julian cry out in 
pain. 
     If I resist, I'll be hurt, Julian realized. 
     He made a conscious effort to slacken his contorted muscles. The pain subsided, turning 
slowly into an unexpectedly pleasant sensation. Arthur let go of his wrists and, turning on his side, 
let one hand press Julian against him, caressing him intimately with the other, his teeth sunk into 
Julian's neck, as if they were two mating cats. His breathing more and more labored, his thrusts 
swifter and harder, he mumbled through his clenched teeth.
     "I'll make you come... Julian, I'll make you come..."
     In the end, he did. 
     Julian was appalled by his own reaction as he watched his semen spurt forth between Arthur's 
clenched fingers. Even allowing Arthur to have sex with him wasn't as confounding as the fact that 
he himself had been sexually excited by it, responding the way he did.
     "You've led me on, Julian. You made it happen!" Arthur had exploded afterwards, unable to 
hide his anger. "It's not like you didn't enjoy it!"
     "I know." Julian had answered. "I didn't mean to seduce you. I'm sorry. It won't happen 
again."
     "Now, you tell me!" Arthur had exclaimed, grabbing him and pressing him against his body. 
"How am I supposed to go on now? I love you and I want you. I always have. Until today you were 
just out of my reach, like all straight men are. But now... how am I supposed to go on living... 
pretending that nothing has happened?" 
     He tried to kiss Julian again but the Prince turned his face away.
     "I'm sorry, Arthur." Julian was aghast. "I didn't know. I wouldn't have let this happen had I 
known."
     He held his crying bodyguard in his arms, cursing his own blindness, until they both fell 
asleep. 

     Nick called Caitlin in the afternoon.
     "I had to go," he told her. "I was called in. Can I pick you up at six?"
     Caitlin was a little doubtful. She wasn't sure that she wanted to see what Nick had to show 
her, but on the other hand, she had no reason to refuse.
     "Okay," she said, "six will be fine."
     She spent the rest of the afternoon trying to sort out her feelings. Julian had not called for 
several days, and she was scared and angry at the same time. Her imagination created all possible 
scenarios, each ending in disaster. She missed him terribly, and would do anything to make the 
empty hours pass, even spend time with the man who apparently believed that her lover was a 
murderer.
     In spite of Nick's suspicions, she liked him. His native calm, the big frame, even the police 
uniform, filled her with a feeling of security, and she needed that right now. She was sure that he 
was interested in her, apart from the investigation of Joe?s death. She liked that too, not giving any 
thought to what it might lead to. It was as if Julian's protective presence would reach across any 
distance, shielding her from the outside world.
     Nick came exactly at six, and she went out as soon as she saw his pickup at the end of the 
driveway.
     "You left rather abruptly this morning," she said when she was seated at his side.
     "Duty called. There was a burglary." He lied to her. He had tried to follow the foreign car but 
lost the track of it after only a few miles. It was much too fast for his pickup. He had gone to work 
then, too ashamed to face Caitlin after his futile pursuit.
     Nick lived in a small cottage, a half an hour's drive from the astronomer's house. It was filled 
with beautiful Indian artwork mixed with modern technology; rusty brown and red were the 
pervading colors, giving the place a sense of warmth.
     But as soon as the door closed behind them, the atmosphere froze. Nick took Caitlin in his 
arms and tried to kiss her. Now, when they were alone in his home, it was no longer a play, and 
Caitlin stopped him immediately.
     "I'm sorry, Nick. I know that I've given you the wrong impression. Please, forgive me!"
     To her relief, he let her go at once.
     "Yes, you have," he said with a wry smile.
     "What was it you wanted to show me?" she asked, trying to hide her uneasiness. 
     Nick went to his desk and turned on a reading lamp. He picked up the file marked Joseph 
Montegna and shook its contents out. He chose a photograph and turned to Caitlin.
     "It's not a pretty picture," he said, "but you're a reporter. I imagine you can take it." He laid it 
down under the lamp.
     Caitlin came closer and looked at it.
     At first, she was just shocked by the gory sight. The dead man had been lying in the ravine 
long enough for decay to have set in, in spite of the autumn cold. The skin on his face was 
blackened, the eyes were gone. He had no throat.
     Caitlin swallowed hard and looked closer. Suddenly she was very cold and a violent shiver 
shook her body: She had seen the wound before.
     She looked up at Nick and saw him smile triumphantly. 
     "You've seen it before, haven't you?" Nick?s question was a statement. But Caitlin refused to 
answer.
     Yes, I've seen it! Frank Kohanek had shown me the photograph of the man who had attacked 
Julian in the San Francisco bank. His throat had been ripped out in exactly the same way as the 
throat of Joe Montegna. 
     Caitlin's eyes filled with tears.
     Wouldn't you like to know how he did it? She heard Frank's angry voice in her head.
     "Nick," she sobbed, "how were these wounds inflicted?"
     "I don't know," he said. "I've never seen anything like it. And I?ve seen almost everything that 
can happen in the wilderness." He looked at her with pity. "You know something, Caitlin," he said 
quietly. "There is someone we can ask."
     Nick took the whole file as they went back to his pickup. The drive took almost two hours. 
They didn't say anything to each other for most of that time. Caitlin curled up in her seat. She had 
stopped crying. Nick shot a glance at her pale face every now and then. At last he cleared his throat.
     "Caitlin," he said softly, "whatever happened there, I can't do anything about it, and neither can 
you. But I'm sure that Julian Luna was somehow involved in Joe's death. From your reaction, I 
think you know that too, don't you?"
     Caitlin nodded, a sob escaping her again.
     "Tell me about it!"
     "There was an attempt to assassinate Julian at his bank. More than a year ago. The attacker 
was found like this," she pointed her chin towards the file that lay between them on the seat. "I saw 
the pictures." She shivered again. "The police never found out what really happened."
     Yes, Nick mused, it must have looked even more weird in San Francisco.

