(9) Come Break of Day Interlude III

Niklaus de Lucerne was having a terrible morning.

The word was that scarcely past ninth bell, the Lady Adjutrix had made a rather abrupt appearance at the Guild headquarters, brandishing a letter that reportedly caused one member of the Council to faint and another to wet his pants. Even now, amidst the chaos, there were a handful of sycophants running around vehemently denying the rumor, which told him that it was precisely what had happened.

Worse still, he had been requested by name. It was scarcely a surprise, really. He had accepted his last assignment with the express hopes that he would be remembered by someone important, and now here he was, being remembered by someone important. To think that he could have been getting sleep right now. Fate had a cruel sense of humor.

Niklaus was under no illusions as to what was happening. If the Lady herself had appeared again in the flesh, then the Magister himself may as well have been breathing down all their necks, and for something to have drawn his attention? Well, that had only happened once recently. The only question left was whether it was the same people behind it, and something told him that it was.

And now he was here in the very same headquarters, making haste to answer the summons. Niklaus glided swiftly down the hall in a wisp of smoke, passing straight through the throngs of people jamming the corridor. A rather banal use of his Talent, perhaps, but the expedience was well worth it. In the time it took a surly-looking wolf to muscle his way into an office that was just barely within arms reach, Niklaus had already made his way to the Council chambers. He coalesced before the door, adjusted himself, and entered.

Sitting alone at his seat was Councilman Garas, scratching away furiously at the parchment before him. A relief. Of all the snooty old bastards, he was perhaps the least objectionable.

"At ease. Now is not the time for formalities," he bit out tersely between scribbles. "I assume you are generally aware of the state of things."

"Yes, sir."

"Good," said Garas. "The Lady arrived today to inform us that it happened again, this time within Oaks mound itself."

Niklaus sucked in a breath. That was not good. That was very, very bad.

"The Magister's letter was, to be frank, no longer polite about his displeasure. The Lady specifically called for you to handle the investigation." The Councilman paused to peer over his spectacles at Niklaus. "It was a profound humiliation that this happened at all, and even more so that they found out before we did. It goes without saying that your performance will reflect on the Guild as a whole, so the Council has decided to give you its full support on this matter. The position of High Inquisitor has been reestablished with extraordinary and plenipotentiary power. You answer only to the Council now. Am I understood?"

Niklaus schooled his features to hide a grimace and bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Yes sir."

An object sailed towards him in a high arc, and he caught it in his left hand. In a flash, it disappeared, leaving behind only a brand on his palm. The Council's seal. How thoughtful of Garas. Niklaus inclined his head in gratitude.

The old Councilman ignored him and plowed on. "The attack occurred at a bar called 'The Bog' in the entertainment district. Find your way there with your team immediately. Brief yourself on the rest."

A storm of parchments and papers whirled around him and stuffed themselves into a folder that landed in Niklaus' hand. Garas returned to his scribbling without so much as a word, and Niklaus took that as the dismissal it was.

There was work to be done.

~~~~~~~~~

The Council's seal, he found, did wonders for making things happen. The first time one of the bean counters challenged his newfound authority, the brand lit up in a blazing fury. Niklaus watched with fascination as a tendril of magical power lashed out at the offending dissident and broke every bone in his left hand. Leaving it intact enough to mend was a far more restrained punishment than the savagery of removing the entire arm—as the Guild had a habit of doing in its early days of enforcing order—but the small mercy did little to dilute the symbolism. All those present, even those who had not witnessed first-hand the brutality it took to draw the Veil, understood clearly: to oppose this newly minted Inquisitor was to be an enemy of the Guild.

There were no more hiccups after that.

~~~~~~~~~

The first thing Niklaus noticed was the lack of a stench. Walking down the narrow street, he had been bracing himself for something truly vile after the last scene, and was pleasantly surprised to find it almost normal. Sure, the overpowering tang of blood made for an unpleasant background, but it was refreshingly mundane. For a moment, he naively hoped that it wouldn't be too bad.

The ruined remnants of the bar dashed his hopes.

The second thing Niklaus noticed was a large bear sitting in the middle of the carnage, looking unpleasantly wet and incredibly grumpy. A peculiar sight indeed. Upon seeing him, the bear turned its head back and let out a loud grunting roar towards the back of the room.

"Coming!" replied a faint voice.

As the Guild grunts behind him set up barriers and erected sun cover and shouted at bystanders who were minding their own business to disperse, Niklaus took the chance to study more of the scene. Everything was wet, but the areas high up were misted and not drenched. Glass was shattered and furniture was upturned, with no small amount of debris from broken tables and chairs. Around nine or ten bodies, some mangled beyond recognition and others largely intact. All wearing similar robes as the last group. There was blood everywhere, and while a good half of it vitae, judging by the smell, there was also actual blood mixed in. The damage was perfectly contained within the bounds of the bar.

The kitchen door slammed open and out stepped a kin with a mop of shaggy blonde hair and a wild, unhinged grin. "Well, the cavalry is right on time," he said with a thick accent that Niklaus placed as Irish. "I would invite you lot in for a drink, normally, but, well…"

The third thing Niklaus noticed was that this was no ordinary kin. He was not fooled for a moment by the man's apparent good cheer. The effortless grace with which he danced through the floor of corpses and the utter nonchalance he displayed when facing a full Guild Inquisition was plenty revealing. Had it been just the attitude, Niklaus might have written it off as ignorance or lunacy, but it was hard not to notice that for all the man before them looked disheveled, he had not a single mark on him. Not even a speck of blood.

