Prelude
"Blood on the moon. It hung pregnant with evil in a black cloudless sky. Those below thought that it was the wind howling through the night." Catherine lightly tapped the cigarette against the ashtray and brought it back to her ruby lips. She pulled on it once as she structured her next words. It gave her time to pour over every word before she spoke them. One misstep and they'd feed her words back to her before feeding her to the sun. "It wasn't." She said pointedly, gazing at the man across from her for only a moment before staring off at the distance. "It was Aidan. Of course. He had lifted the veil between the two worlds." Catherine paused again. It was as if the words were difficult to organize coherently. It was as if the utter terror of that night hadn't fully worn away. "It appears," she began again with hesitation, "that he was stronger than we had surmised. Even myself. And I thought that I knew him best." She added quietly.
The man across from her wore a staunchly pressed shirt, elegant cufflinks and a sharp smile. "Go on." He coaxed. "What was it that he summoned through the fissure?"
Catherine shifted uneasily in her seat and shook her head. Her lips pressed together in a flat line of despair. "I can't."
His brow lifted in interest. "Can't or...won't?"
Her fingers nervously jiggled and she fixated on an unmoving spot on the wall to quell the after effects of the event. "I cannot recall...exactly." Catherine rushed to finish her thought before the look of disbelief reached his eyes. "It is like a horrible nightmare in my head--vivid, but with a sort of dream-like quality to it. Every morning that I sleep I am lost to it and every night I am only left remembering that it had me. It is a beast like no other from some deep abyss that ripped out of the void. We had him. Aidan. As instructed we began preforming the ritual to bind Aidan's abilities. Although we expected him to struggle, to fight, we did not expect that he would be able to challenge the entire coterie. As you now know, the entire club exploded as a result. Whatever he had summoned wanted to be done with us quickly and get out. We bound him, oui, but only seconds before he killed them all with a magic that I have never seen before. Something immune to our ritual or stronger than it. In the end I believe he succumbed to us but not soon enough to save them."
"And you? Why are you still sitting here? Odd, no?"
"C'est bon question." She muttered in response. "Two reasons, I believe. Aidan believes in torment. He saw me as his pupil. Therefore he saw what I did as a betrayal. The grossest injustice." Catherine cleared her throat lightly. "Final death would be too easy a punishment. No. He would want me to suffer. And second, I was saved. Another vampire." Catherine added. "Not one from our clan. Her name is Selene. What she was doing there that night I do not know but I do know that I am sitting here as a result of her machinations."
The man leaned forward, pressing his hand into his chin as he peered into her eyes. "Catherine. Is Aidan an infernalist?"
Catherine lifted a brow and looked right back into the man's eyes. "Aidan is nothing now." One can only try to play games with those elder to you in the Tremere clan. "Was he an infernalist?" He asked more directly, only a tick away from removing the information from her himself if she annoyed him more. This, right here, was merely feigned civility by monsters pretending to be human. Catherine took a moment to mull the question over in her head. Only after a moment did she answer, "Monsieur, he was a Realist." The elder did not looked pleased with that answer but said nothing. And the 'why' was apparent when Marc stepped out of the shadows. There are elders in this world and then there are elders.
"I trust that you had time enough to question my progeny?" Marc asked calmly. However, there was something in his words that suggested that the word question should have been replaced with pester.
"Only just." The elder furrowed his brow. "I have one last question for now. Where is Aidan now?"
Catherine made no attempt to look at Marc. None. Instead she excused herself politely. Marc watched her go and sat in her place. A small smirk chipped away at the ice freezing his expression into the same cold but indifferent glare.
"Aidan is contemplating his errors in judgement. However, that is no concern of yours now."
"Is it not?" Asked the man numbly.
"No, it's not. Not anymore." To anyone else it would appear that the two men were carrying on a normal conversation.
"That's well enough."
"It is. Actually," Added Marc, "you will find that you will remember nothing of this conversation unless I instruct you to the contrary. Otherwise you will go back to Vienna and file the following report--the club exploded as a result of a Toreador plot to annihilate a successful Tremere competitor in their market. Preliminary investigations by the Astors have revealed that the bomb was manufactured in New York City by some of their Sabbat affiliates." Marc continued to weave an intricate story of political deceit. This much is known because Catherine was standing on the other side of the wall, listening in.