     Well, so much for my being able to take care of myself, Julian thought wryly. Poor Daedalus! 
Had he been here, this wouldn't have happened. And poor Arthur. And stupid me!
     A shiver of revulsion went through Julian's body. Having sex with a man had never entered 
his mind, and, being what he was, it had never been a threat either. But now, it had happened. He 
had not only had sex with a man, but with one of his closest and most trusted friends, and on top of 
that, he had enjoyed it enough to... The shiver became stronger; he had to clench his teeth in order 
to prevent himself from being sick. The experience had been revolting and painful and pleasant in 
some weird combination. Julian was sure of one thing though; he never wanted it to happen again.
      I guess Arthur was right, he thought. I'm quite straight.
     He forbade himself to think of Caitlin, just as her image turned up in his head.
     This is at least something she will never know about, he vowed to himself.
     He felt his body react and was appalled until he realized that it was a reaction to the picture of 
Caitlin that his mind had conjured.
     He couldn't stay in the bathroom forever. He had to get out and face Arthur again. But when 
he went back to his bedroom, he found Arthur already dressed, his face bland, his behavior all 
business. 
     Arthur asked for money. Not enough to make up for what had happened, but he wanted 
several thousand dollars. Julian decided against asking why he wanted it.
     "Will a check do?"
     "A credit card would be better," Arthur answered. "I'll be back in an hour," he added after 
Julian had given him his card.
     Arthur came back with a small package from the jeweler's.
     "I know you hate these things," he told Julian while he tore the paper away, "but it should do 
the trick."
     He took out a pair of identical bracelets made of massive gold, each engraved with their 
initials.
     "Put it on your right wrist," he said.
     Julian looked at the heavy gold.
     Arthur is right, he thought. I hate these trinkets.
     But it wasn't what the bracelet signified that Julian hated. Julian had come to California during 
the gold rush. He had seen what the glimmering metal could do to people: men and women alike. 
Somehow, he had managed to avoid the poisonous contagion of the yellow metal. But it had 
destroyed so many others, his father among them.
     "Now, we're engaged," Arthur smiled nervously. "At least as far as Pierre is concerned," he 
added before Julian had time to say anything. "Remember what I told you, and try not to shy away 
if I touch you."
     "I'll do my best," Julian answered.
     He tried to think of something kind to say to Arthur, and an awkward silence stretched 
between them.
     "Julian," Arthur broke the silence at last, "I'm sorry for what's happened. But I'm not the 
only one to blame. I know that I forced you... Hell, you didn't even try to stop me!" His outburst 
went unanswered.
     "Why didn't you try to stop me?" he asked.
     "I don't know, Arthur. I really don't know. Curiosity..." Julian's voice trailed off. "A new 
experience. I'm sorry too."
     Arthur went to his room to change his clothes and prepare for the evening.
     They left the hotel when darkness set over the city.

