A Bloodstained Shadow Over Brockton Bay

The night dawns, and I rise with the moon. My sire awaits me, and together we descend into the chamber in his basement.

We’re the first to arrive at the circular, dark oak table in the darkened vault, but the others file in soon enough.

After Anna-Marie sits down, my master stands, the black robes he donned for the occasion making him cut an impressive figure. “My brothers and sisters of the Black Hand. We stand assembled once more.”

The others bow their heads, and chorus, “May Cain’s will guide us to wisdom.”

I… don’t know how to react to all of this, honestly. I just stay silent and wait for them to bring me in.

“However, we are four, where ought be five. Our Brother is fallen, and a new Kindred must rise in his place,” he continues. “My childe, Taylor Hebert, seeks to join with the Black Hand of the Sabbat, to enforce the will of this council, and to serve as the guiding hand of all Kindred-kind, and through all Kindred, the world.”

Anna-Marie rises, and says, as if she’s memorized the words, “And what deeds has this Kindred done, to be worthy of so high an honor?”

“She has slain the one named Kaiser, a parahuman warlord of this city, and in so doing, brought many parahumans to heel, seizing them from their homes and bringing them to their knees before their rightful masters,” Wiglaf answers. “Her deeds have advanced the interests of the Sabbat, and indeed, all Kindred. If there are any that would dispute that her deeds have elevated her to the Black Hand, let them say their piece!”

There is silence.

“Very well. Then let us welcome her into our pack and celebrate our brotherhood with the sacred rite of vaulderie,” and so saying, my master takes a silver knife, and, cutting into his wrist, pours his blood into a silver goblet. He waits a moment, and then passes the goblet to Anna-Marie, seated at his right hand. She takes the silver knife in front of her and repeats the process.

I look uncomfortably at the silver knife in front of my own seat, as I realize what it’s for.

Soon, however, Paul passes the goblet to me, and I take a deep breath, bring the knife to my wrist, and make the cut.

Then, after I’ve poured in my blood, I pass the goblet over to Wiglaf, completing the circle, and then begin massaging my wrist, because Jesus Christ that hurt. How do the rest of them do that so casually?

“This is our blood,” Wiglaf says solemnly, holding up the siler, blood-filled goblet. “The blood of Caine, which binds us all and has granted us life eternal. When you drink it, do so to remember our kinship.”

He drinks from the goblet, passes it to Anna-Marie. She drinks and passes it on.

I… I’m excited. And a part of me is actually disgusted with myself for being so excited to drink the blood in that goblet.

It comes into my hands, and I drink the blood left over after the others have supped upon it.

It’s… magnificent. It comes over me like the wind blowing through the leaves of a field on a sunny day, setting the shadows dancing on the ground in harmony with the soft light of the sun.

I look about the table, and I revel in the new sensation of kinship.

This… is my Pack. No. My family.

If I could still shed tears, I would weep for the beauty of it all.

I absently pass the now empty goblet to Wiglaf, who raises it up in both hands.

“We stand born anew, remade by the blood of Cain. Know, now and forevermore, that we are of one body, for we have drunk deep of the blood of all our brethren.”

“By the blood of Cain, so is it now, and so shall it be forevermore!” we cry out in unison.

There is a moment, as we bask in the conclusion of the rite, and our newfound feelings of camaraderie, in which we all remain silent.

And then Wiglaf pops open the collar of his robe with a sigh of relief. “All right, then. Now that the formalities are all concluded, time to get down to business.”

Everybody except me seems to relax.

“Oh, thank fucking God,” Anna-Marie says with a multi-rowed grin. “We finally talk like normal people again.”

“I still maintain that the manner of speech you adopt these days is far too vulgar,” Wiglaf says with a fond smile.

“Ugh, look, old man,” Anna-Marie says with an eye-roll.

“I’m only twenty-four years your senior, you know,” Wiglaf interrupts.

“Doesn’t make you any less old,” she says with a smirk. “And I change with the times. Just because things were one way back when we were still mortals doesn’t mean we get to act like it’ll stay the same forever. I adapt and overcome the changes. You would still be speaking Old Norse if you could help it.”

“Or Old English,” Wiglaf agrees with a nod. “And you still utter vulgarities far too readily.”

“I went entire centuries before discovering the word ‘fuck,’ in all its magnificent versatility,” Anna-Marie says with a smirk. “I like to make up for lost time.”

“Unbelievable. Over a thousand years old, and you’re still utterly uncultured.”

“Hey, I’m plenty cultured,” Anna-Marie says. “I went to watch that Shakespeare guy’s plays with you, remember?”

