A Place to Belong: Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter XXVII

Will I Forget You?

I’d been moving for I don’t know how long. The daysleep had taken me at least once, though I’m not sure if I passed out a few times or if it had been several days in those tunnels. Isadora had gone into full torpor and would need a good amount of blood to be revived. Hopefully we could find her a corpse or some blood bags before then because she was going to kill if she drank from a mortal now, and I didn’t want to make her take her first human life. She’d probably prefer death itself than to cause it. 

The flashlight was still alive, though beginning to dim. I had to use one with four D batteries to avoid Diego’s aura from shutting it down. One wouldn’t think LEDs were too advanced for Lasombra to be around, but it turned out the older models were the only ones that could function around him. It was difficult to carry Isadora and shine the fading light around enough to follow Ledger’s markers, but after a while I felt I was making decent progress, if for no other reason than I hadn’t run into anything else trying to kill me. 

“When we get out of here,” I panted heavily more for the mental effect than anything physical, seeing as my body didn’t need air. “I am getting someone to teach me the power to see in the dark.” 

The light of the flashlight I was carrying began to flicker. It had faded substantially over the past few… hours? Nights? I couldn’t tell, but those batteries had reached their limit, and I wasn’t going to last much longer without it. As the light finally died, I slowly lowered Isadora down to the ground, then slid down to rest next to her. 

“Well, good chance we’re going to both go into torpor now,” I said to her, knowing that she couldn’t hear me. “Maybe someone will stumble across us in a few years. Maybe mortal and we wake up, maybe Kindred or Garou and we end up dead. Who knows?” 

I stared out into the darkness, trying to get my eyes to adjust enough to at least see something to navigate by, but the darkness was so absolute there wasn’t even enough light to make outlines of anything. Eventually, I started seeing dots appearing in my vision as the strain caused them to play tricks on me. 

Then I started noticing the dots flickering in the dark were creating a pattern. They floated together in pairs, flickering in and out of existence, like red eyes blinking at me in the black. A chill ran up my spine as I realized that it wasn’t the appearance of eyes in the dark, but the gleaming hunger of some kind of predator using either vampiric or Garou powers to hunt us. I was too weak to fight, and any predator worth its salt would recognize that, so there was only one thing to do that could possibly protect us. 

“Alright, I get it, you’re very scary lurking in the dark,” I called out to the eyes. “But if you’re not going to attack, maybe you could at least be polite enough to make introductions. And if you do plan to attack, make it quick, I’m too tired for games.” 

There was a pause, and I could see the eyes flicker as they turned to look at one another. A long moment passed before a figure came looming out of the darkness. The eyes were closer now, and I could see them easier, though they didn’t shed enough light to give me any more clues to their identity. I heard a click and a bright, white light filled the cavern around me. A gray, clawed hand reached out, offering a lit LED headlamp to me. 

“Diego said you couldn’t see in the dark,” a gruff, somewhat distorted voice said. “But that the other could. Apparently her abilities aren’t much use at the moment.”

“Not currently,” I said, accepting the lamp and putting it on my head, making an effort to cast the light down so that only the ambient glow lit up my rescuer, which he seemed appreciative of. 

He was a bit shorter than I would have been were I standing, but part of that may have been the hunched way he stood. At first, it looked like he was smiling at me, but then I realized that both the illusion of a smile and his strange way of speaking came from the fact that a good portion of his upper lip and cheek were missing, revealing crooked, yellow fangs that jutted this way and that like an anglerfish in desperate need of braces. 

“You said Diego sent you?” I asked, slowly getting to my feet. 

“Yeah,” the Nosferatu responded, nodding. “Told us where you went, and we decided to get a head start on the others by taking the hidden tunnels. Never thought you’d be in them. How’d you stumble across them anyway?”