History is written by the winners. Marc wrote entire books.
Catherine walked back into the room when the gentlemen left after a few pleasantries were exchanged.
"Why?" She asked quietly while Marc poured Scotch over ice.
"Because, Catherine. What did you think would happen if he learned the truth?"
"But..he does know the truth. Like you said, all he needs to do to remember is to..." Oh. Oooh. Catherine glared at Marc moodily. "Ah, yes. I see. Another measure to keep me in line, yes?"
"You are so endearing when you pout. Put aside your wounded pride, there is too much to do. I imagine that you would agree that going back to Los Angeles is not an option all things considered?"
Catherine narrowed her eyes. "Then...where?"
Marc smiled at her. "Not Paris."
Catherine folded her arms over her chest and looked away.
"You still don't get it, do you? You still see this as some sort of reprimand. You are absolutely obsessed with going back to Paris that you cannot see the bigger picture. The war has to be won here as well, Catherine. Take everything that you've learned in this cesspit, take Paris and bring it...to New York."
Catherine looked at him with wide eyes. "New...New York? You want me to go to New York City?" Marc bolted up and took her face in his hands. "Katarina." He whispered urgently. Hearing that name once again, a name not uttered since that walk in the Touleries sent shudders down the wick of her spine and made something click in her brain. "It's time. The moment that you have been waiting for...is now."
Catherine looked genuinely surprised and a good measure shocked. Her lips actually parted as she searched Marc's face for any hint of treachery. The mission that she thought would never come. For decades she waited. The single utterance of that name had set in motion a chain of events that she would not be detracted from, she couldn't.
She pulled away and quickly started walking away, looking at Marc from behind her shoulder, a expression of surprise written on her face. But wait, as she walked, it morphed and twisted into a wide barbed smile. As she walked, her shoulders gained even more height and her stature became purposeful and determined. She dialed a number on her phone and waited for a bored listless voice on the other end of the line.
"We are relocating. Manhattan. Make sure that the penthouse is ready. I will need you to transfer my network here. Oui, that is what I said. Also, pull the first page of December's issue. I have a new editorial for you, one that will make Anna Wintour see red all season. My dear, tell everyone, Catherine de Volanges is invading New York City." Catherine then thought of Aidan, bound, but still out there. That could be problematic considering that he had escaped. Ah, yes, that little fact.
Take everything that you've learned in this cesspit, take everything from Paris and bring it to New York.
"Oh, I fully intend to." Including the little things that churned in the cesspits of the darkest magic.
The man across from her wore a staunchly pressed shirt, elegant cufflinks and a sharp smile. "Go on." He coaxed. "What was it that he summoned through the fissure?"
Catherine shifted uneasily in her seat and shook her head. Her lips pressed together in a flat line of despair. "I can't."
His brow lifted in interest. "Can't or...won't?"
Her fingers nervously jiggled and she fixated on an unmoving spot on the wall to quell the after effects of the event. "I cannot recall...exactly." Catherine rushed to finish her thought before the look of disbelief reached his eyes. "It is like a horrible nightmare in my head--vivid, but with a sort of dream-like quality to it. Every morning that I sleep I am lost to it and every night I am only left remembering that it had me. It is a beast like no other from some deep abyss that ripped out of the void. We had him. Aidan. As instructed we began preforming the ritual to bind Aidan's abilities. Although we expected him to struggle, to fight, we did not expect that he would be able to challenge the entire coterie. As you now know, the entire club exploded as a result. Whatever he had summoned wanted to be done with us quickly and get out. We bound him, oui, but only seconds before he killed them all with a magic that I have never seen before. Something immune to our ritual or stronger than it. In the end I believe he succumbed to us but not soon enough to save them."
"And you? Why are you still sitting here? Odd, no?"
"C'est bon question." She muttered in response. "Two reasons, I believe. Aidan believes in torment. He saw me as his pupil. Therefore he saw what I did as a betrayal. The grossest injustice." Catherine cleared her throat lightly. "Final death would be too easy a punishment. No. He would want me to suffer. And second, I was saved. Another vampire." Catherine added. "Not one from our clan. Her name is Selene. What she was doing there that night I do not know but I do know that I am sitting here as a result of her machinations."