“How could I ever forget?”

“Er, could we… maybe get on with the meeting?” Paul asks.

Anna-Marie and Wiglaf blink.

“Certainly,” Wiglaf says after a moment, his face harsh and emotionless once more. “We have taken most of the Parahuman members of the Empire Eighty-Eight into captivity. Now, only Hookwolf, Alabaster, Cricket, and Stormtiger remain free. Anna? Would you be interested in killing them or bringing them to heel?”

“Of course!” she says with a grin. “I’ve been wanting to show those Viking wannabes how a real raider operates for a while now.”

“Now, then. Joseph, what did you wish to warn us about?”

Joseph sighs in relief. “The Lord, (and my new fiancé) have made clear to me the true origin of Parahumans, and parahuman powers. They are not some mutation, or even supernatural in origin. This world is currently trapped inside the reproductive cycle of two alien entities so technologically and biologically advanced that their capabilities are indistinguishable from magic. One has been killed, but the other still lives. Currently, they are using the Kine as a sort of weapons testing program, giving them access to shards of their bodies to see if they can use them creatively. However, eventually, once the powers they give out have destroyed human civilization, the remainder of the pair will destroy the Earth, and all of the other possible Earths it included in its testing range. We need to prepare for the apocalypse to come.”

I… what?

“WHAT?” I say aloud.

“The world is going to end. And we’ll need to unite it, and assemble a cohesive force to fight it,” Joseph says, deadly serious. “As a first step, I would recommend that we…”

“Ridiculous,” my master says.

“…What?”

“Utterly ridiculous,” Wiglaf says. “I can’t believe that you wasted our time with this insane tripe. Moving on, we’re going to need to eliminate or subvert the Merchants, next.”

“No!” Joseph interrupts, looking as mad as I’ve ever seen him. “You do NOT get to dismiss my God-given visions of the coming apocalypse and then go on to discuss the freaking Merchants! This is a problem we need to deal with!”

“We escaped Gehenna!” Wiglaf shouts. “We spent millennia devising the ritual, killed hundreds, and sacrificed more than any of us care to remember, fighting Kine and Kindred alike for the chance to reach this world, where we can finally rule supreme! And what’s more likely, then? That this world, the fruit of our labors, ripe and defenseless for our taking, is just as doomed to destruction as the first one? Or that the Malkavian who thinks Jesus tells him to kill babies is hallucinating again?”

Joseph stares at him, as realization seems to dawn on his face. “You can’t accept it, can you? You can’t accept the thought that, after all you’ve done, all the plots, schemes, and sacrifices, it was all for nothing. You’re still not the biggest fish in the pond. And realizing that… it would break you.”

“Watch it,” Wiglaf says, fixing him with a dangerous glare.

“So. Denying the apocalypse just so that you can continue to live in blissful ignorance while enjoying the power your schemes have brought you…” Joseph says with an ugly smirk. “Tell me, Wiglaf, how does it feel to be a Ventrue in all but clan?”

I hear a loud crack, and I can’t tell for the life of me if it was Joseph’s jaw breaking, or Wiglaf breaking the sound barrier with his fist.

Everyone besides Joseph and Wiglaf jumps back in surprise, myself include. I didn’t even see Wiglaf get out of his chair.

Wiglaf stands, seething with fury, over Joseph, who’s staring up at him, hurt and betrayed. He raises a hand, and points at the door. “Get. Out.”

Joseph, for his part, looks heartbroken, but that quickly turns into anger. “If this, this willful, self-destructive ignorance is the will of the Black Hand, the will of the Sabbat,” He rises and storms towards the door. “THEN I TAKE MY LEAVE OF BOTH!”

The doors slam behind him so hard that their hinges rattle, leaving the chamber in breathless silence.

We watch Wiglaf, who finally turns to us. “Meeting adjourned.”

And then he storms off, Anna-Marie following behind him, looking worried. Paul’s vanished by the time I look for him, and I’m left alone at the table.

And then I get up and start planning. Because, if Joseph is right on the money, then the apocalypse won’t find me unprepared.

 

I try very hard not to look at Armsmaster.

It isn’t easy, considering that he’s the one standing in front of the whiteboard, with myself and the rest of the Wards in the audience before him, but the sheer anger he’s feeling is so great it almost blinded me when I first looked at him.

Shadow Stalker files in, and Armsmaster turns to face us. “Shadow Stalker. You’re four minutes late.”

She flips him off. He grunts. Hooray for effective communication.

“Now that all Wards are present…”

I raise my hand awkwardly.

“Yes, Gallant?”

“Sir? Browbeat isn’t here.” I wince as I look at him.

