Chapter 8

     Caitlin didn't realize how late it was until she entered the house. Her father was in the 
kitchen, waiting for her. It was just past midnight. After placing a cup of tea in front of her, he 
cleared his throat.
     "You seem distressed," he said, startling her. There had been a wide rift between them for 
many years, but since the illness and death of her mother, Caitlin and her father had become quite 
close. His unexpected acceptance of Julian had of course helped to reduce the breach between 
father and daughter. 
     Caitlin was indeed distressed. She felt as if something sinister was closing on her, as well as 
on Julian. The attack on his life, the mysterious visitor in the morning, Nick's pursuit, the crazy 
ranting of the old Indians. But there was something consistent in all that madness, and it scared her. 
The way the Indians had been going on. There were things that did apply to Julian, no matter how 
hard she tried to disregard them. The things she knew about: the strength, the sharpened senses, the 
sterility, no need for food. Could the other things be true as well? 
     They can kill like animals, said an old man's voice in her head.
     They drink human blood, another voice repeated.
     She thought of the two photographs of the dead men. So similar!
     Caitlin shivered violently and looked up at her father. Next to Biggy, James Byrne was the 
most rational man she had ever known. And she needed help from a rational mind right now. She 
told her father everything, well, at least the relevant parts. There were things about which she could 
not confide in her father, but right now they weren?t important. 
     The old astronomer stared at his daughter in disbelief.
     "Caitlin, are you out of your mind?" he wondered. "This is the most... unbelievable pile of 
nonsense that I've heard in all my life! You can trust me, I've heard my share. Mostly from the 
UFOlogists and the like."
     But Caitlin shook her head.
     "Dad," she said, "I know what I have seen. I know what Julian has told me."
     But James Byrne would not surrender his rationality that easily.
     "Look Caitlin, I know how strong he is, I've seen him... It's quite possible that he can rip a 
man's throat out with his bare hands, if sufficiently provoked. I don't know about the guy in San 
Francisco, but as far as I'm concerned, Joe got what he deserved. Whether it was Julian who did 
him in or the wolves. Frankly, my money is on the wolves. As for the rest, I won't believe for a 
second that superstitious native mumbo jumbo. And you're far too intelligent for that too."
     It was Caitlin's turn to stare at her father in disbelief. Apparently, James Byrne was quite 
prepared to believe and accept that Julian had killed one, maybe two, men. It was so odd. Biggy had 
said almost the same thing. What was it that men could see in each other that was beyond her 
capability to perceive? But her father would not accept or believe anything else. After all, he was a 
scientist. But Caitlin had trouble dismissing the Indians so easily. Almost everything they had said 
fitted Julian perfectly.
     If there's nothing else to it, she mused, according to these old men, there must be others like 
him.
     But what were they? Julian had spoken of a disease. An unknown epidemic? Only the Indians 
had talked about the old times, the times when white men killed Indians, a century ago, or even 
further back. Something hereditary then. But Julian was sterile, and so were the others according to 
the tale. A mutation?
     Suddenly, there was a smile on Caitlin?s face.
     "Father, can I use your computer tomorrow?" She asked, "I'd like to do some scientific 
research of my own." She had just found something with which to occupy herself while waiting for 
Julian's return.
     "Of course," the astronomer said. "What are you looking for?"
     "I think I'll visit some medical libraries," Caitlin answered. "Thank God for the Web."
     It made her father laugh.
     "Yes," he said. "Have fun! I'd rather see you surfing the Internet than running around with 
that Indian policeman."
     "Father!" Caitlin was appalled. "I never thought that you'd turn racist!"
     "I haven't," he retorted. "I just don't like uniforms. And besides, you already have a man."
     Will wonders never cease? Caitlin giggled. My father protecting Julian's interests!
     Despite all that she had been through that day, Caitlin was able to sleep quite well once she got 
into her bed.
     Why haven't I thought of it before, Caitlin wondered turning on her father's computer. 
     But after a few hours of staring at the screen, she had found exactly nothing, and the 
frustration was getting to her. She had found that there were men that were extremely strong; there 
were men who were sterile; there were men who had unusually sharp senses. There were men who 
could survive on very little food, and there were men whose stamina surpassed that of others. But 
they were all different men, and there was nothing that bound all those different traits together. In 
the end she made a list of all these oddities and tried again.
     No references found, the computer blinked at her. 
     Caitlin swore under her breath. She hesitated for a moment and then abandoned the medical 
databases. She punched the button Search the web on the screen, and leaned back. After several 
minutes, she got an answer - 126 276 references found. 
     Caitlin swore again. She hesitated much longer this time before adding blood-drinking, 
changing of eye-color and wolves to her list.
     But the computer didn't hesitate at all.
     112 references found, it said.
     Caitlin took a deep breath and clicked forth the first ten. The coffee went the wrong way, and 
Caitlin coughed for several minutes.
     "Vampires?!" she exclaimed at last in dismay, when she had caught her breath. "Has the whole 
world gone insane?"
     She went through everything that the computer had to offer and sat back, staring at the 
offending gadget.
     Where do people get all these crazy ideas from? she wondered.
     Caitlin recalled the meeting of the abductees that she had gone to in San Francisco. Deranged 
as it had been, there was at least an ounce of scientific plausibility to it. But this! She turned off the 
computer, punching angrily at the power button. A dead end!
     What do I do now? Caitlin wondered. The idleness was making her restless. She had always 
been very active, either working or studying. But sitting here, without anything to do except to 
worry about Julian, was driving her crazy. 
     If this goes on much longer, I'll start believing in that vampire crap, she thought.
     She called Nick in the afternoon.
     "I'm going out of my mind of sheer boredom," she told him. "Can I help you with some 
investigation that doesn't involve my fiancé?" she laughed nervously.
     "Are you asking me out?" Nick heard the incredulity in his own voice and tried to remedy that. 
"As a matter of fact, I'd like your opinion about some things. I'll come for you after work. That is, 
if it's all right with you?"
     "Okay."
     They were sitting in a bar, Caitlin drinking white wine, while Nick was into his second beer. 
He had refused the wine, explaining that he could not drink anything stronger than beer.
     "Haven't got the white man's enzymes in my liver," he said. "If I drink wine or booze, I'll be 
terribly sick and terribly drunk."
     Caitlin laughed. 
     "Is it really true?" she asked. "Not just something people have invented to excuse the alcohol 
problem among Native Americans?"
     "Oh, it's true all right," Nick answered. "If I had as much wine as you have drunk today, I'd 
be out cold." He smiled at her. "And I weigh at least twice as much as you do."
     Caitlin smiled back. It was probably true, she thought. Nick was very tall and heavily built. 
His dark face with high cheekbones showed no trace of beard growth. His short, black hair had a 
bluish tint to it, and his eyes were very dark, almost black. There was an air of self-confidence about 
him that Caitlin associated with Native Americans. She was wondering if it was really there, or if 
she was projecting her prejudice onto Nick Marliss.
     She found herself comparing Nick to Julian.
     Julian was shorter and slimmer of course, but much better looking. There was an atmosphere 
of wealth and power about Julian, of centuries of fortune and good education that Nick lacked. 
Julian Luna had self-esteem that would make him as comfortable in a governor's office as in the 
mountains of California. 
     Nick's polish of civilization is much thinner than that of Julian's, Caitlin thought. Unable to 
remember what had happened in Manzanita, Caitlin couldn't know how superficial was Julian's 
refinement.