Looking up, the LED caught the sigil Ledger had carved into the wooden support beam of the mine. Pointing at it, I answered, 

“Following Ledger’s marks. That one looks a lot like his ‘safe passage’ sigil, but there’s another thing around it I couldn’t decipher,” I explained, much to his surprise apparently. “I’m guessing that means ‘secret’ or something?”

“You know Ledger’s system?” the Nosferatu asked, looking back at his fellows, and for the first time I noticed there were about three more that I could see, though it's possible more were lurking nearby. Nosferatu had a habit of moving completely unseen.

“Read it in a book,” I said, shrugging slightly. “Found some journals of his, learned his system. Used it to navigate. Seems like a man with a good head on his shoulders and a better system in place.” 

The Nosferatu scoffed slightly. 

“He was,” he said bitterly. “Not that anyone noticed.” 

“I noticed,” I said, pulling Isadora up and slinging her arm over my shoulder. “I’m assuming I’m on the right track to get out, but can you take me to Diego?”

“Aye,” the Nosferatu nodded, a strange look in his eyes as he studied me. “We can get you to him.”

***

The journey back with the Nosferatu, whose name I learned was Modd, was a relatively uneventful one. My fears and concerns about the wight or roving Garou seemed to be completely unfounded in their presence. Without knowing about a potential threat, they were able to circumnavigate them by moving through narrow tunnels, secret passages, and using shafts to scale up levels at a time without moving through what they referred to as ‘hot zones.’ 

Modd was taking us directly to Diego, who was now deep in the outskirts of the city in a more rural area that would have taken a good half hour or more to reach by car, let alone travel by foot, but the Nosferatu weren’t just masters of stealth, they were also masters of efficiency. We were able to make it from our depth and distance to a hidden hatch of a basement in less than two hours. 

“Impressive,” I said as Modd helped me pull Isadora through the hatch and set her on the dirty floor. It was sticky and smelled like spilled beer and blood, but it was safer than the tunnels below. 

“It’s just an old bar,” Modd said, dismissively. “Cedric runs a good establishment. Keeps the network abreast of the goings on.” 

His eyes snapped up to me, as if realizing he’d said too much. I just nodded in agreement with him and fussed a bit over Isadora. 

“Sounds like a bartender to me,” I said with a shrug. “Just like a barber, everyone tells them everything. Gives you guys a good idea of what to look out for. Smart business. But that wasn’t what I was talking about.” 

“What’s that then?” Modd asked me, a puzzled look on his twisted face. 

“You lot,” I gestured at him and his crew, or at least the members of the crew that were visible. “Even with a map and my ability to read the sigils, I doubt I’d ever found my way out of that place, let alone as efficiently as you did. You should be proud of yourself and of your crew.” 

Modd studied my expression for a moment, eyes narrow as if trying to tell if I was mocking him or not. The air was thick with an unspoken tension that was only broken when I heard a voice call from the stairs. 

“He lies by not telling the truth, not by speaking falsehoods,” Callie’s voice floated from the now open door. Her form appeared, more relaxed than I’d ever seen her before, though I couldn’t read her face well as the only light that came from the room above was a deep neon red. Her fangs glinted in the light, but it wasn’t threatening. 

She was smiling. 

“He’s blunt, tactless, and often will just speak without thinking,” Callie continued, and I was able to confirm that her smile wasn’t just a trick of the light by the laughter I could hear in her voice. “So if he says he’s impressed by you, he’s telling the truth.” 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Modd said, scoffing again. “Never thought I’d see the day when one of your type complimented us without an audience to pat you on the back.” 

“What’s that expression? ‘Praise in public, reprimand in private’?” I asked, trying to remember which self help or self improvement book I’d found that one in. “That always struck me as mostly right. I think you should praise at every opportunity when it's relevant. Public or private. No sense making praise feel performative.” 

“Ain’t that the truth,” Modd agreed, nodding at me. “Speak to Cedric. If you need anything from us again, he’ll get you in touch.” 

I thanked him as he and his crew went down the hatch again. Once they were gone, I turned and looked up at Callie. 