His blunders in approaching his last case not even three days ago had bruised his ego, and Niklaus had been harshly reminded to never again underestimate anything. This man, he concluded, could likely kill everyone present except Niklaus himself. Diplomacy would be the safest way forward.

"Greetings, I am—"

"I'm sure you wouldn't mind confirming your identity," the man interrupted.

One of the lackeys, clearly still wet behind the ears, stepped forward aggressively, eager to respond to the disrespect and lose her head for it. Niklaus casually took half a step to the side, simultaneously blocking her advance and crushing her foot beneath his with a crunch that he hoped was not too conspicuous. To her credit, she managed not to make any unseemly noises as her face contorted with pain.

"By all means," Niklaus replied evenly.

"To the east sets the evening sun," the man began.

"To the west rises the morning star," Niklaus finished, filling in the other half of the nonsensical riddle he had been provided. The Magister worked in mysterious ways.

The man grinned even more broadly. "Glad to meet you, mister de Lucerne. I'm Cyrus, scion of House Fenwick and proprietor of this formerly-fine establishment," he said with a flourish and bow.

Even with his back turned, Niklaus could feel the realization rippling through the imbeciles gathered behind him. Small gasps from those who heard and understood, urgent whispers from those who hadn't. Good. A surprise now and then would keep them sharp. He inwardly congratulated himself for his foresight. It would have been quite the error to offend a scion, even of a house he had never heard of. Then he inwardly berated himself for getting too comfortable after this meager success. It would be quite the error to let such a small victory get to his head.

Diplomacy had served well thus far, so he decided to continue with it for now. "I was told there would be another Guild-assigned official here?"

"Lad's in the basement," Cyrus laughed. "Wants nothin' to do with the corpses and cadavers, he says. Funny for a clean-up boy."

Niklaus smiled politely at the unfunny joke before steering the conversation towards more productive activities. "Before my team and I enter, could you perhaps briefly describe the events to us?"

Cyrus seemed to light up. "Oh, now it's funny you should ask. See, just last night I was just betting wi—"

The bear let out a disgruntled roar.

"Right, right, my bad," Cyrus backpedaled. "Mr. Inquisitor, I present to you: a live captive! Tada!"

The bear stood up and shifted into an equally mountainous man, revealing an unconscious vampire that Cyrus unceremoniously picked up and dragged over. Niklaus barked a few orders to look inspiring, mostly content to let Jackson tell the other grunts where to stash the person of interest. Someone to interrogate. Now that made things so much more interesting.

Even more so, it confirmed that whoever this Cyrus of Fenwick was, he was no pushover. Even if he had help from the Magister's godson, being able to take a live captive was still a cut above simply butchering the attackers en masse. Niklaus decided to show the appropriate gratitude to cover his bases. "We appreciate your foresight in this matter. This will greatly aid investigations, I'm sure."

Cyrus shrugged. "Can't take credit for that. See, Cal was pissed. Hell, I thought he was about to start quoting that Singaporean guy about how 'one death is too kind' or something, you know?. Say, you wouldn't happen to have tried heroin before, would you?"

Niklaus was saved from answering the baffling query by the big bear shifter.

"Ignore him," he said, pointing a thumb at the scion. "Cyrus always like this after going too hard. He is right now without self control. Not unlike drinking too much."

Cyrus dramatically pantomimed being wounded. "Why, Sasha, what betrayal! Et tu, Brute? Heh, brute, get it?"

Sasha ignored Cyrus' antics and addressed Niklaus. "Our man went outside to go home and saw them on roof. We think they saw him too and know he saw them, so when he comes back, they enter and attack. They use a very quiet fog, but Cyrus kill many of them because of that. Then we kill rest of them and take that one alive. Overall, it was not too bad. We had to use sprinkler after they were smart and put away the fog, but was mostly smooth sailing I think. Lee is in basement, if you want to speak. Once Cyrus stop being weird he can explain better."

This Sasha—was it really so common nowadays for men to adopt such feminine names?—was certainly another one to watch out for. He was far more adept at hiding his wits than the Fenwick. Even now, Niklaus was not entirely certain of how wily this shifter actually was, but there was no denying that the gruff manner and poor English were deliberately cultivated distractions. Those beady eyes saw everything. Even now, they casually passed over his team as though assessing their numbers and strength before settling on his eyes, boring into him as though to say "I know you know."

In fact, Niklaus was beginning to see why the Magister's godson had chosen to hide away here, and why today's bloodbath had been so favorably one-sided kind.

Niklaus feigned artificial cheer. "Wonderful. Thank you for your account, mister… I don't believe I got your name?"

"Aleksandr Mikhailovich Mishchenko," Sasha graveled. "You can do thing now," he grunted, gesturing around at the ruined bar and dragging Cyrus out of the way.

Now that was a much more sensible name, although it explained nothing about why he was called "Sasha." Must have been a beast thing.

"Very well. Jack, take a few up the nearby buildings to prep the sites, we'll have them pointed out later. The rest of you, cameras only for now," he ordered. "I shall enter first." With all eyes on him, Niklaus stepped forward, reducing his form once more to nothing but a ghostly mist. His thoughts cooled and sharpened, and the world came into focus.