     If there really were something that Nick wanted to discuss with Caitlin, he didn't bring it up, 
and she didn't mention it either. She enjoyed his company although she soon found out that he was 
neither as intelligent nor as well educated as Julian. However, he possessed a dry sense of humor 
and was able to laugh at himself in a way that Julian never did. There was forthrightness in Nick 
that made Julian seem rather devious. But Julian had never been famous for his candor, and Caitlin 
had accepted that.
     Nick allowed Caitlin to keep her distance when they danced, but the pull of attraction was there 
and they were both aware of it.
     The evening was very clear and Caitlin suggested that they would take a walk in spite of the 
cold. They watched the stars and Nick told her the Indian names of different constellations, 
explaining their meaning, while Caitlin gave the names that Julian had taught her. She pointed out 
Sirius, repeating what Julian had told her about it on her birthday, and Nick looked at her, 
apparently impressed.
     "You know quite a lot about the heavens," he said.
     "My father is an astronomer, remember?" she responded, not wanting to bring Julian's name 
into their conversation.
     Nick leaned down and kissed her, not touching her. In fact, he kept his hands behind his back, 
and Caitlin did the same. In spite of the awkward position, they stood kissing for quite some time, 
until Caitlin shivered. Nick's mouth was warm, but she was starting to feel the cold.
     "Come," he said simply, and they ran to his car.
     Once they had arrived at his home, Nick removed her clothes very carefully, piece by piece, 
using both hands when he unbuttoned her shirt. It made her realize that Julian's behavior was a 
calculated show, a well-balanced act, meant to provoke the desired effect, whether it were the softest 
caresses or frantic destruction of her underwear. All he did was utterly exciting, even the pain he 
sometimes inflicted seemed to be under his control, just on the edge between pain and pleasure. 
What Caitlin didn't know, was that Julian Luna was five times older than Nick, and had spent much 
of that time learning about women.
     Nick did not own the patience and experience that Julian did. Somewhere on the way, Nick's 
urgency made him cross the line and he hurt her. Caitlin pulled away his eager hand, surprised that 
she could. Julian would have been relentless. But Nick misunderstood her reaction. He pushed her 
down and pressed into her, making her cry out in protest.
     Caitlin clenched her teeth, fighting tears, fighting pain, a whimper escaping her as Nick's 
movements became swifter and harder. Realizing that she could no longer stop him, Caitlin tried to 
diminish the discomfort, slackening her muscles. It didn't help much, but then it was over, as Nick 
collapsed suddenly, gasping aloud. He slid away from her, leaving her hurting and unsatisfied.
     Nick put his arms around her, but didn't try to make love to her again. He was aware of her 
reluctance and his male ego decided that her apparent unhappiness was caused by the regret of 
having betrayed her lover. He would not admit to himself that his own performance might have been 
lacking. 
     He drove her home when she asked him to, an awkward silence stretching between them.
     "Caitlin..." he started as the car stopped outside her father's house, but she didn't let him 
finish.
     "I'm sorry, Nick. It's not your fault," she lied, "but I can't see you again."
     He nodded, suddenly angry again, but he bit down on his furious retort: Sure, go back to your 
vampire!
     Nick had made the same search on the web that Caitlin had, but in contrast to her, he believed 
what he had found.
     Nick Marliss' polish of civilization was indeed very thin.
     James Byrne looked at his daughter accusingly. It was past midnight again. 
     "Aren't you taking this a little too far?" he asked.
     Caitlin shrugged, trying to hide her discomfort.
     "Don't worry," she said, "I won't see Nick again."
     "What happened?"
     "Nothing significant!" To her own dismay, Caitlin started to cry and her father stared at her 
helplessly.
     "Caitlin...?" he didn't know what to do.
     "I miss him, that's all," she sobbed. "Oh, Julian..."
     The old astronomer patted his daughter's back in an awkward attempt to comfort her.
     "He'll be back soon," he smiled to himself. "I'm sure he will." He didn't tell Caitlin that 
Julian had called while she was out and said that he'd come in a few days.
     Caitlin lay sleepless in her bed. She was sad and upset over what she had allowed to happen, 
and couldn't help thinking about the first time Julian had made love to her. How careful and tender 
he had been, his touch lighter than that of a butterfly at first. The excitement had made her light-
headed, as if she were drunk, and at the same time sharpening her senses to the utmost. She had 
pressed against his fingers, wordlessly demanding more. Until now she had taken it for granted, the 
ease with which he could make her come, unaware that it took both skill and patience, and 
sometimes unrelenting will: a will that would not let him give up, even when she asked him to. She 
missed Julian so much that it made her cry again. His love, his tenderness, his very presence that 
made her feel so safe. Even his habit of stringing together sentences so long that they were difficult 
to understand.

     Nick Marliss was no longer angry - he was mad as hell.
     He knew that he had lost the battle for justice for Joe's murderer the moment he had taken 
Caitlin in his arms. He couldn't go after the man whose woman he had seduced, and it made his 
rage futile.
     But if it weren't a man at all? Leave Caitlin in his claws? Let him get away with murder? No!
     Nick realized after some hard thinking that if Joe had done to him what he had done to Julian Luna,
 he would have reacted in the same way; he would have killed Joe. He recalled the moments of 
passion, Caitlin's soft body against his, and then tried to imagine being shot at the same time, the 
bullet hitting him, when it could have hit Caitlin just as easily. Nick could feel the rage that Julian 
must have felt. Yes, he was quite sure that if Joe had committed this act of stupidity against him, all 
friendship aside, Nick would have ripped Joe to pieces if he had had the strength to do so. Being a 
policeman wouldn't have stopped him at all.
     As far as Nick Marliss was concerned, the murderer of Joe Montegna would stay unpunished, 
even if Nick were able to solve the crime. He still didn't know how Julian could have done it, but if 
there were any truth in what his uncles had been babbling about and in the information he had 
found on the Internet, then it wouldn't be beyond his capability.
     Only, Nick had a problem with that. One moment he was prepared to believe that Julian Luna 
was a mythical monster, and in the next he called himself a superstitious moron, who would readily 
believe that his rival was a devil. Especially since Caitlin apparently preferred the devil in question.
     But what if it weren't all superstition? Nick ran for several hours in the night again. He called 
San Francisco as soon as he thought it wouldn't be too early. Frank Kohanek answered and 
whistled with appreciation when Nick told him what Caitlin had disclosed about the shooting.
     "So I guessed right, didn't I?" Frank commented. "What are you going to do about it?" 
      "That's a problem. I can't pin Joe's death on him," Nick answered. "I just can't figure out 
how he did it. I mean with that injury, no weapon, several miles between the crime scenes. Unless 
somebody else did it for him, and I don't believe that somebody would do that, at least not in the 
way it was done. Do you have any ideas?"
     "You really want to go after Luna?" Frank asked. There was no answer and after a moment 
Frank added: "If I were Julian Luna, I'd have done the same."
     "Yeah!" Nick laughed. "The thought has crossed my mind.
     "What do you mean?"
     "I..." Frank heard the hesitation in Nick's voice. "I don't mean anything. I mean... I can 
imagine what he felt when it happened. I... oh, shit!"
     Frank whistled again.
     "Either your imagination is very lively, or there isn't much you need to imagine"
     "Look, man..."
     But Frank didn't let Nick go on.
     "If you've done what I think you've done, you might be getting yourself into serious trouble."
     "Are you saying that this Luna character is a jealous type?" Nick sounded angry again.
     "Jesus!" Frank laughed. "You're as transparent as a jellyfish. No, he has never struck me as a 
guy prone to jealousy. However, when Caitlin Byrne is concerned, I can't say... If she is harmed in 
any way..." Frank laughed again, "he'll make jellyfish of you. Lots of jellyfish!"
     Now it was Nick's turn to whistle.