“Glad to see you’re okay,” I said to her, and she pursed her lips. 

“You really mean that, too,” she said. It wasn’t a question. Then her eyes dropped to Isadora. “Is she okay?”

“Torpor,” I said, lifting her as best I could, surprised when Callie came down the stairs and took Isadora’s other arm, helping me carry her up to the bar level. “She used something from the vault to take out a Black Spiral Dancer named Sorrow-of-Ages. Apparently he’d been sustaining himself down there, and decided to take out the bridge to kill me.” 

“Damn, and I thought our little adventure was insane,” Callie said, eyebrows shooting up. “We’ll fill each other in once we get her up and about. You too, it seems. You look like you’re running on fumes.” 

“I have been,” I said to her as we got Isadora to the bar. It was an interesting place, and the way it was laid out drew your eye immediately to the five nearly naked men crucified over the bar with tubes coming from their bodies down to taps. “I suppose meals are on tap here?”

“Yeah, convenient considering our friend here’s feeding habits,” Callie nodded, as Diego approached us. “Get her feet and we’ll set her on the bar.” 

“Can do,” Diego said, helping us set Isadora on the bar as the hunched Nosferatu bartender, I assumed to be Cedric, began pouring drinks. Diego turned to look at me, examining me up and down. “You doing good, man? You look like hell.” 

“I feel like hell,” I confirmed, accepting the glass of blood offered to me and downed it as quickly as I could without spilling. As Cedric refilled my glass and began getting emergency bags prepped for Isadora, Diego, Callie, and I began describing our experiences over the past few nights. When they got to the part about Marcus’ betrayal, I just nodded. 

“I expected as much,” I said, sipping idly at my glass. My strength had returned, but my beast was still snarling in hunger. More blood wasn’t going to do much to quiet it, but I still felt drained. 

“And I assume you kept that to yourself because you knew I wouldn’t listen,” Callie said, smiling sadly at me. There was no malice in her voice, which wasn’t as surprising now that I knew what they’d both had gone through, but it was still unusual to me that we could speak poorly of Marcus in front of her now and not be immediately reprimanded. 

“Pretty much,” I said, nodding at her. “Most people who drink the flavor-aid tend not to believe an outsider who tells them its poison if the person they have the most faith in tells them it’s not.” 

“Doesn’t the phrase go, ‘drink the Kool-aid’?” Diego asked, idly rolling an eightball between his palm and the bar. 

“Jim Jones was too cheap to buy the name brand stuff,” I said, shrugging. “Most cult leaders tend to cut corners when it comes to their followers themselves. No real reason to spend the extra when it comes to them. You could tell them shit was chocolate and they’d be eating cowpies off the ground while praising the craftsmanship.” 

“Fair,” Diego said, shrugging. “And speaking of, what are we going to do about Marcus and Natalia?”

“I don’t really know,” I said, honestly. “I feel the two of them are going to take care of each other, but if we want the most favorable outcome, we’re going to need Marcus to go down first.” 

“Any particular reason?” Callie asked, and there was a coldness in her voice that I had grown used to being directed at me, only this time the chill seemed to be reserved for Marcus’ name alone. 

“Taking down Natalia, whether that be physically or mentally, means that Marcus has an opportunity to escape and claim the barony. And that’s a risk too big for me to be willing to take,” I said, watching as Diego and Callie nodded along. Isadora was still, but I could feel her strength beginning to return as her hand squeezed mine a bit tighter. Cedric attached another bloodbag to the line going to her mouth, discarding the one that had been there along with the other four she’d gone through. 

“Besides that, Marcus is going to be the bigger threat between the two. Natalia still sees me as her useful tool,” I continued. 

“Much like most sire-childer relationships,” Callie interjected, her voice calm as she revealed how much she’d learned. I looked over at Diego, but he just pointed at Cedric. With a nod, I turned my attention to the barkeeper. 