The fourth thing Niklaus noticed was the shape of the carnage. He drifted through the bar, taking a large lap around to survey everything. Save for a dramatically smashed portion of the storefront, much of the outer half of the bar was untouched. Plenty of furniture had been smashed into the intruders, certainly, but he saw only one narrow trail of destruction that ended in a large robed corpse, and even that one led away from the chaos ahead. Similarly, nothing passed the threshold of the kitchen door. The violence was contained narrowly around the center of the bar and near counter. The attackers were in a wild fray deep in unfamiliar territory. That meant they were on the offense, likely after something or someone. That meant they fought to the last and never routed. That meant that none of the defenders had even considered fleeing either. Something about the situation smacked of desperation on both sides. When was the last time he had witnessed conflict that nobody tried to escape from?

In fact, not even those bitter house feuds were like this. Perhaps some members of the houses feared disgrace more than death, but Niklaus knew deep in his bones that most would rather live. Flee, hide, become a Vagrant, anything to live. Hadn't so many become kin to escape death in the first place?

The more he considered it, the more it disturbed him. These robed attackers had been slaughtered to the last both times, first by the Magister's godson alone, and this time by him and his allies. Had these assassins merely been blindsided? Niklaus glanced outside at the scene of Cyrus joking around trying to make some of his younger subordinates laugh, while Aleksandr played dumb in the back. He could certainly see how a lesser mind could have been fooled by the act, but could a lesser mind have really been behind both these attacks? Making it this deep into Oaks mound wasn't necessarily challenging per se, given how much Security had been hollowed out by the parasites in Allocations, but it was certainly still beyond the capacity of an imbecile who would fall for such an elementary deception. They were unlikely to have been fooled for long.

He shook his head, dispelling his bewilderment. The puzzling motive could wait. For now, he would chalk it up to fanaticism of some sort. An unsatisfying answer, and one that he intended to discuss with the Lady as soon as possible. Something told him that she would appreciate the insight where the Council would only see paranoia in the way of a clean resolution.

Niklaus continued to drift about the scene, ducking under the occasional recording spell as he took in the details. Several bodies bore the handiwork of the Magister's godson, with those clean, simple wounds that either lightly disabled or instantly killed. The scene appeared in his mind: a powerful and enraged youngling trying his best to take live captives before snapping in frustration. Something about the simple brutality of it unnerved Niklaus in a way it shouldn't have, but try as he might, he could not recall why. The thought was vexingly out of reach.

Several other bodies were torn beyond recognition. He spared a glance at the bear shifter, who, surely enough, was keeping a keen eye on him. Definitely that one's doing. He could practically see the way the massive bear had mauled the assassins, savaging them with beastly ruthlessness. Thankfully, only a handful of cadavers were utterly ruined.

Most of the remainder were killed in an eclectic assortment of ways. Bludgeoned with a table. Head torn off. Pummeled to a pulp. No doubt the work of that eccentric Fenwick and his brand of madness. He was oddly easy to make sense of, for someone who made absolutely no sense.

And speaking of strange things, what was it that the bear had said? Something about fog and sprinklers? That would be worth asking more about. Rude as it was to inquire too deeply into another kin's Talents, it was far too intertwined with the case to ignore.

Niklaus decided to investigate the most concrete details first before asking. It would do no harm to have a guess in mind. If the shattered glass and scorch marks on the floor were anything to go by, an improvised fire had been the desperate move used to call down the sprinklers and create cover. Thus, if the assassins had, as the bear described it, used a "quiet fog," then the sprinkler mist was unlikely to be a smokescreen for foiling the assassins' Talents. It stood to reason, then, that the mist was needed to enable the scion's own. But what was it? The non-uniformity of his kills eliminated the prospect of a singular, specialized ability, and the physical nature of all the wounds disqualified all of the more esoteric possibilities. Shaping the fog to act on his behalf? It would explain the attacks on the assassins' rear, but he would have been mobbed even with the other two running interference. Hallucinations to turn them on each other? Plausible, but rare, not to mention the fact that the Fenwick moved with a kind of grace and confidence that didn't fit that kind of cowardly ability. A vestment of raw power, Niklaus decided, and no small one if it warranted blinding his allies.

A valuable insight to have. Niklaus made a conscious effort to remember, lest he learn it again the hard way: Cyrus Fenwick was not to be challenged on his chosen battlefield. Ever.

Having covered more or less all of the bar, Niklaus waved at a few of the nearest grunts to move in and begin recording close-ups of everything. It was time to examine the next room. As the handful of lackeys trickled in, he drifted his way through the doors of the kitchen.

The fifth thing Niklaus noticed was a body unlike any of the others. It was, by all accounts, unremarkable, sprawled awkwardly on the ground in the way that tended to be forgotten, which made it remarkable by the very nature of the circumstances. It was the lack of immediately obvious wounds that set it apart. He leaned down, so close his nose would have touched the corpse if he were solid, and examined the body closer.

The first thing to catch his eye was a thin, clean slit along its throat. Now that was interesting. None of the other three savages killed with this kind of finesse. With precision in mind, it was trivial to spot the razor-thin cuts littered about the limbs and torso, severing every major artery, tendon, and ligament. Peering underneath, he saw the tell-tale sign of a stake wound on the heart, confirming his suspicions. There was a seasoned killer here as well. Niklaus was confident that upon inspecting the body later, he would also find the eyes punctured, lungs collapsed, and the vocal cords severed.