     "What is it you know about him that I don't?" he asked making Frank shut up.
     "Uh," Frank was trying to gather his wits. "There's nothing I can tell you. I don't want to end 
up with my throat ripped out."
     "I see." Nick decided to risk making a fool of himself. "Just listen." He recounted all that his 
uncles had told him and what his computer had added to that. "Just tell me one thing," he said in the 
end. "Have I gone completely out of my mind because I want his woman, or is there any sanity left 
in me?"
     Frank was very quiet for a long time.
     "Detective Marliss," he hesitated for a moment, "you're not insane."
     There was a sigh of relief on the other end of the line.
     "But you'll be," Frank added, "if you don't stay away from Caitlin Byrne." With that he hung up.
     Nick stared at the phone in his hand. He looked at the familiar surroundings of his home, and 
then at the rumpled bed where he had made love to Caitlin the previous evening.
     Does she know? he wondered.
     Judging from her reaction to what his uncles had said, she must have noticed things about her 
lover. Strange things. Nick shook his head. Caitlin had told him that she didn't want to see him 
again. Why? Was she afraid of Julian Luna? Did she regret being unfaithful? Or was the 
unpleasant truth that she really preferred the vampire to a living man? Whatever it was, in the broad 
daylight Nick wasn't so sure if he wanted to take up a fight with a vampire.


     Julian recognized the red flash, although he hadn't seen it for more than fifty years. Nobody 
else's hair could be that red, nor could any chemist bottle that color. 
     "Bellinda?" he asked, not really trusting his vision's evidence.
     She turned around. The white skin, the slanted green eyes, a nose that was too long, a mouth 
that was too wide. No, Bellinda wasn't a beautiful woman. Nevertheless, she was unforgettable.
     Julian had to stop himself at the last minute; his reflex was to duck. The last time he had seen 
her, she had thrown several heavy objects at him, and had called him things that nobody had ever 
called him before or since. No wonder - Bellinda could outswear a Russian sailor. As a matter of 
fact, Bellinda could swear in seven languages for fifteen minutes without repeating herself, and she 
had a temper that outmatched Julian's by several factors.
     They looked at each other belligerently. Two lions would be a pair of kittens in comparison.
     "Julian Luna!" She cast her head back, her red mane flying. "You! You conniving, deceitful, 
hell-spawned, no-good bastard!"
     Julian was surprised by the shortness of the invective. Apparently, she had forgiven him. He 
smiled at her disarmingly.
     "As far as I know, my legitimacy was never in doubt," he said. "And good evening to you 
too."
     She laughed and stepped closer.
     "At last a straight man," she said taking his arm. "Or have you changed your interests in that 
respect after I left you?"
     "I was straight last time I checked." Julian allowed her to lead him away. He felt the heat of his 
own embarrassment turn his face red as he remembered what had happened this very morning. He 
brushed it away.
     "Tell me Bellinda, how did you end up in Pierre de Guiche's court?" he asked.
     "I didn't," she answered. "I'm a guest here, as you are. I live in Texas nowadays."
     "What are you doing here then?"
     "The same thing that you're doing." She leaned closer. "Stephen sent me here." She smiled as 
she felt the muscles in Julian's arm harden under her hand.
     "Stephen is alive!" he exclaimed. "Where is he?"
     "In New York, " she answered. "He has nestled himself into Servio's closest circle."
     "Good," Julian nodded. He was thinking fast. "You're undercover, but I'm afraid that my 
companion and I have walked right into a trap. We can't pretend that we support Servio." 
     "Yes, you're right." Bellinda looked around. "I'll help you to get out of here. Where's your 
friend?"
     Julian let his eyes wander over the groups of men until he spotted Arthur.
     "There," he said. At the same time he was able to make eye contact with his bodyguard and  
beckoned him. Seconds later Arthur was at his side.
     "Come with me," Bellinda said after looking the tall, blond man over.
     Julian and Arthur followed Bellinda to a side-door. They slipped through and found 
themselves in a long corridor. The redheaded woman led them to the other end, ignoring Arthur she 
turned to Julian.
     "What have you been doing since I walked out of your life?" she asked, making Julian blink 
in surprise.
     If memory serves me right, he thought, I was the one who walked out on you.
     But it didn't matter now. If Bellinda preferred to remember it the other way around, Julian 
would not correct her.
     They had met near the end of the WW II. She had lost her husband in one of the more 
obscure battles on some island in the Pacific, and her only child, a six-year-old son, had died of 
poliomyelitis. She hated the whole world and was fighting her way through the ranks of workers in 
one of the plants that Julian owned. She became one of the union's representatives, and it was in 
that capacity that she had cursed Julian's ears off the first time they bumped into each other. Julian, 
who had educated himself in the most polite insults of the British Empire, had been stunned at first, 
then had burst out laughing. It had provoked Bellinda into more cursing, and Julian had laughed 
until he had to beg her to stop. It hurt.
     The others around the negotiating table had stared at them in stupefied silence. They had seen 
Julian Luna react with violence to much lesser insults, but Bellinda was a human and a woman. She 
didn't need to fear Julian Luna.
     Julian made sure to have Bellinda as an opponent as often as he could, and although she 
realized quite soon that he was provoking her deliberately, she was happy to oblige, drowning him 
in intricate strings of invectives that never failed to leave him breathless with laughter. Still, he 
couldn't understand half of them. 
     Later, when they became lovers, she had told him that the four brothers of her Russian mother, 
all sailors, used to have swearing contests at every family gathering. She explained to him what the 
Russian curses meant, and he learned quite a few useful expressions from her in several languages. 
He never used the worst of them - his upbringing forbade the use of foul language - but he still 
remembered the feeling of idiotic triumph when he left a Russian taxi driver open-mouthed in a 
parking lot somewhere, when the taxi had almost run him over. The driver had jumped out of his car 
and started screaming obscenities at him. Julian had looked around, and seeing that there was no 
one else present, had allowed himself the luxury of cursing back. Educated by Bellinda, he had been 
able to win the competition; and to his utter amazement, the impressed loser had offered to drive 
him wherever he wanted for free.
     Bellinda's ferocity did not end with words. She was a tigress as a mistress - which suited 
Julian just fine - but she was violent otherwise as well. She would react with rage whenever she 
didn't get what she wanted, and assaulted Julian several times. She admitted that she had been able 
to beat her husband into submission, but it didn't work with Julian. He was able to fend off her 
attacks easily, but she managed to hit him sometimes, when he least expected it. She would hold a 
grudge for a long time, and sneak up on him - her fists and knees hard weapons - or throw things at 
him. 
     He never hit her back until she took a knife and plunged it into his chest during one of their 
rows. He had slapped her then, his hand open. Not hard enough to knock her out, but she fell, 
suddenly all rage gone when she understood what she had done. She had seen Julian's eyes turn 
green as he pulled the knife out from his body. It clattered as he threw it at her feet.
     "Bellinda," he had said, "I don't think that we can continue seeing each other."
     She had watched in silence as he sat down unsteadily, the blood trickling down his chest. Then it 
stopped and the wound closed. Within minutes there was no other trace left of it but the blood 
that was drying on his skin and on the knife. Bellinda became a Kindred that night: it had been her 
choice. To become an immortal seemed like a good idea to her. She wanted to keep her red mane 
from turning gray, she had said. Julian had sent her to Stephen the next day, hoping that his blood 
brother would be able to manage her. He never heard from her again, and Stephen never mentioned 
her. To return to the levelheaded Lillie had been a relief, and Julian had kept out of the human 
women?s paths for several years afterwards.
     And now, as they met again in the middle of a war, Julian was acutely aware that Bellinda was 
the only Kindred he had sired and abandoned. It didn't make him feel good about himself.