“How many people know about my relationship to Natalia?” I asked him. 

“As of now, just a handful of Kindred,” he said, shrugging. “And pretty much every Nosferatu.” 

“Good to know,” I said, nodding. “And it may be better if that information were spread around.” 

Cedric and Diego blinked at me, but Callie just laughed. 

“Clever boy,” she said, sipping at her own glass, nodding approvingly. The other two looked at her, confused, and she just shook her head and explained. “If we take out Marcus, my sire, and Natalia keeps her position, it’s seen as a power play by Natalia to root out a traitor using her secret childer, making her look clever. If we have to put her down for any reason, we can avoid political entanglements because it can be played off as usually sire-childer behavior, a personal grudge instead of political. Usually swept under the rug. And if we can make it look like Marcus was the one who killed her, we can play it up as a childer avenging his sire. Lots of angles we can work with, but only if the knowledge is out there. We lose that advantage if we keep a lid on everything.”

“Not sure I follow, but if you want that knowledge spread, it's going to cost you,” Cedric said, shrugging. “Standard rates. Diego already called in his favor to Modd and his crew, or at least forgave it for finding you two, maybe other crews owe you, but not enough to get the word out in time.” 

I thought for a moment of the skull that resided in my bag. Modd and his crew had commented on the odd shape of the bag, asked me if I was carrying anything special in it. Told them haunted Hecata artifacts and they decided it was better not to investigate further. The skull itself was probably a great bargaining chip in this situation, but as tempting as it was, Ledger deserved better than to be used again now that he’d met the final death. 

“What will it take to get that information out there?” I asked Cedric, feeling the weight of Kindred society beginning to finally press down on me. Money wasn’t as valuable in our world as power and favors were, and those were the most common pieces of currency. If I needed a favor, I was going to owe one, and I hated being in debt. 

“A favor for a favor,” Cedric responded, predictably. “Like for like. You need me to get a piece of information out to a lot of Kindred in a short amount of time. I’ll need something on the same scale. Don’t know what it is yet, but you’ll owe me.” 

“Deal,” I said without hesitation, and Callie sighed. 

“Couldn’t even negotiate?” she muttered into her glass taking a sip. I noted that her voice was more tired than reprimanding. Inwardly, I smiled a bit, realizing she was beginning to not only understand me, but accept me. It was a big step for us, but not one I had time to ruminate on.  

“Wasn’t ever good at that, despite reading a book on it,” I said, shrugging. “I’m a proponent of equivalent exchange. If you do something for me, or I do something for you, the person giving deserves proper compensation for their efforts.” 

“Let’s see how long that attitude stays with you, kid,” Cedric said, going over to an old rotary phone he had hanging on the wall. It had a mouth piece built into it, with the separate speaker he had to hold up to his ear. I heard him making calls, but wasn’t sure what he was saying. I just had to trust he was getting the message out. 

“What’s our next step?” Diego asked, clearly unhappy with how I handled the situation, but wasn’t going to start arguing with me. 

“First, get to full strength,” I said, looking down at Isadora. Her mouth worked the tube slightly, as if trying to draw more blood from it, her vicious fangs shredding the rubber like a paper plate in a garbage disposal. Slowly I reached over and pulled the tube from her mouth. “Or as close to full strength as possible.” 

“And after that?” Callie asked. 

“We find Marcus,” I said, nodding. “And I think I have a good way to start looking.” 

Easing my hand out of Isadora’s, I pulled away and sat at a table, dipping my finger in the remaining blood of my glass and drawing sigils out on the table. It had been a while since I’d refreshed this ritual, so it took a few moments for the power to surge through me and into the sigils. They flared momentarily, then vanished in a puff of acrid smoke. I closed my eyes and reached out to Natalia with my mind, using our shared blood to seek her out. 