Niklaus could see the scene in his mind's eye. However the assassin ended up over here was unclear—perhaps thrown over in the fray—but as soon as he stumbled into this room, it was over. Before he could even look up, a burning line was drawn across his throat, spilling out his vitae and silencing his voice. His head snapped up, eyes searching wildly, only to be met with another clean slash that brought utter darkness. His eyes burned with pain, weeping yet more vitae. Before he could even begin to think, to act, two quick thrusts in the back drove the breath from his lungs and the strength from his limbs. Only then did he begin to swing wildly, but locked within his own failing body, he was helpless to resist the slashes biting into his flesh. The wounds built up faster than he could heal, and the vitae dripped out faster than he could staunch it. His left arm and leg had long stopped responding, and soon his right leg followed, like a puppet with its strings cut. Everything was on fire. For a moment, one of his eyes healed just enough for him to see the red of his own vitae and the briefest flash of steel. Then the pain blossomed and he was blind again. The stake to the heart was almost a welcome end.

Niklaus shook off the vividly uncomfortable thought, suppressing a shudder. Yes, this was the work of a very seasoned killer, one used to fighting a superior foe from a marked disadvantage. Likely a human, then. He sifted through the possibilities. Beasts had the vitality to muscle through with brute force, other kin had the powers of their blood, any succubus still alive would have given her spare heart for some time alone with a potential thrall, fae trickery was far more insidious and vile, and nothing else was likely to be found in Oaks. Definitely a human.

He righted himself, peering down the ominously dim staircase nearby. This was perhaps the closest Niklaus had been to being rattled after stepping into that blood-soaked room not three days ago. It was not a good feeling, after living so long with only one distant fear in the world.

