A Place to Belong: Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter XXXI

Who I Am

Ole Red’s looked exactly the way I remembered it when we left, though last time I was pulling out of the parking lot in a borrowed Coup DeVille driving to what I’m sure most of the patrons believed would be my own death. Now, as I pulled back in with the same car and Diego on my tail, I felt even more nervous. Death was one thing, but what I was about to do bordered on tying raw steaks to my body and walking into a Garou Moot while calling them good lil’ puppers. 

Probably going to go badly and most definitely going to hurt. 

Killing the engine, I grabbed my duffle bag, got out of the car, and straightened my tie. Years of hating what I would always refer to as ‘monkey suits’ had led me to the moment where I needed to wear them constantly in order to be taken seriously. In fact, my last boss had basically told me what I thought were decent clothes weren’t anything close to what I needed in order to be successful. It pained me to admit that he was right, but as I smoothed the black silk, it felt like I was adjusting armor. Turning to see Diego giving me a strange look, I just shrugged. 

“It’s a mental thing,” I said, nodding at the jacket. “Kinda like that. Do you need to wear it?”

“I’d rather the leather get ripped to shreds if I skid out than my skin,” Diego pointed out, but I just rolled my eyes at him. 

“Like you wouldn’t just turn to shadow or leap off and do a superhero landing,” I countered. “Do you need it?”

“I suppose not,” Diego admitted, grinning. “So what does the suit do? Make you feel powerful?”

“Actually, yes,” I admitted, and he seemed shocked by my level of vulnerability. Considering how much I was expressing it today, I was surprising myself as well. “It’s delicate and hopelessly useless when it comes to protection, but it feels like putting on a lion’s mane, or a tiger’s stripes. There’s no practical purpose, but the black suit, the red details, and the hints of gold… the image it strikes, even if it's just to me, gives me a sense of power.”

“You got all that from a suit?” Diego scoffed, but he leaned against the rear driver's side as I adjusted my appearance in the mirror, apparently willing to humor me for the moment. 

“That I did,” I nodded, gesturing to my own reflection. “The dominance of black in both the suit and shirt shows elegance and mystery, though not in the same way as the leather jacket does. Leather seems rough and tumble whereas the silk projects the message of subtlety. This power is corporate, like it’s backed by something. You’re not afraid of the man in the suit, but the force behind him.

“Red is strength and passion, the quickening of blood,” I said, adjusting my tie and running my fingers over the embroidery of my cuffs. “But as an accent color, it shows that I’m in control of both, I don’t let them control me. Unbridled passion and strength are things we all think we want in life, until we realize that they aren’t something that we can withstand long term. They’re called whirlwind romances for a reason, because they come and go like a puff of air.

“Then finally,” I ran my finger over the gold ring, my grandfather’s ring, that rested on my finger, cool and rough, our family crest signified in its center. “Gold. Grandeur, success, and prosperity. By wearing them together, I’m making a statement. I carry my power with opulence and prestige while wielding bold and dramatic energy with regal restraint. All of it wrapped up in the elegance of silk and precious metal. My strength is not in intimidation, it says. My strength is in each subtle word, each slight gesture, each calculating thought, and, should I be crossed, each twist of the knife.”

I looked up at Diego, smiling, my short fangs catching the light of the moon, gleaming like silver to contrast my gold. 

“All without saying a word.” 

“You put way too much thought into these things, gringo.” Diego said, laughing, but I could see that he was eyeing my clothing more thoughtfully. Then, with a shrug, he gestured to the bar. “Come on, best not to keep Cedric waiting.” 

We walked through the empty parking lot to the currently dark and quiet bar. Cedric had put the word out that it was to remain closed until further notice. There was a power vacuum as far as his network was concerned, and until that void was confirmed as filled, he wasn’t going to risk letting anyone into his home. I could respect that. 

Upon entering, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, as though a thousand eyes were staring hungrily at me. Only a single light illuminated the space over the bar, making the shadows around it seem darker somehow. Cedric stood under it, the dim orange of its glow barely casting a circle large enough to consider a spotlight. Cautiously, I stepped through the darkness to pull up a stool in front of him, like a moth to the flame. 