     Bellinda took them through the enormous house of Pierre the Guiche. She seemed to know 
her way around quite well.
     Maybe a little too well, Julian thought, for being a guest.
     Yet, Julian kept his suspicions to himself. They would know soon enough.
     Bellinda opened an inconspicuous looking door. They were standing at the top of a long staircase, 
which led into a basement, and Julian suspected that if he and Arthur followed her down, 
they would never come out of there alive. He heard voices behind them, many voices. Julian decided 
to act before it was too late.
     For a fleeting moment he considered shift-shaping into a wolf, but gave up the idea at once. 
Abandoning the human shape meant also abandoning the human ability to reason. Within the confines of
 a building, it wouldn't do. Turning into a wolf was advantageous when there was 
running or fighting to do, otherwise it might prove fatal, especially if there were locked doors 
involved.
     Julian gave Arthur a warning look and started descending the stairs, Bellinda right behind him. 
Arthur followed them after he shut and bolted the door they had come through. They were engulfed 
by darkness and Julian moved faster, increasing the distance between himself and Bellinda. He 
heard the clicking of her high heels become quicker. Arthur's steps were inaudible.
     As Bellinda came closer, Julian stopped, concentrating on keeping his balance against possible 
attack. But the woman didn't realize that. As her hands pushed against his back, she was surprised 
by the resistance she encountered. She shoved harder, but Julian moved sideways, and she felt him 
grip her arm.
     He started down again, dragging her with him, shouting to Arthur to follow them. Bellinda lost 
her footing before they reached the bottom of the stairs, and would have fallen had Julian not held 
her. She slid down the last few steps on her knees, screaming and cursing. But this time Julian 
didn?t laugh at her swearing. 
     The cellar wasn't empty. Four shadows emerged from the dark corners and closed in on them.
     "Arthur!"
     Julian's outcry wasn't necessary; Arthur had already bolted past him and was facing the 
attacking Kindred. However, Julian wasn't one to let his bodyguard fight alone. Their adversaries 
were armed.
     Julian pulled Bellinda to her feet and hurled the screaming woman at the firing men, then 
followed with a big leap. He got hold of one of them and smashed him against the wall, wrenching 
the weapon from the Gangrel's hand.
     As he turned around, he saw a Brujah trying to aim a phosphorus gun at him. He moved 
swiftly out of the line of fire as the deafening shot rung out, the burning phosphorus lighting the 
scene of the battle. The two Ventrue killers were sprawled on the floor; Arthur had apparently taken 
care of them. The Gangrel that Julian had got to was sitting against the wall, his head crushed, a 
bloody smear on the rough concrete behind him showing that he was out too. Bellinda was lying on 
her back in the middle of it all, blood running out of her mouth as she tried to swear.
     The Brujah didn't get to fire again. The weapon fell out of his hands as Arthur jerked his legs from 
under him. Julian fired the gun he had taken from the Gangrel at the same time; the bullet hit 
the falling man between the eyes.
     Still a marksman, Julian thought with satisfaction.
     The silence that ensued was only disturbed by Bellinda's mumble.
     "Make sure they are dead for good," Julian ordered Arthur, who did what he was told.
     The defeated Kindred would not regain life. Arthur found a knife on one of them and used it 
to empty them of blood, severing their carotid arteries. 
     Julian crouched at Bellinda's side. She had been hit by several bullets, all meant for him. He 
felt a pang of remorse, but remembered her hands pushing at his back.
     "Why, Bellinda?"
     It seemed as if she was trying to say something and Julian leaned closer, but she spat blood in 
his face.
     "Conceit..." she hissed. "Get you... in hell!" She tried to spit at him again and Julian's hand 
closed on her throat.
     "Go to the end of the line!" he said, his anger flaring. 
     Julian looked at the dead woman. Had she betrayed him of her own volition, or was she 
working for someone else? Stephen, Daedalus or Cameron. But no, Cameron was too young and 
knew too little. Besides, he didn't have much to offer - not yet anyway. Stephen then! Suddenly, 
Julian remembered the many paintings of the redheaded woman that he had seen in Daedalus? 
cellar. Was the Nosferatu just trying to get the right mix of colors or did he... No, not Daedalus. 
But the seed of suspicion had been planted. One doesn?t become a Prince by being overly trusting. 
     Could Arthur be trusted?
     If I come out of this alive, I'll probably have a bad case of paranoia, Julian thought.
     He had broken Bellinda's neck and had opened her arteries, making sure that she bled until 
she was dead. The damage was irreparable. Bellinda's death was final. In his rage he had not tried 
to question her more.
     Julian eyed Arthur cautiously. He knew that he couldn't do the same to his bodyguard. Arthur 
had already proved that he was stronger than his Sire, and although Julian knew tricks that were 
beyond Arthur's capacity, he was afraid that in a fight he would lose.
     "Arthur," Julian faced his bodyguard squarely, "can I trust you?"
     Arthur came forth and went down on his knees in front of the Prince. His head bowing to one 
side, he presented his unprotected neck,
     "With my life," he said simply.
     Julian decided. He let his hand touch Arthur's neck.
     "Get up!" he said. "Let's find a way out of here."
     Arthur took his hand and kissed it.
     "Yes, my Prince."
     He stood up and they moved into the shadowy tunnels beneath Pierre de Guiche's house.
      The door behind them had been broken down and they could hear their pursuers. Both Arthur 
and Julian knew that if they didn't get out of the building soon, they wouldn't make it.
     If only Daedalus were here! Julian thought grimly. Parting from the Nosferatu had been a 
grave mistake, much more serious than he had thought this afternoon, after he and Arthur... no, this 
wasn?t the time for regrets.
     They ran into the darkness, the voices behind them coming closer. They came to the end of the 
tunnel and managed to wrench open the door they found there. As they came through, Arthur 
stopped and closed it. He looked around for something that might help to keep it shut. Julian 
looked at the gun that he had taken from the dead Brujah. Placing the barrel against the floor, he 
kicked the other end under the handle. It wasn't much, but better than nothing.
     "Let's go!" he shouted. "Now!"
     But Arthur shook his head.
     "Go on, Julian! I'll stop them when they come through."
     Arthur had the two guns that the Ventrue had wielded. He was checking them now. 
     "No!" Julian knew that Arthur's offer would buy him time, but he wasn't prepared to accept 
the sacrifice.
     "No," he repeated. "Give me one of the guns!"
     Arthur stared at him for a second and then aimed at him.
     "Get out of here before I get mad!" he shouted.
     Julian saw the eyes of his bodyguard flash blue lightning and knew it was no joke. He backed 
away and turned just to be faced by a dark shape.
     "Daedalus?"
     A strong hand grabbed his arm and pulled him down the tunnel.
     "Quickly, this way!"
     "Daedalus!" Julian stumbled in relief. "Wait, Arthur...!"
     "He'll stall them. Come on!" 
     The urgency in the Nosferatu's voice made Julian run faster as they heard an explosion, shots 
and screams.
     A few minutes later, Daedalus dragged him up a few steps of stone, and pressed his shoulders 
against a metal lid above them. Julian raised his arms, adding his strength to that of the Nosferatu. 
Something gave way and the lid clattered as it fell aside. They could see the stars in the clear 
southern sky. The Nosferatu got out first and looked around. Seeing that there was no danger, he 
turned to help Julian but the Ventrue was as lithe as his friend. He jumped through the opening, 
then leaned over it, listening. There was nothing at first, but after a moment he could hear the sound 
of running feet.
     "Arthur!" he called.