He sighed and floated down into the basement.

~~~~~~~~~

Anatalia flexed her foot, testing it out. It had healed wrong after being crushed underfoot by the High Inquisitor, and she had been forced to break it again on a nearby barrier so that it would mend properly. Twice.

And, angry as she was, she couldn't even complain, not that anyone would listen. Not only was the Inquisitor empowered with the full authority of the Council, but he had, according to the other bloodsuckers, saved her from offending someone pretty important. She had never heard of a vampire clan by the name of Fenwick, but she had a vague idea that the leeches took their absurd ideas about bloodlines pretty seriously. A temporarily broken foot was a small price to pay, all things considered.

It didn't make her any less mad though.

She sighed deeply. Too many things were getting under her skin. This place was far too warm, the buildings too tall, she missed being able to run freely, the food tasted weird, some of the leeches in the office kept trying to mooch some of her blood, and always staying in human form was really starting to wear on her. Worst of all, she couldn't blow off steam by slugging it out with her brothers until she was too bloody to remember what she was pissed about. Anatalia looked at the bear with envy.

Then he looked directly at her, as if he had felt her gaze.

She shot him a toothy grin, surreptitiously nudging her form the other way for the briefest of moments to flash her fangs. To her surprise, he returned a solemn nod and a brief ripple of fur and muscle in greeting.

What the hell. Might as well.

It was easy sliding through the crowd. Like her, most of the hired muscle had no idea what they were supposed to be doing while the Inquisitor inquired and his lackeys snapped photos, and a good few were listening to the bar's owner being interviewed. Or rather, they were listening to his uproarious digressions.

Anatalia circled around the gathering until she was standing next to the the giant bear man, who watched over the scene with arms folded, like some great guardian statue. She snuck a discreet glance at him, quietly admiring those arms that were nearly as thick as her thigh, before quickly looking away.

"So… Алекс?" she tried.

"Саша," he rumbled in a pleasing bass.

Now she was glad she had paid at least some attention to her father's lessons. <So… how are you, Sasha?>

He glanced down with a glint of what she thought was amusement. <Hungry.> he grunted.

Anatalia nodded sympathetically. She could smell his scent all over the scene, and she wagered that a good half the bloodstains were his, if not more. No doubt he was ravenous after a good scrap like that.

<I'm supposed to be doing something useful, so if you could explain what happened?> she asked.

Sasha scratched his beard thoughtfully, silently composing his thoughts before speaking. <Cal is a vampire who works here as the daytime delivery guy, mainly for Cyrus, but also occasionally for some of the other businesses around here. He came in two days ago with the girl he is courting, because they had been attacked in their home by vampires in strange robes.> He gestured pointedly at the robed corpses littering the bar.

Anatalia whistled. <Twice in two days? Is that why the Guild is scrambling? We weren't really briefed on anything in particular.>

Sasha shook his head. <That is plainly not the problem. The problem is that his girlfriend is an ordinary human who got attacked as well.>

It took a few seconds for the word to register. Anatalia whipped around in shock, staring into his stoic countenance. <Ordinary!?> she hissed. "Mundane!?"

Sasha nodded gravely.

<Fuck!> she cursed. No wonder the Council had gone and shat out a High Inquisitor out of nowhere. If a mundane human was roped into this business then it was the perfect time for the Guild to flex its muscles.

No wonder the Inquisitor hadn't shown the slightest hesitation in keeping her from fucking things up.

Just thinking about it was making her anxious. She could feel her hackles raising, so before she could do anything else to embarrass herself, Anatalia turned and punched one of the concrete barriers as hard as she could. Pain lanced up her arm, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the snap of the impact breaking her knuckles and then the clicks and pops as they mended themselves. That always calmed her.

Although, on second thought, this definitely counted as doing something that would embarrass herself. Thankfully, Cyrus had said something particularly funny at the same time, and the laughter drew away any strange looks that might have been pointed her way. She really didn't feel like explaining to non-beasts why this helped. The visceral experience of being ok after breaking everything was not a feeling she could put into words.

Anatalia was glad that Sasha seemed to understand, remaining silent as she scooted back over after her little outburst.

<We closed up a bit later than usual today,> he continued. <Busy night. Lee, our chef, finished up and left to go home. I was feeding Cyrus so I didn't pay much attention when he left, but he came back very urgently a little while later. He said he spotted those guys on a nearby roof and Cal went ballistic. The humans hid in the basement and we had a few minutes to mount our defense. Cyrus did some talking before the fighting happened, then we killed them.>

<Wow. That sounds…> Anatalia quickly stopped herself before she could say that his friends being attacked it was "exciting." <So, do you have any guesses as to why your friend Cal is being targeted?>

<I have thought about it,> rumbled Sasha. <He's a good day shift guy, which is nice, but not that special. I know he's cagey about his bloodline, since Cyrus keeps trying to wheedle that out of him, so my guess is that he's a scion and has enemies. Your boss should ask Cyrus when he settles down again.>

Anatalia made a note to bring it up, if he didn't try to smite her at the first opportunity. Rumor had it that he had put one of the pissy little accountants into the infirmary as soon as he took office, and as much as she admired that, she had no desire to be on the wrong end of the smiting.

<By the way, what is this 'scion' thing anyway?> she asked.

Sasha turned and looked her up and down, sizing her up. "Морозовская земля?"

Anatalia shook her head. <Only my dad. He did take us back every winter though, and he'd never shut up about how he grew up. You from there too?>

Sasha nodded. <Did your father speak of the shamans?>

He shrugged. <More or less.>

Anatalia groaned. <Damn it. I just got this job too.>

<Better ask me more questions,> chuckled Sasha. <If you look useful enough, he might not realize it was you. Or care.>

She perked up. <You think I've still got a chance?>

He nodded encouragingly.

<So how did the fight go down?> she asked, only partially to satisfy her own curiosity.

Anatalia nodded along. Unrefined roars didn't carry nearly as far as proper howling, but she could imagine that a bear deep in the fury of battle probably could have still left many an ear ringing in a sizeable radius. Especially one so large and muscular and—

<Additionally, they had some interesting Talents amongst them,> Sasha continued, shaking her out of her unprofessional thoughts. <One of them poisoned me with a bite, and it was a very noxious venom. I wager it's invariably lethal for humans and weaker vampires, maybe even younger beasts. Also, Cyrus rambled after the fight about some of the others, and I picked up that the leader had something very dangerous based on touch.>

<Those sound like a little more than just talents,> she snorted.

<Not talents, Talents,> Sasha corrected. <It's a vampire thing. Blood powers, like your boss did when he turned to smoke.>

<Ah.> Her inexperience was showing again. <We didn't have any of them around, growing up in the taigas, although Dad did tell a lot of stories to scare us. Mom always said that they were mosquitos or leeches or bats.>

<I wish,> Sasha snorted. <If they were, they wouldn't drink so much.>

The gears turned in her mind and Anatalia recalled… <You said something about feeding Cyrus earlier?>

He nodded. <Yes, blood. Healing comes with many applications beyond brawling. It's not the worst career choice,> Sasha said with a slight, knowing smirk.

<Ewww.> Anatalia made a face. Although, if it meant she could make a quick buck under the table by feeding some of her colleagues, then she wasn't entirely opposed to the idea.

Sasha chuckled at her expression. <The other thing that was unusual was their coordination. They moved together like a well-oiled machine, yet were not commanded aloud. Even when they left the fog, they were dead silent. I have never seen anything like it, not even in the most tight-knit wolf packs.>

Anatalia ignored the small surge of pride when he mentioned her kind and instead focused on his observation. It sounded like something very much worth reporting. <I will definitely pass that on. Thanks.>

Sasha grunted. Maybe she was crazy, but Anatalia felt like she was getting a feel for his different grunts. This one felt distinctly friendly.

<So… how do you blow off steam around here?> she asked, hazarding a less relevant question.

Anatalia could have sworn the corner of his mouth twitched upward for a moment.

~~~~~~~~~

The first room had been unremarkable and the second one vexed him.

Rows and rows of barrels, crates, and boxes sat in a fairly neat arrangement, save one corner, which was in utter disarray. A quick inspection revealed that there were drag marks on the ground in only one direction. It was obvious that the barrels nearby had been pushed into place to form a discreet little alcove and then lifted away later. A hiding place, made by someone weak and then later disassembled by someone strong. If a human was doing heavy lifting despite there being two kin and one beast in the shop, then that meant the situation was desperate. Niklaus could imagine the others mounting a defense above while one human tucked away the other.

In fact, he would have confidently concluded that the girl had been hidden here, if not for two stumbling blocks. The first was the slit on the ground, which looked suspiciously like something left by a knife. The kind of wickedly sharp masterwork blade that an assassin might use to butcher a vampire.

