It was unseasonably warm in London. But as it was midnight in London at a bench near the Thames, that wasn't saying much. A young woman sat next to an older man on the bench, looking out at the river. Neither of them showed the slightest trace of a chill, but for different reasons. A casual observer could probably notice that the man slumped on the bench in a fashion that shouldn't be at all comfortable, and that his head leaned to the side in a position that is rarely assumed by anyone conscious.

A more astute observer might pick up clues about the woman as well. Such as the fact that she was frightfully pale, even for this light. Or that as she licked what appeared to be blood from the corner of her mouth, she writhed in apparent ecstasy. She sat there by the dead man for nearly an hour quietly reveling in the sensations rocking her body. Eventually, she regained her composure. Straightening her blouse, she stood up and stretched. Meticulously, she brushed the dirt and dust of the bench off of her jeans and jacket. She leaned down to the body of the man, and lifted his face with a gentle hand.

"Thank you." She whispered into his ear. His head dropped back down to his chest with enough momentum to begin a slow lean and fall to the ground, but before he hit she was already walking away.

She was taking the longer walk back to her flat, she knew, but she truly loved these London nights and cherished her time in them. She was a vampire, yes, but as she often reminded herself, just because she was dead, that was no reason not to enjoy life. The line pissed off most of her friends who, like her, enjoyed being a vampire, but refused to act the part. She would get nearly uncontrollable urges from time to time to run out into the street and leap to a rooftop as she screamed out in her powerful voice 'I am a vampire! I am your hunter!' But that would never do… at least not here in England.

Yes, she truly loved the quiet nights of London. Except when her cell phone interrupted an otherwise tranquil walk. "Yes?" She knew she didn't need to be any more informative in her greeting, as only a very few souls had this phone number.

"Miss Antoinette?"

The old voice sounded appropriately tired. Antoinette liked having connections all over the world, but keeping only a limited number of ghouls meant that each one was worked to the bone.

"Of course, Bichoff. Any news in California?"

"Its why I called, mistress. You've received a letter."

"Go on…" Even fewer people knew of her 'branch offices' than the number who knew how to reach her.

"Yes, um… It was delivered rather oddly." Coming from someone who was quite technically nearly undead, this got Antoinette's attention. "We believe it was delivered by a ghost. Shall I fax the message to you?"

"No need. Just tell me the subject matter and who wants to know."

"Its about the Marsil." Bichoff waited an appropriately meaningful duration. "From someone named Alexi of the 13 toes. Does that mean anything to you?"

Antoinette didn't give a rat's ass who was inquiring if they were searching for the Marsil. "No, Bichoff. Do you have a file on this 'Alexi'?" Bichoff's greatest service to her was his ability to squirrel away bits and pieces of information for various rainy days.

"All I know, mistress, is that he is usually located in New York City. Will there be anything else?"

"No. Thank you for bringing this to my attention." She hung up the phone lost in thought and preparation. 'Who to call in favors from?' It had been a while since she was in New York due to the Sabbat invasion. If, however, the rumor-mill was accurate for once, the Camarilla had reclaimed the city quite recently. Was someone making a grab for power, hoping that if they found out the secret to the Marsil, they'd secure their authority? She was going to have a long night. She quickly dialed a local number.

"Gustav? Book me a red-eye flight to the big apple." Yes, she understood the obsession that the Camarilla had with their partly-human servants. Ghouls were damn useful.

By 12:45, she was on a flight across the Atlantic, reading over Bichoff's latest version of 'Who's Who Among the Kindred of New York.' It hadn't been easy to get this particular flight, but it had all worked out fine. After all, who could have foreseen that businessman from Prague inexplicably missing his connection. Antoinette wrote herself a reminder to thank Gustav for arranging it.

As she was sometimes prone to do, she was talking to herself as she read.