     The lodge seemed old and partly ruined. At first Caitlin thought that it was deserted, but then 
she saw some light seeping from the inside, and understood that there were people living in the 
dreary building. Nick led her inside.
     Four old Indian men were seated on rugs spread on the floor near the fireplace. There was no 
other source of light in the room. Nick greeted them and they looked up, nodding. The old men 
mumbled among themselves and then shuffled on the floor making space for Nick and Caitlin. A 
can of beer was shoved into Caitlin?s hand and there was silence. All men made a point of not 
looking at her. They drank the beer and sat looking into the fire. After about twenty minutes the 
oldest of the men turned to Nick.
     "You've come looking for answers," he said, and Nick nodded.
     After another five minutes of silence the old one turned to Nick again.
     "You may ask," he said.
     Nick took out the photograph that he had showed to Caitlin earlier and placed it in front of the 
fire.
     "What killed this man?" he asked.
     The photograph went from hand to hand. Each man leaned closer to the fire to see it better and 
then passed it along to the next man. It was returned to Nick and there was more silence.
     "What animal could do this?" Nick?s patience was running out. "A wolf?"
     "No animal," the oldest one said.
     "A man?!" There was excitement in Nick's voice.
     "No man," came the answer, and Nick stared at them.
     If they start babbling about witches and evil spirits, Caitlin will laugh her head off, Nick 
thought.
     But the old men were silent again.
     "They are not men and they are not wolves, but they can pretend to be both," one of the men 
said.
     "They don't breathe," another added.
     "They don't breed," yet another voice. The old men snickered. 
     "Yes, they don't breed, but they can pretend that they do."
     "And they are very good at it." They were giggling now.
     "They don't eat food like people do. They live off people and they can kill like animals."
     "They can hear and see and smell like animals."
     "What are you talking about?" Nick was disappointed and angry, and it could be heard in his 
voice. 
     "They aren't evil spirits," the oldest of the Indians turned to Nick again. "They came with the 
white men, but they weren't like them. They didn't take our land and they didn't kill our people. 
There weren't many of them, and white men hunted them as they hunted us."
     "We thought white men had killed them all," another old Indian said. "Apparently not."
     "What are you talking about?" Nick repeated his question.
     "Men who don't die easily, but are like dead when they sleep: very strong men. Women too. 
Live in the night. They drink human blood."
     Nick sighed with exasperation and looked at Caitlin apologetically. But Caitlin didn't notice 
him. She stared wide-eyed at the old Indians, her face absolutely white.
     Nick rose to his feet.
     "Thank you, uncles," he said. "Let's go Caitlin. It's late. I'll drive you home."
     But when they were outside he told her to wait a moment, he had forgotten the file inside. He 
went back into the lodge, picked up the file and took the photograph of Julian Luna out of it. Nick 
never forgot anything. He showed it to his oldest uncle.
     "Is he one of them?" he asked, but the old man shrugged.
     "You can't tell from a picture," he said. "You must catch them unaware. When they sleep or 
feed. Don't ever try to shoot one! Waste of bullets."
     Nick turned to go, but the old man wasn't finished.
     "If he's got hold of that woman, there's nothing left for you... Beware!" 
     Nick returned to Caitlin and they drove back in silence. He tried to engage her in a 
conversation but Caitlin refused to utter a word. He watched her walk towards her father's house, 
and for a short moment her face was caught in the headlights of his pickup. Her terror-stricken 
countenance made him shiver. What was it among the babble of his uncles that had scared her so 
much? Nick wondered. For the first time since Joe's death, Nick started to be afraid too.

     Pierre de Guiche held court in a big eighteenth century mansion outside the city. When Julian 
and Arthur arrived, they saw that holding court was a perfect description. All it lacked were the 
seventeenth century clothes and wigs.
     Pierre de Guiche was a middle-aged man, rather thick around the waist. His face was heavy, 
his eyes half-closed, as if he were permanently sleepy. It was said that he remembered the 
Crusades.
     He welcomed Julian and Arthur, but did not inquire about the reason for their visit. 
     Julian watched the congregation with rising apprehension. Most of the Kindred present were 
either Ventrue or Brujah, with only a few Toreador. No Nosferatu, no Gangrel, and very few 
females.
     Julian beckoned to Arthur and his bodyguard put one hand on Julian's shoulder, his face 
close to Julian's as if they were embracing.
     "I'm afraid I've been mistaken," Julian whispered in Arthur's ear. "De Guiche is supporting 
Servio."
     Arthur nodded.
     "We can hardly do anything about it on our own," he whispered back.
     "We'll have to or we'll never get out of here alive." Julian had no illusions. "We've been 
lured into a trap."
     Arthur's grip on Julian's shoulder hardened.
     "We haven't got much time. By midnight they'll start leaving to feed. We must think of 
something before then."
     "All right, start thinking and move around." Julian had already started thinking himself. "There 
might be some Kindred here who aren't too happy about Servio's plan. It would help if we could 
find them. Go on!" He patted Arthur's back. "I'll concentrate on the women," he added, 
makingArthur smile. 
     They disappeared from each other's sight among the Kindred entourage of Marquis Pierre de 
Guiche, the Ventrue Prince of New Orleans.
 

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