     Daedalus pulled him back just as a shot rung out, a bolt of phosphorus fire coming out of the 
opening. Swiftly, the Nosferatu pushed the metal lid over the hole and rammed it into place. They 
found a big stone and rolled it on top of the lid before running on. They stopped after ten minutes: 
there was no pursuit.
     Julian leaned against a tree and peered at Daedalus.
     "How did you get here? Why and how did you find us?" he asked all the questions at once.
     "It will take some time to tell you," Daedalus answered. "Right now, we have to take care of de 
Guiche while he still thinks you're running."
     "You're right," Julian nodded, then shivered. "Although I'd hate to go back in there!"
     "You don't have to," Daedalus said. "Find some means of transportation and wait for me 
here." He looked Julian over and smiled. "Try to do something about your appearance. You look as 
if you've been the main attraction at a lynching party."
     Julian didn't have to check in a mirror. His white suit was torn in several places; it was dirty 
and splattered with blood, as were his face and hands.
     "Don't worry," he said. "I can take care of myself."
     "Sure you can." The scorn in Daedalus? voice was mellowed by its warmth.
     The Nosferatu's tall figure melted into the shadows.
     Julian stole all he needed without hesitation. He broke into the nearest house that was 
inhabited by humans and fed from the middle-aged couple that slept there. He cleaned himself in 
their bathroom and took a pair of trousers and a shirt. The clothes were somewhat too big for him, 
but they would do. He walked up and down a few streets until he found what he was looking for: an 
old jeep, the ignition key left beckoning to every thief. He started it and drove past several blocks 
before turning on the lights.
     When he came back to the spot where Daedalus had left him, he walked around cautiously, 
making sure that there was no trap. Straining his senses he was able to detect the Nosferatu's 
presence. 
     I could do worse, he thought as he walked back to his stolen jeep. Seconds later Daedalus 
climbed into the passenger's seat. Without a word, he handed Julian a diamond brooch that Pierre 
de Guiche had been wearing on his collar. Julian held it in his hand for a moment and then threw it 
out of the car with a twitch of disgust.
     Something else landed in Julian's lap and slid between his knees. He groped for it and knew 
what it was as soon as his fingers encountered the heavy metal. The gold glimmered momentarily as 
the jeep passed under a streetlight, flashing the entwined letters J and A.
     "Arthur?" Julian's voice faltered.
     "He's dead," Daedalus said softly. "I'm sorry."
     Julian looked away. He held the golden bracelet in his hand, his grip hardening until it hurt, 
then put it in his pocket.
     "You didn't trust him, did you?" he asked Daedalus accusingly.
     "No. Did you?" came the retort.
     "It doesn't matter now, does it?"
     Daedalus looked poignantly at the bracelet on Julian's wrist.
     "What happened?" he inquired.
     But Julian shook his head again.
     "I'd rather not talk about it," he said. "Not yet." He stretched his arm towards the Nosferatu. 
"Please, take it off," he begged.
     Daedalus took the bracelet off and handed it back to Julian who refused to take it.
     "Just get rid of it!" he ordered, and the Nosferatu concealed it, pretending that he was throwing 
it away.
     "Didn't Cash get any message out before he disappeared?" Julian was asking for the third 
time.
     Daedalus sighed in exasperation.
     "Not to anyone I've contacted."
     They had ditched the jeep before dawn and Julian hired a sedan, so that they could continue on 
during the day. The menace in New Orleans was contained; the Brujah in Miami was gone; 
Washington was all right; only New York was left, but they were traveling west. Julian was 
determined to get back to San Francisco and reassess the situation before heading for New York.
     "According to Bellinda, Stephen is in New York," Julian was saying. "Whether that's true is 
another matter. Also, if Bellinda betrayed me, the question is, where does Stephen stand?"
     "It's a good question," Daedalus responded.
     Julian gave the Nosferatu a sly look.
     "What about you?"
     "What about me?" Daedalus asked.
     "You've painted that red hair often enough." Julian hated himself for doing this. "What's she 
to you?"
     "Ah, I never did get that color right, did I?" Daedalus said shrugging. "That was the only 
interesting thing about Bellinda as far as I was concerned. I'm more partial to the soulful nature of 
females."
     It made Julian smile.
     "Yes, in contrast to me, you were always an incurable romantic, Daedalus. If Bellinda ever had 
a soul, it was an evil spirit."
     Daedalus kept vigil on the new jet that had been purchased during the time he had been in the 
east. It had picked them up in Houston and was now on its way to San Francisco. Julian, who had 
driven all the way to Texas, slept through the flight.
     Once they were in San Francisco, Daedalus saw that Arthur's death weighed on Julian harder 
than Cash's disappearance. In spite of the flurry of activity that ensued following their arrival, 
Julian seemed to brood a lot, often staring into the fire, oblivious of what was going on around him.

     Frank Kohanek came to the mansion as soon as he found out that Julian Luna was back. To his surprise, 
he was let in without questions.
     "What the hell is going on?" he asked Julian belligerently.
     The Prince stared at him defiantly.
     "It's none of your business," he answered. "What do you want?"
     "If it's none of my business, then why do your people call me at odd hours and ask me to 
relay messages to you?" Frank retorted.
     "Who contacted you?" The anger in Julian?s voice was gone. 
     "Cash." 
     Frank repeated exactly what the Gangrel had said to him, and watched Julian's horrified 
expression. "Do you understand what he was trying to say?"
     Julian nodded.
     "Cash is dead and Sasha will never forgive me. I've lost two of my most trusted friends and 
somebody very close to me is after my hide." He laughed suddenly. "I'd offer you the job as my 
bodyguard, if it weren't so dangerous."
     "Thanks for the vote of confidence," Frank was taken aback, "but I already have a job. 
Compared to your offer, I think being a detective in San Francisco P. D. seems rather cozy."
     "I was joking," Julian said. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. Stay away from me and from other 
Kindred. The war isn't over yet."
     "The war?" Frank immediately jumped at the disclosure. "What war?"
     But Julian refused to say anything more, and Frank noticed how tired and depressed he was.
     "For what it's worth, let me know if I can be of any help." Frank could hardly believe that he 
had said that. "I mean it," he added.
     "Thank you," Julian said quite seriously. "Let's hope that you'll never have to live up to that 
promise. Take care of yourself."
     "You too," Frank responded.
     As he left the mansion, Frank Kohanek became aware of the thin thread of friendship that had 
started to form between himself and the Prince of San Francisco.
     A new course of action was decided upon.
     But before they'd move on New York, Julian told Daedalus that he wanted to visit Caitlin first.
     "I need a break," he had said tiredly.
     To his relief, the Nosferatu didn't protest, only insisted on accompanying Julian to the north.
     "I'm not leaving you alone for a minute anymore," Daedalus decided, and Julian made a face.
     "I hope you don't mean that literally," he said, embarrassing the Nosferatu.
     "Just remember what happened in New Orleans," Daedalus retorted, and it was the Prince's 
turn to look embarrassed.
     The Nosferatu took advantage of the moment.
     "Are you going to tell me what happened there?" he asked.
     Julian sat down heavily. 
     "Can't you guess? Do I have to spell it out for you?" Julian was trying to cover his 
discomfiture with anger. "Besides, it doesn't matter anymore, he's dead!"
     But Daedalus refused to be put off.
     "Julian, I'm not interested in the intimate details of... whatever transpired between you two. 
But you've lost one of your closest friends. You'll have to face it sooner or later."
     Julian frowned, his face contorting in pain.
     "Daedalus, it saddens me more than I can express. I treated him so badly, and then he saved 
my life."
     Julian had promised himself that he would not tell anyone about what had happened between 
him and Arthur, and, had Arthur survived, he would have kept that promise. But Daedalus? 
compassionate face invited confidence.