"First, I'll try to social scene. 'Ethan Cypress, socialite and newly embraced Toreador. Also a bit of a womanizer.' Hmm, he'll do just fine. I'd imagine he's still trying to make connections, and find his place in this new world. Well, I'll be damned; Mobea has a childe in the apple. Oh, the poor lamb. I'll give him a call as well. I wonder if Pitt still has that poor excuse for a bar he runs. And of course we'll want to let a few rumors reach the ears of the Tremere, and see what reaches the bottom of their totem pole. Apparently, Cypress has a connection with one of theirs. This will be most useful." The flight was as uneventful as could be expected, but delays cut Antoinette's time landside shorter than she expected. "Oh well. I can start tomorrow night."

-

Annie Deltain was not unknown to the elders of New York, so dropping by someplace like Pitt's on her first night out would have been unwise, as it was the best way to ensure the spread of gossip. 'Pitt's Place', a dive even by the standards of the undead. It did, however, allow for connections to be made and gossip to be uncovered since it was a well known night spot. Pitt even had decent blood on tap. No, she'd wait a bit before dropping in on him. Instead, she found a nice quiet bench to begin making her calls. The first on the list was this Ethan Cypress fellow.

Antoinette took a few minutes to compose herself for the call. She was not fond of acting like a brainless bimbo, but she knew, from time to time, some things were simply necessary. She smiled widely as she finished dialing to remind herself of her current role.

"Hello, Ethan Cypress? My name is Annie, and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions. I'm new in town and your name came up as someone who could bring me up to speed on a few points." She grimaced when she heard herself speaking like this. 'The damn Torrie had better just fall for it,' she thought to herself.

"What points would those be?" 'Well at least he's cautious,' she noted. 'He has a nice voice, too. He's been taught well. I wonder who his sire is…'

"Well, you're a Torrie, aren't you?" That ought to throw him off guard.

"Pardon?!"

"You're a Toreador, right? It's okay, you can tell me."

"Umm… I don't know what you're referring to. I'm sorry, who did you say you were?"

"Oh, you can be honest with me, Ethan." Antoinette was getting concerned that he might actually have a decent head on his shoulders. "It's just that I'm new in town, what with the Sabbat just leaving and all." 'Take the bait, dammit!'

"That's not a subject I can talk about over the phone." Annie grinned. "If you'd like to meet in person…" She grinned wider.

"Thank you Ethan, I'll consider the offer." Click. Antoinette slumped into the bench as she dialed another number. His interest had been piqued enough, but she didn't know if she could trust him not to be too paranoid. "Bichoff?"

"Yes, mistress?" Attentive as always, she thought to herself.

"Bichoff, what else do we know about Ethan Cypress?"

"Cypress, madam?"

"Yes, check the file you created for New York. Under 'recent embrace'." She waited while her favored ghoul searched his computer.

"Ethan Cypress," he read. "Athlete, socialite, recently embraced for the effort to oust the Sabbat from New York. His sire is Sophia Gagnon."

'Sophia!' "Well, I'll be damned…"

"Indeed you may, mistress. Is there anything else?"

"Not at the moment, but stay by the phone. I'll be calling later tonight." She didn't like being a bitch to Bichoff, but she couldn't very well let him get away with that last remark.

Antoinette hung up the phone, and tried to remember everything she could about Sophia Gagnon. 'Usually from New York, Sophia left the city when the Sabbat invaded. A Toreador whose opinion of the Masquerade was "hide in the last place the humans will look: under the spotlights of the stage." An accomplished actress in her own right, Sophia was, however, quite a twit. But she could get away with it, and that was probably the most annoying thing about her. When she left New York, Sophia decided that the London stage was the next best thing.' Antoinette recalled a number of exchanges between the two of them, and realized that there was probably something she needed to get that ninny back for after all of the arguments they'd had. "Guess I'll be paying at least one of them a visit." And if she played her cards right, she mused, 'I might even be able to get to "licks" with one stake.'

Later that night found Antoinette in a taxi-cab, once again on her phone and en route to what would hopefully be the last New Year's Eve party she had to attend before morning. "Bichoff?" She had a great deal to cover with her most loyal ghoul.

"Yes Ma'am?"

"I have another search for you to work on. I happened to see young Alice earlier this evening. Minus an arm. Find out what happened. Find out how bad the casualties from the war against the Sabbat are."