Diego, who should have been at my side, had vanished, probably into the shadows, but I felt no fear at his absence. Just as the Nosferatu lingered in the dark, using it to their advantage, Diego did the same. Not out of cowardice as may have been his habit in the past, but out of tactical efficiency. It was a lot harder to hit a target when you didn’t know where it was striking from. Two could play at that game. 

“You brought your pet Lasombra,” Cedric said, his tone flat, but clearly disapproving. “Seems a bit distrusting, baron.” 

He slid me a drink, though didn’t tell me whose blood it was, and I didn’t ask. I took a sip, not sniffing or testing, but rather just trusting that he hadn’t done anything to it. Cedric raised his eyebrow at me, almost confused by the gesture as I set the glass down. 

“You brought your entire clan,” I grinned, not being able to prove that they were all there, but knowing well enough that like the rats they were so often compared to, Nosferatu rarely ever traveled alone. “Seems only fair.”

Cedric huffed slightly, as if he were grudgingly conceding to the fact without offering any affirmation to my statement. Instead, he turned his back to me and poured himself a drink from one of the taps. I heard a faint groan, but didn’t even try to discern which of the resident kegs had made the noise. When Cedric turned back to me, he set his own glass down, and waited. Without preamble, I slid the keys across the bar to him. 

“Drives like a dream,” I told him, grinning. “You maintain it yourself?”

“When I get the time,” Cedric said, accepting the keys without thanks. “You fill her up?”

“No,” I said, taking out a gas card and dropping it on the bar. “Wasn’t sure what she took. Diego and I argued between mid-grade and Premium. I was arguing Premium, to be fair. In the end, we put a hundred bucks on the card and figured you could choose what to give your baby.” 

“Diplomatic,” Cedric said, though no emotion crossed his face. “Is that how you plan to rule?”

“That does bring me to my other point,” I said, cocking my head to one side. “I’m not the baron. We don’t have a baron in the Queen City. We have a baroness. Natalia Sharpe.” 

Cedric let out a bark of a laugh, but there was no humor in it. 

“I have eyes everywhere, baron,” he said, his voice almost growling as he bared his fangs at me, “Lying doesn’t work well here.” 

“And I don’t do well lying,” I agreed, sipping at the glass he’d poured me, savoring the flavor and then setting it down gently on a cocktail napkin to avoid making a ring on the bar. “I am a man of my word, and I keep my word. I am not the baron of the Queen City. I also have no intention of ever being a baron of any Free State. Nor a Prince of a Domain, nor a… what the hell do the Sabbat call it in their structure?”

“An Archbishop,” Cedric supplied, his voice hard as flint. “Who rules over a Diocese. Though, I have to say, points in your favor for not knowing their power structure too well. Never trust anyone who knows the Sabbies that well.” 

“An understandable position,” I conceded to him. “So no, I will not be a Prince, nor a Baron, nor an Archbishop. Many titles, same role. Kind of… concerning, don’t you think?”

Cedric narrowed his eyes at me, suspicious of my intentions for sure, but there was something else behind his eyes, as if he was curious if he could allow himself to agree with me on any level. Eventually, he landed on nodding at me while wearing a mask of neutrality. 

“I mean, what really is the difference between them all, anyway?” I continued, getting a bit more animated, and actually seeing Cedric flinch a bit at my words, as though just their utterance would spell the end of our lives. “Every city in the world is divided up into a Domain, State, Diocese, et cetera, ruled over by a Baron, Prince, Archbishop, et cetera, all with the same problems in different packaging. And who ends up being the victors? The people who always are, the people at the top. And where does that leave us? Where does that leave you?” 

Cedric stared at me, eyes now wide, jaw working slowly as if trying to find words or to use his twisted and jagged fangs as a means to chew his way out of the conversation he never expected to be having. I leaned in closer, making sure our eyes were locked together, that he couldn’t escape my gaze. 