Natalia… can you hear me? I asked, sending my thoughts to her. What I received back were half ravings and half theorems that would have made Cassandra’s mad babblings seem sane by comparison. It took a few moments of listening to realize that her thoughts were not meant to be projected to me… she was using the same ritual to communicate with her sire, though it seemed like the words that were lost on him and now connected to me. 

Come now, Lucian, you were always the bright one, the master architect of this power, she was saying, her words bordering on manic, as though she were trying to remind this Lucian of the fact while also willing it into existence. Nothing can stop your ascension. We worked too hard for anything to stop you! We’ll fix it… I’ll fix it. And I don’t care how long Marcus pounds on that door with his little cronies, I’ll never let him in. This is our place. OUR sanctum! 

The babbling continued, but I pushed it to the back of my mind, compartmentalizing it like it was a painful wound that did little but distract me. Numbing it down into a dull ache in the back of my head, I was able to monitor it while still focusing on the problem at hand. 

“Good news,” I said dryly, looking up at my coterie who were helping Isadora off the bar and onto a stool. She looked a lot better, strength returning if not at full yet. She smiled at me, but didn’t interrupt. I smiled back and ignored the look that passed between Diego and Callie. “Seems they’re both in the same place.” 

“How is that good news?” Diego asked, his body tensing. “If he gets to her before we do, she’s not going to survive. No offense, man, but he’s got the power and the following to take her out at the moment. She got control of the barony by the skin of her fangs last time. With the weapon, I’m thinking tides are going to turn.” 

“Not if he can’t get to her,” I said, grinning. “She said she’s in her sanctum. Or the sanctum she and her sire shared.” 

“Where’s that?” Callie asked, grabbing her coat and a surprisingly large and familiar shotgun that had been leaning against the bar. 

“The one place she never took me, but I still know where to find it,” I said, grinning. “The Tremere Chantry.” 

Diego got up, grabbed a set of keys off the bar, then looked down at them and up at me. 

“Shit,” he said, anger coloring his voice. “Bike can’t carry all of us. And Isadora won’t be able to hold on anyway. You and me?”

I shook my head and smiled at him. 

“No offense, but I have no interest in riding bitch with you,” I said, turning my attention to Cedric. “Anything in the parking lot I can borrow?”

“Got a caddie out back, a ‘68,” he said, taking keys off the hook and placing them on the bar. “Coupe DeVille, convertible. Small favor owed if you bring it back with a full tank of gas and not a scratch. Bring it back in worse condition than that…” 

He let the threat hang in the air, but I grabbed the keys and went over to Isadora. She was leaning against the bar barely able to support herself. 

“You should go without me,” she said, her voice weak, but a fire in her eyes. “I’m a liability at this point.” 

“You’re the key to my plan,” I told her, getting my shoulder under her arm and propping her up. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to do much. Just fill me in on a few things.” 

“What things?” Isadora asked, curiously. 

“Well, you told me a lot about that mask,” I said, leading her out to the DeVille outside. “I want to know more about this scepter that Marcus has.” 

The DeVille roared down the road, Diego and Callie on his bike whirring alongside me like an armed escort. As Isadora explained the purpose and functions of the scepter, I listened to her as well as the ramblings of my sire as she thought she was communicating with hers, and a very clear picture began to crystalize in my mind. If my heart could still beat, it may have broken, but motive meant little when compared to actions and consequences. 

I won’t forget you, she was saying to Lucian, whose mind was too far gone to even remember what she was to him. 

The world won’t forget you. 

Your work will be remembered. 

Your sacrifice will be remembered. 

I won’t let everything we worked for become just another forgotten reference book!

Remember me!

Remember yourself!

Remember me.

Remember me…

Please… please just remember me…

Her words were lost on Lucian, and she was never going to be able to see it. As I drove towards her through the dark of the new night I wondered if she would die that night. Not just physically, not just the final death, but if everyone who knew her name would simply cease to say it, cease to think of her, cease to remember as she faded into obscurity. 

Would we all die the death far more painful than the final one?

And if so, would anyone care?