The second was the rather uncomfortable admission that try as he might, Niklaus could not find any trace of another person. Were it not for the insistence of everyone that there was another employee, he would have never guessed from the scene alone. So where had the assassin on their side been hiding? The mark on the ground was an undeniable link, yet there was no way a human could have vivisected a vampire in the kitchen from behind the barrels in the basement. But if not here, then where? If Niklaus assumed that it had been the girl here, then that left this mysterious "Lee" entirely unaccounted for. If he assumed that the human assassin had instead hidden here, then he was left with no explanation for how the intruder in the kitchen had been killed.

An infuriating dilemma.

Niklaus took a moment to master his emotions. Diplomacy had worked well thus far, and the occupants of the pub had been eminently reasonable despite being incredibly dangerous. Friendly, even. There was no reason to assume that the last one was any different.

He steeled his resolve and floated into the last room.

Niklaus was not surprised by the Guild official rattling off instructions through a portal. There were only a few ways the Lady could have escorted those two away, and this was certainly the quickest and safest. He took a moment to admire the Magister's elegant stroke of brilliance. In a single stroke, he had extricated the two victims under the guise of lending the Guild a hand, thus putting the Council firmly in his debt. Moreover, it was a vicious backhand: he was openly doubting the Guild's competence. The message was painfully clear. Today, polite displeasure delivered by the Lady. Next time? Likely something significantly less polite delivered by the Magister himself.

No, the portal was expected. What surprised Niklaus was the man sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the bed, meditating serenely with his eyes closed. More precisely, what surprised him was how slight and how… plain Lee looked. He was an Oriental of some variety, with scarcely any remarkable features beyond his slightly large ears. He was concerningly forgettable, even compared to the otherwise featureless little room.

Niklaus tentatively coalesced back into his physical form, ready to fade again at any moment. The Guild liaison glanced at him and politely nodded before returning to his conversation, and Lee did not react at all.

Well, talking had worked so far. Niklaus cleared his throat. "A moment of your time please, mister Lee?" he asked diplomatically.

The man opened his weary eyes and stood with visible effort. "Of course, investigator."

Niklaus did not remove his eyes from the human for an instant. "I was told by your colleague that you were the one to spot the intruders on the rooftops?" he asked, plastering on his professional smile once more.

Lee nodded subtly. "That is accurate. I saw them about thirty paces after leaving. Normally, I would have assumed them a gang of Vagrant hooligans or perhaps some mages up to petty mischief, but Calaf vividly described to us the attackers he encountered previously. In hindsight, I rather regret my decision."

Niklaus couldn't restrain his eyebrows from rising slightly in surprise. "And if I may inquire as to why?"

Lee sighed heavily. "I pretended to have forgotten something, and not particularly convincingly, it seems. Cyrus engaged them in conversation before the fight broke out in order to fish for information, and I listened in a little. In short, they had no particular knowledge of Calaf and Dawn, and were after me. I believe that my urgency was what led them to us. Had I walked on indifferently and feigned ignorance, they may well have moved on, but as it stood, they must have realized I knew something."

He could see it: the band of intruders scouting the mound, suddenly spotting a human who saw them and turned around a little too quickly. Niklaus schooled his features to contain his excitement. If this information was reliable—which would be easily corroborated by the Fenwick scion as soon as he was fit to give a statement—then implications were profound.

It meant that the mysterious organization they were facing didn't have intel on the Magister's godson, or at least they didn't know what he looked like. With the two of them secluded in God-knows-where, their safety was doubly guaranteed.

It meant that they were reacting rather than acting. That made sense; after all, the previous group of assassins had been slaughtered wholesale with nary a survivor to identify their target. The forces that Lee spotted were likely searching for any clue at all, given that they didn't seem to have a victim or destination in mind.

It meant that they were desperate. Acting on poor intel mere days after the first attack? That was not the mark of confidence.

It meant that they might not have even been targeting the pair specifically. It was entirely plausible that they were simply inclined to silence witnesses in general; after all, Niklaus had never heard of such an organization even though he regularly bribed Security for intel. That would make these two attacks botch jobs, not direct assassinations.

It meant that the oddities of the last crime scene were starting to look a lot more relevant. Niklaus recalled the neat footprints and high degree of coordination he had observed, combined with the amateurish attack itself. Whatever this group was, it did not have the expertise, experience, or intelligence network of proper hired killers. This was looking less and less like a hit job.

It was also starting to look more and more like a headache. When he had walked in, he was looking for a group of assassins with a definite motive, well-informed intel, and a clear objective. Now, he was investigating a collective of some uncertain nature with unknown motives, possibly incomplete knowledge, and a strange mode of operation with no discernable doctrine.

It wasn't every day that he walked out of a crime scene knowing less than when he entered.

Niklaus resisted the urge to sigh, and instead unfurrowed his brow, smiling tightly at Lee. "I appreciate the contribution. It has offered valuable insight. Now, if you could spare another moment to point out to my men where exactly you spotted the attackers?"

Lee nodded his assent, and Niklaus made sure to carefully maneuver himself to both lead the way and keep the man in his line of sight at all times. As they began slowly walking, he decided to probe Lee with some small talk.

"So, you were the one who hid the girl?" he asked, gesturing vaguely at the displaced barrels.

"Indeed I was," Lee replied serenely. "Your eyes see much, detective."

"And miss much as well. I could not possibly imagine, for instance, where another person would hide."