"Yes, Ma'am. Anything else? Has your evening been as productive as you had hoped?"

"More or less, Bichoff. I managed to get a hold of Mobea's new childe earlier on. His name is Christian Parker. She chose him well; stubborn, short tempered, and a true-blue mercenary. He'll prove most useful."

"I shall make a note of it, madam. Is there anything to add to the Ethan Cypress file?"

"For the file?" She smiled, and remembered her second conversation with the neonate. "Nothing to add to the file. I contacted him again after I spoke with you, and got him to invite me to a silly party being thrown by the youngest groups in the city."

"And are you going?"

"Already went, old man. And I wasn't the only old crone who crashed it, either. That's where I saw poor Alice." It was such a pathetic sight. Alice was not nearly as old as Antoinette, but she had earned enormous respect in the Camarilla for her combat prowess. And now someone could probably get away with calling her 'Lefty.' That is, of course, if that someone could run quite fast and had a head start of at least a continent. "Actually, I also saw Pitt at that same party. I knew better than to openly express my presence there, but I couldn't resist letting him feel me. The shiver that went down his spine was positively human."

Bichoff waited a few seconds while his regent's laughter subsided. "And you are currently going to another of these parties?"

"Not quite. This is more or less the 'grownups' party. I hope to run into some old friends."

"I'm quite sure you do, madam. Enjoy the evening."

-

The penthouse Annie was ushered into could only have been the playground of a Toreador. Antique wall hangings, art-deco pieces strewn around the room on various horizontal surfaces, and an assortment of colors and shades that would have made Crayola proud. She knew exactly whom she was there to see, and so ignored all attempts at conversation made by the others present.

Sophia Gagnon, star of the stage, artiste and pander to the greats, and poseur extrordinaire was engaged in conversation at the moment of Antoinette's entrance, but knew better than to allow herself to be interrupted, and so launched into dialogue with the newest of the arrivals.

"Annie, dear! How have you been? It's been positively ages."

"With good reason, Sophia. I'm quite well. And you?"

The conversation continued on much the same strained etiquette for another few minutes before Antoinette got what she needed. "So the gentleman over there is an Abbot with the Tremere?"

"No, his name is Abbot, and he is one of the more publicly influential Tremere in the city - but knowing them, who knows how important he really is."

"I'll keep that in mind. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to have a word with yonder Tremere." She smiled as she felt her blood focus ever so slightly. Sophia smiled awkwardly, and looked around her. Puzzled, she walked off, uncertain why she wanted to be where her friend Annie wasn't, or what the two of them had been talking about at all.

Antoinette made a bee-line for the Tremere. "Abbot, is it?" He was a bit older than she in apparent age, but Annie would have bet her house on the Seine that he was considerably younger in reality.

"Yes? May I help you?"

"I understand you have certain knowledge of the development of vampiric rites. Scholastic pursuits are a noted hobby of mine, but I'm currently running up short, and I was wondering if you might be able to offer any hints."

"Well miss, there is very little I am at liberty to speak freely about."

"I would be willing to barter knowledge, but all I need to know is if you know of a particular word."

"Well you can tell me the word, but I may have to check…"

"The Marsil. I believe it is a new ritual. Have you heard the word?

"I think I will most definitely have to speak to my superiors about this issue. Is there a number where I can reach you if necessary?" After giving her phone number, Annie ducked out of the party.

-

Antoinette was furious. It had been nearly four full days since her visit to Sophia's New Year's Eve party and the planting of the rumors with the Tremere. And she had heard nothing. No word on the Marsil, no word on any similar intrigue, hell she wasn't even picking up any rumors that she was in the city at all. 'This will simply not do,' she decided.

"I guess it's time to make a more grand entrance." Tonight, Jan Pieterzoon, the Prince of New York City, would be holding court. "I think it would be prudent to pay old Jan a visit."