     He told the Nosferatu everything. If he expected his friend to be shocked, he was mistaken.
     "I've seen Arthur look at you," the wise Nosferatu said. "You must have been blind. I knew 
that something was bound to happen. I'm sorry that he's dead, but if he lived, you'd hurt him even 
more."
     The comment shocked Julian into silence. He was acutely aware that Daedalus was expressing 
his own feelings - Arthur's better off dead.
     What kind of a monster am I? he asked himself in horror.
     "How could I let this happen?" he said aloud.
     The five hundred years old Nosferatu smiled reassuringly.
     "We all make mistakes," he said. "You'll have to forgive yourself. I'm sure Arthur forgave 
you."
     Julian shuddered inwardly.
     "Do you know what the most strange thing about it is? I didn't like it, but I enjoyed it! Can 
you understand that?"
     "Of course I can," Daedalus answered. "I've made my own mistakes."
     Julian stared at the Nosferatu in disbelief.
     "I thought you were infallible," he tried to joke, but Daedalus didn't take the bait.
     "Nobody is!" he retorted and left.
 
 
     Caitlin was aware that she was dreaming because she couldn't move. Someone was making 
love to her; she was unable to see who it was, but she enjoyed her dream. She realized with 
disappointment that she was waking up, the echo of the pleasure fading away as her ability to move 
returned. The intimate touch was interrupted, but the hand was still there, and she knew instantly 
that her dream had become a reality as she recognized the man who held her. She turned to him, her 
eyes still closed.
     "Julian..."
     He broke off her whisper with a kiss, but she started to giggle.
     "How long did it take you to wake me?"
     "Less than a minute." She felt the muscles in his face move as he smiled in response. 
She hugged him. He was fully dressed and her hands started to remove his clothes. With his help 
she managed to get him naked within seconds. They clung to each other, their urgency revealing 
their fear of being parted again.
     Caitlin was aware that she was observing Julian during their lovemaking as she had never done 
before. He was always in control, even when he apparently relinquished it. Always conscious of 
what he was doing and what was happening to her. And endlessly patient. Even when he used force 
- especially when he used force - he was perfectly aware of the effect he was creating. It was almost 
uncanny, how he could lead her wherever he wanted, as he did when they played chess. It made her 
aware of how clumsy and inexperienced Nick had been. Somehow, it made her infidelity less 
serious.
     "Julian, I must talk to you."
     The hesitation in Caitlin's voice made Julian freeze, a sinking feeling of fright contorting him 
inside.
     "What's wrong, love?"
     She didn't look at him.
     "I... please, don't get mad. I've been with another man."
     The profound feeling of relief made Julian light-headed.
     Nothing worse, he thought. He knew that jealousy would come later, but at this moment he 
was just happy that what she said had nothing to do with his being Kindred.
     "I love you Julian," she continued. "It just happened. I guess, I was lonely..." Her voice trailed 
off.
     He took hold of her, making her rest against his chest, and she started to cry, her tears hot on 
his skin. He touched her face, making her look up at him.
     "Caitlin..." He didn't know what to say. Somehow it doesn't matter wouldn't sound right. 
His grip around her hardened and he was surprised by the sudden flare of desire that engulfed him 
with painful abruptness.
     She had expected another reaction, and gasped as he pressed into her, mindless of her 
resistance. They both knew that his violence was an instinctive attempt to obliterate the other man 
from her body and her mind.
     "Julian," she sobbed, "you're hurting me!"
     He didn't seem to hear.
     "You're hurting me," she shouted, "like he did!"
     He tore away from her, terrified.
     "Who's hurt you?!" he demanded. There was anger in his voice.
     Seeing that he was scaring her, he tried to calm down.
     "Caitlin, what happened?"
     But she was shaking her head.
     "It was all my fault!" she continued to cry. "I'm so sorry! Julian, please, forgive me!"
     "Shall I forgive you that someone has hurt you?" He touched her face again. "Caitlin, that's 
the last thing you have to worry about!"
     He held her until she calmed a little, and then asked, making his voice light:
     "Someone I know?"
     Caitlin shook her head.
     "No..." She rubbed her face against his chest. "I... it wasn't... nice. I didn't realize... I don't 
want to be with anybody but you. Oh, Julian... It was just bad."
     He had trouble following her line of thought but he understood that she had not enjoyed the 
experience. That was satisfying enough. He decided against asking about it, and thought of his own 
stunt with poor Arthur. It shamed him that he didn?t have the guts to tell her about it. He didn?t 
want to shock her.
     Well, it seems like we both got what we deserved! 
     The thought made him laugh.
     "Bad sex is probably the best cure for cheating," he said, and to his relief Caitlin laughed too.
     "You're absolutely right!" she said with emphasis.
     She had avoided Nick since it happened.
     For once, Julian and Daedalus were in agreement.
     To land Julian's private jet at one of the New York airports would be suicide. They would 
have to separate in spite of the Nosferatu's vehement conviction that he shouldn't let the Prince out 
of his sight.
     Daedalus was shaking his head in frustration.
     "No Cash, no Arthur," he was saying, "I wouldn't trust anyone else to go with you. Unless 
Sonny..."
     But Julian wouldn't hear of it.
     "I need Sonny to watch over Cameron. Lillie's not up to it, and with Cash gone, the Brujah 
shouldn't be left to run San Francisco all on his own. It'll be some time before the Gangrels 
choose a new Primogen. It's up to us, Daedalus." 
     Julian had sneaked out of the astronomer's house in the dead of night. He needed to feed, and 
he knew that Daedalus would find him once he was out in the open. In spite of the cold, they were 
walking slowly in the frozen woods, the snow crackling under their feet. Julian was not dressed 
right for the severe cold, and he shivered now and then uncontrollably. He had not expected to stay 
out for long, but the discussion stretched on and the discomfort was starting to annoy him. 
     "Daedalus," he said at last, "you take the jet; let it go all the way to the east coast; get off 
somewhere on the way as near to New York as you dare. Then it's up to your Clansmen to get you 
there as soon as possible. I'll cross the continent through Canada and sneak into the city from the 
north. It shouldn't take more than two or three days. Let?s start out the day after tomorrow. Have 
the car pick me up early in the morning; then I'll drop out of sight in Seattle. I should be able to 
cross the border and get to Vancouver within a few hours." They decided on a timetable of several 
meeting points in New York.
     Julian shivered again and Daedalus took off his hooded cloak and put it around the Prince's 
shoulders. The Nosferatu never ventured above the ground without this concealing garment, and 
Julian thanked him for the friendly gesture. The cold was unpleasant but presented no danger. It 
would not make him sick or destroy Kindred tissue, but Daedalus' concern was more warming than 
the black folds of the thick fabric. It was too long for him, as Daedalus was several inches taller, and 
Julian tried to gather it about him, lifting the hem above the snow, lest he would step on it and trip. 
He remembered that he had always wondered how women could walk in their long dresses a 
hundred years ago without falling on their faces. He was unaware of the fact that wearing a long 
dress took some practice, and he was unable to move as gracefully in his borrowed attire as 
Daedalus used to. As they walked back, Julian lost his footing several times, making Daedalus 
laugh.
     "I'm not very good at this," Julian commented dryly. "How could the ladies stand it?"
     The Nosferatu's gray eyes glittered with mirth.
     "Didn't you ever ask?" he wondered.
     "As a matter of fact, I asked Lillie once. She said that she never thought about it. Must be a 
female prerogative," Julian mused.
     As if he were supporting his own statement, he tripped and would have fallen had Daedalus 
not caught his arm, steadying him.