“Are the Nosferatu treated any better under the Anarchs than they were under the Camarilla?” I asked, my voice low and quiet. “You may say yes to both compared to the Sabbat, but really, we’d just be kidding ourselves if we believed that. The Sabbat aren’t any worse to your clan than the other two are. They’re just a hell of a lot less subtle about it. A gilded noose is still a noose.”

Cedric’s face split into a sneer, but I could tell that it wasn’t directed at me. 

“What are we supposed to do about it?” he practically snarled, and I could tell that I had hit on the root of his frustration. “The Sabbat will kill us all for fun, the Camarilla will do the same, but for ‘order’ and ‘justice.’ And if the other Barons find out what you’re doing, they’ll kill anyone who sided with you and only give us less respect than they do now, if that’s fucking possible. What’s left to do?”

“Build something new,” I said, empathizing with his frustration, but turning that fire inwards instead of outwards. “No one will give you respect until you take it. No one will give you the tools you need to free yourself from their oppression.” 

“Build something,” Cedric scoffed, shaking his head. “You want to build something where the Nosferatu can finally claim the respect they’ve been denied? Princes build thrones. Barons build armies. Even the fucking Archbishops build their cults and congregations. Tell me, oh ambitious Tremere… what do you plan to build?”

I didn’t answer at first. Instead, I reached down, pulling the duffle bag up and placing it on the bar between us. Slowly I pulled back the zipper and removed the twisted, deformed skull of Ledger and placed it on the bar. Drawing my hands back, I left it there between us. Cedric stared at it in shock, then looked up at me, speechless. 

“Relationships,” I answered him. “Something that will outlive me, even if I die in the attempt to build this. No more fiefdoms with lords who decide that a different title makes them better than another fiefdom. Like the Camarilla, I believe in order and efficiency. Like the Anarchs, I believe in freedom and everyone’s right to be heard. Hell, like the Sabbat I believe that we are called to something bigger than ourselves, but what I have faith in isn’t our superiority. No, my faith is in our humanity, our humility. Do you know what makes your clan so much stronger than mine?”

Cedric looked up at me, shocked that I’d have the audacity to admit weakness in front of him. 

“What?” he said, almost automatically, as if the words were still processing. So I pushed again.

“Do you know what makes your clan so much stronger than mine?” I repeated the question, confirming to his astounded ears that I had actually said what he thought. 

“What makes us stronger?” he asked, the words filled with disbelief. 

“Your bonds,” I said, gesturing to the bar. “How many are in here right now? Listening to every word we say? Each here to ensure that neither I nor Diego do a damned thing to harm you? Ten? Twenty?”

“Thirty-five,” Cedric admitted, a small trace of shame in his voice. “What gave them away? The lack of light? I told them we should have had fewer and more light, it was too obvious and…”

“No,” I said, cutting him off. “I knew they were here because I understand your clan. I learned from him.” 

I tapped the top of Ledger’s skull and grinned. 

“He left notebooks behind, books that were his own namesake, surprising no one in this room I’m sure,” I said, pulling one of his books from my backpack, and placing it on the bar next to the skull. “I even got to speak to his ghost when we were down looking for the vault.” 

Cedric blinked as I said those words, looking as though he were about to cut me off, but I kept going before he had a chance. 

“He asked that I bring his skull back to you, to be honored however you felt was right. He said burn it, bury it, or piss in it, he didn’t care,” I said, grinning at the curmudgeon’s humor, but then the smile faded slightly. “But I think he really did care. He wanted to come back to you, to his clan. There’s a bond in your clan that no others really get to feel because of how competitive we’re forced to be with one another. Ventrue always vying for political power, Tremere always striving for academic excellence… we could list our faults for days. But you? You work as a whole, as a unit.

“You ask me what I want to build, Cedric?” I said, smiling at him. “I’ll tell you. I want to build a Fourth Pillar. I want to rebuild the Fourth Pillar. A New Constantinople. Not a fiefdom ruled by a lord, but a place that can reflect the promise that your clan makes each other. A Covenant, ruled over not by a single lord, or an oligarchy of elder kindred who will just become the thing I want to tear down, but by a council. One where each of the clans is represented. Each having equal say in how the Covenant of Charlotte is steered.” 