She knew she had some time before she needed to be down at the Battery. Jan and his cronies were never on time for anything. Supposedly, they did so on purpose to remind everyone just who was entitled to make who wait. She made a quick call to Bichoff to let him know of her intentions, and listened to him try to find the least offensive way of telling her that she was being an idiot. Antoinette knew that Bichoff was right. It was stupid for her of all people to walk into Jan's court just because she was being impatient, and she knew that, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to do it anyway.

When she got downtown, the Battery Park Elysium was already filled. But Jan was late as usual, so it didn't really make a difference. Annie slipped into the large open room, and took a seat against the wall so as to remain unnoticed. She took the time she had to let her sight drift around the room for a head count. Young Cypress was in attendance. As was his friend, Parker. Pitt and Alice were also milling about, and it took a great deal of effort not to tease poor Pitt again, but she managed to control herself.

After a time, the doors opened wide, and Jan entered the hall. Antoinette let her mind reach out to his. Much like a caress, she touched his thoughts. [Hey good-looking.] She knew Jan was too much of a Ventrue to let his composure be shaken at a time like this. But she also knew he was too much of a man to ignore her.

[Rude and intrusive as always, Anne.] Jan finished his progression to his throne, and sat gracefully.

[You tease.] Antoinette was now confidant she would be able to get away with communicating with the Prince in this fashion. Jan announced to the assembled vampires that there were several Kindred who would have the opportunity to request entrance to New York.

"Angel. Step forward." Jan's voice was like thunder in the room, all the while Antoinette's voice was thunder in Jan's head. [Angel gets to speak before me? Jan, you're loosing your priorities. Not only are you making me wait, but some girl goes before I do?] A young woman approached the dais where Jan sat.

She stammered before she found the courage to speak to the Prince. Antoinette wasted no time in again trying to fully occupy the Prince's thoughts. She wasn't paying attention to this girl's pathetic presentation. Fortunately, it didn't last long.

[Now Jan, you know me. I can be quite difficult. More precisely I can make things very difficult for you, dear.]

[Isn't it enough that I know to either keep you on a short leash or in a completely different kennel.]

"Antoinette Deltain." Jan wanted to get this over with as fast as possible. Annie began walking through the crowd towards the dias where Jan sat. [Why Jan, what a horrible thing to say!] She resolutely kept a smile on her face while she continued her mental assault on Jan.

[Know your place, Anne.]

"Hey Jan." She made sure he kept his eyes on her as she spoke.

[How dare you address me in my own court in such a...] Annie interrupted his thoughts.

"Prince, I do not request feeding grounds."

"Nor will you get them."

"I would not dream of taking what you have parceled out to anoth…" Now Jan cut her off in return.

"What is your business here?" [I know you all too well, Anne. What the hell are you doing in my city?]

"I am doing research, and so ask for clemency for a short time." [Don't make me make you look like a fool, Jan!]

[How dare you!] "You have a week."

"And if I should require extra time, your grace…?"

"Court will be held again in one week. You may request it then."

[You've lost the argument, Jan. Because you already know I'll be here next week.] She turned, and went back to her spot on the floor near the wall. Court continued for a bit. Antoinette made a mental note to inquire when (presumably) a Malkavian began trying to have a conversation by shouting at a young woman across the large room. After all introductions had been made, Annie leaned back and pulled out her headphones. She knew exactly who she was waiting for while she listened to a local talk radio station. She had felt Parker, Mobea's childe, take special notice when 'Antoinette' was announced. She did not have to wait long. They chatted idly for a few minutes. Annie had already planned for all of the painfully obvious questions she knew he would ask. 'What can you tell me about Mobea?' 'How is the best way to deal with her?' 'How do I survive to be as old as she is?'

Once she said her goodbyes to Parker, Antoinette left. She was already planning. 'He would be most useful. He'll aide me with my general searches, and in dealing with the Tremere. Now though,' she thought as she began dialing Bichoff's number. 'I need to find out about that Alexi fellow. He may very well have to be dealt with.' Suddenly, she realized: 'Mobea is the sometimes Primogen of the Gangrel. And I have her well trained childe wrapped 'round my little finger.'

She was still laughing to herself when Bichoff answered the phone.  
 
 

End of chapter two