     The Nosferatu continued holding him as they moved on, and Julian chose not to tell him that 
he could walk on his own. The powerful grip was reassuring and reminded him of Arthur, bringing 
a heat of embarrassment to his face. There weren't many Kindred who were stronger than Julian 
Luna, but Daedalus was one of them, just as Arthur had been. Julian hoped sincerely that the 
Nosferatu could not read his mind right now. He wouldn?t appreciate being compared to Arthur, 
nor the content of Julian's thought. But the hand was there, and its touch made Julian aware of 
some peculiar bond between them, a bond of friendship of course, but not totally devoid of an erotic 
undercurrent.
     They reached the home of James Byrne and Julian handed the cloak back to Daedalus.
     "Be careful," they said to each other simultaneously and laughed.
     The Nosferatu swept the cloak around himself and walked away briskly, the black folds 
fluttering behind him. He moved as gracefully as any woman in a long dress ever had. Within 
seconds, Julian lost the feeling of Daedalus' presence.

     Caitlin was soundly asleep in the guestroom.
     Julian had talked her into sharing it with him: the bed in her room was just too small. The 
covers had slid from her body, her naked back exposed as he got into bed. He made a conscious 
effort to increase the temperature of his skin, not wanting to wake her by touching her with cold 
hands. He let his fingers trace her spine lightly.
     Humans, he thought. Warm, breathing, even when they sleep.
     He moved closer when he was sure that he was at least as warm as she, his arm around her, 
letting his bare chest rest cautiously against her back. She made a soft purring sound and pressed 
against him, her body alluring even in her sleep. His hand slid down and he pressed his thigh 
between hers. She was wet and hot and he was making love to her before she woke up whispering 
his name.
     Later, he made her tell him more about her unfortunate experience. Then he watched her face 
in triumph, when the intensity of the pleasure made her cry out loud, before he allowed his own 
reflexes to take over and thrust him into a head-spinning release.
     Finally, when the morning came, Julian let her sleep again, convinced that whoever the human 
man was, he posed no threat.
     Julian made it across the border without any problems and boarded the first plane that was 
bound east. Twenty hours and five changes later, he was in Boston, vowing vehemently that he 
would never enter a commercial airliner again. By the time he was nearing New York in a hired car, 
he no longer resembled the well-groomed Prince of San Francisco; he was tired and hungry, and 
the two-day beard-growth itched intolerably. He longed for a hot shower and a change of clothes.
     He found a third-rate hotel and decided to do something about his appearance before starting 
to look for Daedalus or his messengers. But when he stood in front of a mirror, a razor in his hand, 
he could hardly recognize himself and decided that he should take advantage of the disguise that 
Nature provided. He didn't shave and let his hair dry into the wild curls of his youth. After putting 
on a pair of old jeans and a sweater that he had bought in a nearby second-hand shop, he looked 
again in the mirror. He still didn't look filthy enough to pass for a first-rate bum, but it would have 
to do. There were limits to what a Kindred could stand.
     Using his credit cards might give him away, so he sold his expensive watch to someone in the 
street for a third of its value and bought a long military coat from a Russian sailor. Prepared to steal 
more money if necessary, Julian Luna dove into the New York night.

 
     Servio was raving at his men.
     "How could you lose him!?" he demanded, spitting out every word.
     They had tried to intercept Julian Luna as he flew across the continent. The shortness of each 
flight had saved him. Each time they had tracked down his departure, he was already out of that 
particular plane, several hundred miles away. He had slipped past them in Boston, quite unwittingly, 
because he didn't look like the Ventrue Prince they had expected, and was already in his way to 
New York when they realized their mistake.
     It was one of Servio's associates who pointed out that after two days of travel, Julian Luna 
would no longer look like the Julian Luna they knew. It was at that moment one of the gunmen 
recalled a rugged looking Ventrue he had seen. A few hours later they knew which car Julian had 
rented in Boston, but they knew that finding one particular car in New York was beyond their 
capabilities. They guessed right that Julian would stop using his credit cards once he was in the 
city.
     The trail had gone cold.
 
     Although Julian didn't know that his movements had been tracked almost all the way to New 
York, he acted as if Servio knew that he was in the city, making sure to keep a healthy distance 
between himself and any Kindred that crossed his path. He managed to keep the appointment with 
Daedalus as planned.
     The Nosferatu looked his Prince over and smiled.
     "You're really good at this, Julian," he said. "If I didn't know better, I might believe you to be 
an illegal alien."
     "I'm neither illegal nor an alien!" Julian was in no mood for jokes, and had a habit of taking 
literally what was said on such occasions.
     They were walking in the park, planning their next move.
     "We must find Stephen," Julian was saying. "He's the only one who can lead us to Servio."
     They didn't care about the groups of humans that they encountered in the park, and the 
mortals avoided the tall hooded figure and his companion in a Russian military coat.
     "I'll find Stephen," Daedalus said. "Let's meet right here tomorrow night."
     Julian was surprised again over how quickly the Nosferatu disappeared from his field of 
perception. As he walked out of the park, Julian was faced by four young men in leather outfits.
     Humans, his senses told him at once. He wondered what they were after, knowing that he looked 
like he didn't own a nickel. But the young men were bored and looking for fun; a lonely 
immigrant might provide just that. Julian watched them, barely able to conceal his contempt as one 
of them started towards him, wielding a knife. The others stayed behind, not even trying to surround 
their prey. Within seconds Julian managed to fight down three of his attackers, the knife he had 
taken from the first didn't come to use. The last man ran away. 
     Julian opened a vein and then spat with disgust. All three were high on drugs and Julian would 
not drink their polluted blood. He had once fed from a drug abuser and it had made him sick for 
several hours. He knew that there were Kindred who were as addicted as humans could become. 
They would only feed from junkies and Julian considered them a sorry lot. He had never been 
addicted to anything, although he could enjoy the swift rush of euphoria that alcohol-containing 
blood could give. He found the smell of cigars nauseating and when he tried to smoke one of 
Daedalus' cigarettes it made him cough. He had never been able to understand the Nosferatu's 
fondness of the habit.
     Shaking his head in disgust he left the unconscious men and started to look for someone else 
to feed from.
     "I've located Stephen," Daedalus told him the next night, "but it won't be easy to approach 
him."
     "Have you seen him?" Julian asked. "Is he all right?"
     "He's fine," the Nosferatu responded. "But he's never alone, at least not during the night, and 
I don't think that we can contact him when there are other Kindred around."
     Julian pondered over the information for a moment.
     "Tell me where I can find him," he said at last, "and I'll seek him out during the day."
     "I don't want you to go there alone!" Daedalus? worry made him raise his voice. "As long as 
I'm with you, nobody can harm you. But if you're on your own..."
     He stopped when he saw Julian smile. What he had said wasn't empty boasting, and the 
Prince knew that with the Nosferatu Primogen at his side he was almost invincible. But there were 
limits to what Daedalus could do, and moving around in full daylight was out of the question.
     "I'll be cautious," Julian said. "If I don't get back to you by tomorrow night... you'll know 
what to do."
     Daedalus gave him the address and stayed behind as Julian walked away: a slim, lonely figure 
in a funny-looking military coat. The Nosferatu wondered with apprehension if he would ever see 
his Prince again.
     Julian knew that he was walking into a trap. However, he still had no idea who had set it. 
     Daedalus had had plenty of opportunities to get rid of him if he had wanted to, but a Nosferatu 
who kills his own Prince will never be trusted by anyone, and the Nosferatu needed the trust of 
other Clans. If Daedalus wanted him dead, he must arrange for someone else to kill him.
     If Daedalus wants me dead, Julian thought, then I might just as well die!