“That’s… insane,” Cedric said, but I could see the smile on his face. “Even if you could get enough people behind you, it would take years… hell, decades, of working in the shadows just to get the groundwork. And even if you could keep your shadow council from being discovered by the Cammies or Anarchs before getting your feet under you, what makes you think they won’t just come storming in from all sides trying to take what you built?”

“Simple,” I said, grinning even wider at him. “Because they expect me to play by their rules. As you may have learned from our conversation, I have a problem with the current establishment. I don’t plan to follow their playbook.” 

“So, what’s your next play, boss?” Cedric asked, leaning down on the bar, and I could practically feel the eyes of the other Nosferatu as they silently, invisibly, leaned in closer with him.

I picked up my glass, threw back the last of the blood in it, and gently placed it back on the bar. It was all I could do to keep from laughing at the absolute audacity of my own plan. Diego and Callie both said I would have to be insane to think that it would work. Isadora supported me, but expressed a similar sentiment. It didn’t make them feel any better when I voiced my agreement that the entire plan was insane. 

“I have a vision for the future,” I said to him, getting up and pulling my bag over my shoulder. “And when you have a vision of the future, it is exceptionally important that you have someone who can see it with you.” 

A few hours of conversation and negotiation later, as I exited the bar, leaving Diego to coordinate with Cedric and the Nosferatu, there was a rumble of an engine. A blocky black car, I’m pretty sure Diego said was a Rolls-Royce Wraith rolled up. It wasn’t as sleek as the one I stole from Peter Koch, which had apparently been a Ferrari, making me wrong on both counts, but I liked the Wraith a lot more. Its blacked out windows and broad profile gave it a powerful, mysterious look. Though what I liked most about it was how much it reminded me of my old Jeep… probably not the compliment the Rolls-Royce people would have wanted. 

The window on the passenger side rolled down, and I could see Isadora in the driver’s seat, smirking at me. 

“Going my way?” she asked, shooting me an uncharacteristic wink. I gave her a grin and winked back, getting used to her more relaxed nature when we were by ourselves. 

“Depends, gonna let me drive?” I asked. Isadora rolled her eyes, unbuckled her seat belt, and slid over to the passenger side, the transition far smoother than I would have expected in the faux-Victorian dress and corset she was wearing. 

“Always the control freak,” she teased me, sticking her head out the window and blowing a raspberry at me. I took the opportunity to swoop in and kiss her, startling her. “Geez! You can’t just do that when I’m not expecting it!” 

“Then start expecting it all the time,” I said, waggling my eyebrows at her as I made my way around to the driver’s side of the car. “Right, Modd?”

“Right!” a voice came from the darkness around the bar, followed by a stream of curses. I laughed aloud as I pulled the door on the Wraith open, marveling at how the reversed hinges made it open backwards. 

“They seriously just do anything to make their cars novel, don’t they?” I said, scoffing as I slid onto the leather and buckled myself in. It took a moment to adjust the seat and mirror. Isadora rolled the window up and shook her head. 

“They’re going to be fun,” she said, sighing. “And you put me in charge of the spy network?”

“You and Cedric can work that one out, or share,” I said, shrugging. “He’s got the network, you’ve got my trust. It’ll work out.” 

“You really don’t have an overall plan, do you?” Isadora asked, laughing. “You really do just make it up as you go.”

“I prefer to think of it as… being able to pivot when necessary,” I said, putting the car into gear and pulling out onto the road. The transition was smooth and the engine felt powerful. “Not my fault it seems to always be necessary.” 

“Not at all,” Isadora commented, rolling her eyes. “So, where are we pivoting to now?”

“We’re heading home,” I said, grinning as my grip tightened on the wheel. “Well, my home, at least. Back to New York. We’ve got a Malkavian to talk to.”

Isadora reached down, turned up the volume on the radio, and we tore through the night, our headlights pointing north. The plan was coming together, the pillars were rising, and I couldn’t think of a damn thing that could go wrong. 

So I needed the advice of someone who could.