And so the dance began.

Lee considered him for a long moment. "Just out of sight, I would guess," he responded evenly.

Clever. Niklaus mulled over the answer and how to proceed as they made their way up the stairs in silence. He slowed down as he approached the corpse in the kitchen. "And here, I couldn't possibly imagine what befell this poor fellow," he prodded, gesturing at the body.

Lee made a show of looking at the eviscerated cadaver. "Quite the accident, it would appear. Grave misfortune, perhaps. I wouldn't expect it to happen again."

Niklaus loosed a small breath in relief before continuing obliquely. "I just simply can't imagine it happened out of nowhere," he mused, looking Lee up and down. "I wonder how it came to be."

"Certainly not out of nowhere," Lee responded without missing a beat. "Though how, I couldn't say for sure."

"I suppose not," Niklaus sighed. "But of course, this is all just my imagination."

"A vivid one," Lee agreed.

And so silence fell once more.

Were he still a mortal, Niklaus would have inwardly remarked that the conversation had taken years off his life. For so long had he pined for an intellectual equal, and now that fate had delivered, he found himself rather sick of all the polite double-meanings, veiled threats, and verbal jockeying. If someone had told him some six-and-a-half centuries ago that he would eventually tire of the aristocratic ways, he would have avoided drinking their blood for fear the idiocy was infectious, yet here he was. Fate had a sadistic sense of humor.