The man leaned forward, pressing his hand into his chin as he peered into her eyes. "Catherine. Is Aidan an infernalist?"
Catherine lifted a brow and looked right back into the man's eyes. "Aidan is nothing now." One can only try to play games with those elder to you in the Tremere clan. "Was he an infernalist?" He asked more directly, only a tick away from removing the information from her himself if she annoyed him more. This, right here, was merely feigned civility by monsters pretending to be human. Catherine took a moment to mull the question over in her head. Only after a moment did she answer, "Monsieur, he was a Realist." The elder did not looked pleased with that answer but said nothing. And the 'why' was apparent when Marc stepped out of the shadows. There are elders in this world and then there are elders.
"I trust that you had time enough to question my progeny?" Marc asked calmly. However, there was something in his words that suggested that the word question should have been replaced with pester.
"Only just." The elder furrowed his brow. "I have one last question for now. Where is Aidan now?"
Catherine made no attempt to look at Marc. None. Instead she excused herself politely. Marc watched her go and sat in her place. A small smirk chipped away at the ice freezing his expression into the same cold but indifferent glare.
"Aidan is contemplating his errors in judgement. However, that is no concern of yours now."
"Is it not?" Asked the man numbly.
"No, it's not. Not anymore." To anyone else it would appear that the two men were carrying on a normal conversation.
"That's well enough."
"It is. Actually," Added Marc, "you will find that you will remember nothing of this conversation unless I instruct you to the contrary. Otherwise you will go back to Vienna and file the following report--the club exploded as a result of a Toreador plot to annihilate a successful Tremere competitor in their market. Preliminary investigations by the Astors have revealed that the bomb was manufactured in New York City by some of their Sabbat affiliates." Marc continued to weave an intricate story of political deceit. This much is known because Catherine was standing on the other side of the wall, listening in.
History is written by the winners. Marc wrote entire books.
Catherine walked back into the room when the gentlemen left after a few pleasantries were exchanged.
"Why?" She asked quietly while Marc poured Scotch over ice.
"Because, Catherine. What did you think would happen if he learned the truth?"
"But..he does know the truth. Like you said, all he needs to do to remember is to..." Oh. Oooh. Catherine glared at Marc moodily. "Ah, yes. I see. Another measure to keep me in line, yes?"
"You are so endearing when you pout. Put aside your wounded pride, there is too much to do. I imagine that you would agree that going back to Los Angeles is not an option all things considered?"
Catherine narrowed her eyes. "Then...where?"
Marc smiled at her. "Not Paris."
Catherine folded her arms over her chest and looked away.
"You still don't get it, do you? You still see this as some sort of reprimand. You are absolutely obsessed with going back to Paris that you cannot see the bigger picture. The war has to be won here as well, Catherine. Take everything that you've learned in this cesspit, take Paris and bring it...to New York."
Catherine looked at him with wide eyes. "New...New York? You want me to go to New York City?" Marc bolted up and took her face in his hands. "Katarina." He whispered urgently. Hearing that name once again, a name not uttered since that walk in the Touleries sent shudders down the wick of her spine and made something click in her brain. "It's time. The moment that you have been waiting for...is now."
Catherine looked genuinely surprised and a good measure shocked. Her lips actually parted as she searched Marc's face for any hint of treachery. The mission that she thought would never come. For decades she waited. The single utterance of that name had set in motion a chain of events that she would not be detracted from, she couldn't.
She pulled away and quickly started walking away, looking at Marc from behind her shoulder, a expression of surprise written on her face. But wait, as she walked, it morphed and twisted into a wide barbed smile. As she walked, her shoulders gained even more height and her stature became purposeful and determined. She dialed a number on her phone and waited for a bored listless voice on the other end of the line.
"We are relocating. Manhattan. Make sure that the penthouse is ready. I will need you to transfer my network here. Oui, that is what I said. Also, pull the first page of December's issue. I have a new editorial for you, one that will make Anna Wintour see red all season. My dear, tell everyone, Catherine de Volanges is invading New York City." Catherine then thought of Aidan, bound, but still out there. That could be problematic considering that he had escaped. Ah, yes, that little fact.
Take everything that you've learned in this cesspit, take everything from Paris and bring it to New York.
"Oh, I fully intend to." Including the little things that churned in the cesspits of the darkest magic.