     What if Cash weren't dead? But he was the one who had warned about a traitor, or was he 
trying to seed discontent? Lillie? Cameron? Why had Stephen dropped out of sight so suddenly? 
And why had he contacted Caitlin?
     The questions whirled in Julian's mind making him dizzy. The Ancient's crazy plan was more 
or less destroyed. There was hardly any reason for Julian to risk his life, but if what Cash had told 
Frank Kohanek were true, Julian wouldn't rest until he found the traitor. He would not be able to 
go on otherwise. Cameron's open hostility was much easier to accept than an unknown enemy 
close to him. He had to know!
     He set out in the early morning, knowing that most Kindred slept during the early hours of the 
day. He had shaved the beard off, well aware that if he got close enough, it would no longer protect 
him from being recognized. He had hated it anyway.
     It was an old building, a warehouse of some sort, and Julian entered it cautiously as he had 
promised Daedalus. He moved soundlessly through the basement, acutely aware of every sign of 
life. But all he could sense were rodents, and, sure enough, a rat squeaked and scrambled from 
under his foot, escaping into a dark corner in search of safety.
     He got as far as the second story, sorting out the confusing perceptions. Animals, humans, 
Kindred. A Brujah! But Julian was looking for a Ventrue. He knew that he should be able to 
discern his own blood brother among others, just as he could always discern Archon or the Kindred 
he himself had sired; the way humans always recognize their children or siblings. But no matter 
how much he strained his senses, he could not find Stephen.
     He continued upwards, secure in his knowledge that he could always get out if discovered. He 
had seen windows before he had entered the building. Half an hour later he was quite sure that 
Stephen was not there and decided to get out as discretely as he had come in. 
     As he turned back, his senses told him that there were several Kindred below him, and knew 
that the trap had been sprung. He ran towards the only window that he could see, but stopped 
halfway there. The iron bars would be too much even for his inhuman strength. Daedalus might 
have been able to break them, but Julian didn't even try. He turned again, deciding instantly to fight 
his way out, or die trying.
     He was surprised at how easily he could get through the group of Brujahs that tried to block 
his way. They had no guns and were apparently trying to catch him alive.
     Over my dead body, he thought with rage, as he ran down the stairs.
     He came to a steel door and was trying to wrench it open when someone grabbed his 
shoulders and yanked him back. He let himself fall backward, hoping that his weight would trip the 
assailant. They hit the floor hard, Julian on top, and he managed to squirm out of the other's hold. 
The fallen Brujah slashed at Julian's arm with his claws, ripping the fabric of the sleeve and tearing 
through skin and muscle; Julian fought back, crushing his attacker?s face. He realized too late that 
he had lost valuable time in the struggle as several Kindred closed in on him as he was scrambling 
to his feet. Something hit him hard on the back of the head and he fell over the faceless Brujah. 
Another blow wiped out the world around him.

     When Julian regained consciousness he wished immediately that he hadn't.
     He was strapped against a concrete wall, spread-eagled, naked, his wrists and ankle joints in 
steel clasps, secured with heavy chains. He tried to move but knew at once that his strength would 
not suffice to break free. The scene in front of him was picked from the worst nightmares of the 
Dark Ages. He saw knives and hammers, and something was being heated in the fire until it glowed 
red. The fear constricted his throat and made his skin crawl. 
     During the century and a half of his life as a Kindred, Julian Luna had sustained almost every 
injury that was possible; he had been shot and stabbed several times; he had been beaten and 
kicked, his bones had been broken; and he knew the pain that was caused by fire. But he had never 
been tortured in cold blood, and the horror of what awaited him made him wish for mortality. He 
closed his eyes and turned his face away, the revulsion a bitter taste in his mouth. 
     "Prince Julian!" The derision in the familiar voice made him look up.
     "Stephen?" he stared at his blood brother uncomprehending. "What..."
     A vicious kick to his groin made him gasp and sag in his chains. The pain would have 
rendered a human unconscious, and Julian's vision blurred. His head swam and he realized with 
gratitude that he was on the verge of fainting. Cold water was thrown in his face in the next moment 
and his awareness returned. He blinked several times before he could see again.
     "Don't faint again or you'll regret it!" The contempt and hate in Stephen's voice hurt almost 
as much as the physical pain. "Well, my little brother, the moment of truth has finally arrived."
     There was a cigarette in Stephen's hand and he made a show of lighting it. Stephen had never 
smoked, and Julian knew what was coming before the cigarette was extinguished against his face. 
He tried to jerk his head away and hit hard against the wall. Another cigarette was lighted, but this 
time the lighter wasn't turned off. The tiny flame came closer and Julian could feel the roughness 
of the concrete bite into his back as he tried to press away from the fire. The flame licked the skin 
on his chest and was shoved against his armpit. 
     He heard his own scream, mingled with the laugh of the other man.
     "I wish I could destroy you, but this will have to do." The cigarette hissed as it died, leaving a 
painful blister where he had already been hurt by Stephen's knee. 
     Several cigarettes later his voice broke and he could no longer scream. The Kindred 
physiology repaired the damage as soon as it was inflicted, the nerve endings destroyed by the heat 
regenerating immediately, more sensitive than before, the agony increasing incessantly. Water was 
splashed over him every time he fainted until his nervous system shut down entirely, sending him 
into a merciful coma.

     The pain was the first thing he became aware of. He tried to scream, but he still had no voice. 
He shook violently, and it took some time before he understood that he was no longer restrained. 
     "It's okay, it's okay, I got you out alive." The well-known voice made him freeze. "You'll be 
all right."
     "Stephen?" He opened his eyes. His blood brother?s face, an anguished frown on it, was 
leaning over him. "Stephen..." All he could manage was a hoarse whisper.
     He tried to move, but the pain made him abandon that idea. He was laid out on a blanket that 
had been spread on the floor. A thin, wet sheet covered his aching body. Stephen was on his knees 
at his side, holding his hand. 
     "Don't move!" Stephen's voice was tender, quite different from what Julian remembered. 
"You need time to heal."
     "What...? Why...?" A sob escaped Julian and he felt tears form in his eyes. He had screamed 
his head off in the cellar where he was tortured, but he had not cried. He tried to fight the tears back 
but didn't succeed. 
     "It's okay," Stephen repeated. "You can cry now. He can't see you, it's all right. I got you 
out."
     "Stephen, why?"
     "I had to do it; he didn't trust me." Stephen was apparently appalled by Servio's demand. "It 
was quite a performance, eh?"
     "The pain was real." Julian's face contorted. "It still is."
     "He came down to inspect the damage when you passed out." Stephen turned away. "I knew 
he would... I could not pretend that I was hurting you. Servio, that ancient devil, he told me exactly 
what he wanted done. After I released you, and you were just lying there, face down... He came, I 
watched him grope you with his claws, he... " Stephen moved away, an expression of disgust on his 
face.
     "What did he do?" Julian could hardly imagine anything more, but Stephen refused to 
continue, shaking his head.
     Julian stared at his blood brother for a long time, horrified, as Stephen began to retch, and then 
doubled over and threw up. Julian closed his eyes, making an effort to concentrate. For a fleeting 
moment he was able to will the pain of the burns and blows away, and then he knew what had been 
done to him. He wished that his stomach weren't empty because he wanted to throw up too. Instead 
he tasted the bitterness of bile that rose in his throat, together with the knowledge of the ultimate 
degradation. 
     "I was wrong when I told you that Servio wanted to be you, he wanted you," Stephen 
explained at last unnecessarily. 
     Julian allowed the physical pain to engulf him again, momentarily grateful for its 
overwhelming presence.

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