Stepping through the kitchen doors, Niklaus glanced down at the mangled bodies littering the floor, a still-warm warning against kicking the hornet's nest that he had stumbled into.

~~~~~~~~~

The moment Niklaus stepped out into view, there was a distinct shift in the atmosphere. Conversations were abruptly ended and laughter was cut short. People scrambled to look busy.

Dimwits.

He absently handed Lee off to some faceless nobody with instructions to have him help Jackson's team trace the assassin's movement. Niklaus could see that Cyrus was still giddily raving away to anyone who would listen, clearly in no state to answer his questions. He was somewhat glad that it would have to wait. There was more than enough to think about already.

Through the din of the chatter, an unfamiliar sound snuck into his ear, and Niklaus perked up. A language he didn't speak, in the gravelly voice of none other than the bear shifter. He impatiently faded through the crowd until he emerged to the sight of a tomboyish young woman speaking animatedly with the large beast. As expected, Aleksandr noticed him immediately, and the young woman not at all. Niklaus watched for a few more moment before materializing directly before the pair. It took her another two beats to notice his sudden presence.

"BLYAT!!"

She jumped high enough that she was nearly eye level with Aleskandr, and Niklaus allowed himself a small smile of amusement.

"I presume you've found a kindred spirit, Mr. Mishchenko?" he asked calmly.

Aleksandr grunted. "Yes. She speaks my language, so I talked and explained better to her than to you like this."

Niklaus turned his attention to this unexpected windfall, who stood there steadying her pounding heart. After the intensity of today's events, she was delightfully easy to read. Even startled, she had snapped to the open stance of someone willing to take a blow to deliver a blow. No fangs, pallor, or aversion to the sun. A suspicious resemblance to the woman whose foot he had shattered earlier. Someone who could heal quickly. Likely also a beast, if she had managed to crack open the bear's tough exterior; he didn't seem the type to be easily swayed by a succubus' tricks. Youthful in appearance and lacking in experience, likely new to the job and probably this part of the world. Defaulted to a slightly crouched, open-mouthed position in a moment of panic, with a vicious snarling scowl. Definitely a quadrupedal carnivore. The tricky part would normally be figuring out which, but if her echoing shout was any indication, it was a loud one. If she spoke the bear's tongue, then she was likely from those frigid eastern wastes, which left only a few possibilities. She didn't look nearly stocky enough to resemble Aleksandr and was far too light on her feet, so likely not a bear. Seeking out company in an unfamiliar place suggested the very social type, so likely not a tiger. A wolf, then.

He chuckled to himself as she quickly adjusted herself and tried, with the typical clumsiness of a beast, to look as presentable as possible. If he was reading those twitches correctly, she was trying her best to remember how civilized people suborned themselves to hierarchy without using the animalistic cues of the wolf. An admirable effort for one so young, he admitted. Niklaus decided to take it easy on her; there was no sense in losing a translator, however undisciplined.

"I didn't quite catch your name earlier," he said with a small smile, watching her face color with embarrassment.

"Anatalia Volkov, sir!" she replied with too much enthusiasm.

Aleksandr grumbled something beside her, and she flinched a little.

"Errr, Anatalia Maksimovna Volkova," she corrected, practically drooping after being chided.

Overcompensating and eager-to-please, Niklaus observed. Eager to make a good second impression in hopes of erasing the first. He could work with that.

"Well, Anatalia, let's hear it."

She perked up eagerly, and her face scrunched up for a moment in concentration as she recalled whatever she had learned. "Ok, so Sasha here said a lot. One of the big ones was the way the attackers worked together. They had this insanely uncanny cooperation but they weren't yelling commands or anything obvious. Apparently they coordinated better than even a pack of wolves—"

"Which I presume you judge to be very impressive and unusual, being one yourself?" he interrupted.

Anatalia blinked at him in surprise. "I, uh… yes? I think so? That's not normal for vampires, right?"

"Certainly not," Niklaus nodded. He directed his next question to Aleksandr. "From what you saw, do you believe they could march silently in perfect synchronization?"

"Easily," he nodded.

"Very well. You may continue."

Anatalia stumbled over her words a little before picking up momentum again. "And, uh… so the… Right! Sasha also said that they had some weird blood powers that were worth knowing about. One of them had a poisonous bite that knocked him onto his ass for a few seconds and would probably kill humans."

Niklaus silently nodded, noting the unusual potency of the venom.

"Also, according to Cyrus, the one that looked like a leader could do something really bad if he touched you, but we aren't sure what exactly."

Between the venom and the possibility of another contact-based threat, it looked like he had enough reason to call for more mages to handle and contain the bodies. In theory, he had more than enough authority at the moment to do it anyway, but Niklaus had no desire to deal with the lingering resentment that would surely result from strong-arming resources. Threats like these were the excuse he needed. He paused her briefly while he ordered a one of the nearby lackeys to disseminate instructions to avoid touching the bodies and another one to fetch Guild mages for hazard containment.

"Another weird part was the fog. He says he's not sure what it is, but the fogbank they brought with them could suppress noise and might have even blotted out his roar. He suggested we go and ask aro—"

Niklaus shook his head. "My briefing covered this part adequately. There was no disturbance until there suddenly was, and no report of any roaring in particular." He looked at Aleksandr. "You said they dismissed the fog after some time?"

The big man nodded.

"Then there we have it," Niklaus mused. "Portable cover and isolation. Tricky."

"As for the fight, it was basically like how Sasha described it to you the first time, although I don't think he mentioned that there was some talking before the beatdown happened," Anatalia continued.

"During which Cyrus spoke with the intruders and wrangled intel out of them."

She looked at him with a startled expression, mouth gaping and eyes bulging a little.

"D-Do you read minds, sir?" she asked nervously.

"Probably not," he answered cryptically, "but either way you should put away the unprofessional thoughts." It was fun messing with new recruits. Aleksandr' slight smirk suggested that he agreed.

Anatalia paled slightly and gulped.

"Anything else?" Niklaus asked pleasantly.

She thought for a moment, obviously shaken, absently counting things off on her fingers. "Before that, Sasha also shared some information about the guy named Cal, who he described as being tight-lipped about his bloodline and family stuff. The current guess is that he might be a scion with enemies out there who are responsible for these attacks."

Niklaus had been so wrapped up in thinking of the boy as the Magister's godson that it hadn't occurred to him to even consider that the kid could be important in other ways too. He gave the idea some thought. If Calaf was a scion, it would explain why there was so much interest in him and how he could so proficiently fend off the attacks. It would also explain why he could call upon the service of the Fenwick scion and trash the entire bar without any notable repercussions. As for pursuing a random mundane human, it was unbefitting of a scion but also fit the mold of someone used to getting their way, rules be damned. The theory was certainly plausible.

In fact, a new hypothesis was forming in his mind. Perhaps they were not assassins at all. Lack of experience and intel, assorted Talents, targeting a potential scion with important ties, and unusual aptitude in working together. The pieces were taking shape. Combined with their fanatical resolve, Niklaus was beginning to see the rather unpleasant outline of some sort of scion cult. Unfortunately, until he had more to work with, the Council probably wouldn't want to hear a word of it. In fact, they were likely looking for a scapegoat to appease the Magister at this very moment, as if that wouldn't just make him openly hostile. Niklaus resolved to seek audience the next time he made a report to the Lady, both to interview the victims firsthand and to share his theory with the one person whose opinion actually mattered.

Returning to the present, he nodded approvingly at Anatalia. It was good to see one of the Guild meatheads actually being helpful. "You are now competing with Jackson to be my favorite idiot out of this lot," he commended.

She visibly lit up at the approval. Niklaus could practically see her tail wagging.

"Do you have anything else to add, or is that all?" he asked.

"I think that should be all the important bits," she shrugged. "We did cover some other basics like series of events, relation to victims, stuff like that. Did you know that Cal worked here as the—wait, Sasha, you said daytime delivery guy? Is that normal for a vampire?"

Aleksandr answered and Anatalia asked something else, but Niklaus heard none of it. Something clicked in his mind, and he felt the cold numbness of ancient dread paralyzing his limbs. The stars aligned, and he cursed his intellect for showing him a truth he could not un-see.

The Magister's attention.

The simple and brutally effective fighting style.

The absurd physical power.

The mysterious bloodline and unknown sire.

The private tendencies.

The care for mundanes.

The indifference to the sun.

A tremor spread through him, and he quivered, whether with terror or laughter, he could no longer tell. What had once been a mere thread of madness was now a mere thread of sanity, fraying to a fiber as the waking nightmares came roaring back and the past filled his eyes and ears and nose.

Red.

Screaming.

Blood.

Nicolas Ulrich Renault Sagravé watched in terror as the Sunwalker killed every member of House Sagravé.

His mind scrambled. There were other explanations. It was a coincidence. There was no way to know for certain. It was paranoia.

Terror struck down reason. He knew—KNEW—he was right.

The panic passed slowly, and Niklaus de Lucerne realized that, at some point, he had faded without noticing.

Like a ghost.

Anatalia was gazing at his spectral form in amazement while Aleksandr stared at him with those eyes that saw everything. He didn't even care.

For the first time in seven centuries of existence, he prayed to God that he was wrong.