He’s silent for a few moments, and I can hear his teeth grinding. “Very well. He has another thirty seconds to show up, otherwise we’re starting without him.”

Browbeat walks in and freezes as Armsmaster glares at him. “You’re late.”

“Sorry, sir. I got held up, and…” he trails off awkwardly in the face of Armsmaster’s glare. “I’ll just… sit down…”

“Very good. You’ve already wasted enough of everyone’s time with your tardiness. Avoiding further delays would be appreciated.”

“Yessir,” Browbeat says, almost seeming to shrink in on himself.

“Now that all of you are here, we can begin,” Armsmaster says, and I have no choice but to look at him.

He seethes with anger. The fiery, furious crimson flows off of him like a corona of rage. Then, with a great strain, I try to focus on what he’s actually saying, and not what he’s feeling.

“Here are the facts of the case as we are aware of them: At eight PM two days ago, the Villain who identified himself as Josephus of Cana infiltrated Brockton General. We do not have any security recordings of the infiltration, or any accounts from bystanders or hospital staff that encountered him during his infiltration. However, forensics have analyzed the body we found in the closet, identified as Dennis Garland, a nurse at the hospital who was serving as Panacea’s attendant that afternoon. By cross-referencing with the accounts of the patients she treated, Josephus killed Nurse Garland while Panacea was in a patient’s room and took his place as her assistant. He then took over leading her to the various rooms of critically injured patients, purposefully leading her into more sparsely populated areas of the hospital, where there would be no witnesses.”

I wince. I’m not entirely sure what happened to Panacea in that hospital, but something definitely happened to Vicky. Ever since, she’s acted as if she doesn’t even remember Amy.

I’m worried for her.

“Glory Girl intervened, attempting to neutralize Josephus. After that, things get hazy. We don’t know what, precisely, he did to Panacea, or why he didn’t kill her or Glory Girl.” Armsmaster’s voice hardens even further, to extent I’d thought impossible, as he continues. “But we do know what he did next. As the evacuation was beginning, he sealed off all entrances and exits to the hospital maternity ward, and then went on a killing spree. Once all is done and accounted for, we believe that he killed fifty-three civilians, twenty-four of them newborn babies.”

I…

“What the shit,” Clockblocker says, sounding serious for the first time since I met him. “I mean, who… Why would anyone do that? That’s Slaughterhouse Nine level fucked-up.”

He’s just the most vocal. Shock and horror are the most common emotions among my teammates right now. Even Sophia looks disturbed.

“An apt description,” Armsmaster says. “And, fortunately, Dragon has maintained her watch over the Slaughterhouse Nine, and believes that they have not changed their course away from Brockton Bay, although the possibility that they might come to try and recruit Josephus is still a pressing concern.”

“Are you telling me that we might have to deal with the Slaughterhouse Nine?” Aegis asks, with an undercurrent of terror to his voice no matter how hard he tries to keep his voice calm and professional.

“It is a possibility,” Armsmaster confirms, scowling so hard I’m worried he’ll break his face. “When I arrived at the scene, it was ahead of the other members of the Protectorate. I organized a cordon around Brockton General, and was contacted by an independent hero who went by Lasombra. She offered assistance, and with her as backup, I made my way into the hospital.”

“An independent?” I ask, because I need something to focus on besides the unfolding atrocity. “I haven’t heard of her.”

Something new flares up around Armsmaster. Shame, and guilt. “You most likely wouldn’t have. According to her, it was her first night out. She was Wards age.”

Vista is the one who catches onto it first. “Was?”

“Please wait, all questions will be answered at the end,” Armsmaster says. “Lasombra and I entered Brockton General, and we first encountered Panacea.” He actually winces.

“What happened to her?” I ask. “You’ve been dancing around it, but we need to know: What happened to Panacea?”

“Josephus made her second-trigger,” Armsmaster says uncomfortably.

My teammates wince, and I mimic their reaction. I never had a trigger event myself, but I know full well from my team just how horrible they are. To intentionally put someone through that…

“Or at least, a second trigger is our working theory. We haven’t ruled out some sort of Teacher-like Master/Trump effect,” Armsmaster continues. “What we do know is that she is no longer Manton-limited. She can affect herself with her powers, and, if she’s to be taken at her word, affect brains. She claims to have used these new abilities to erase Glory Girl’s memories of her.”

“I… why would she do that?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“Whatever Josephus did to her, it drove her insane. She believed that voices talked to her, considered the idea of giving Josephus’ victims a proper burial to be ‘wasting perfectly good biomass,’ and actively mauled Lasombra in an attempt to drink her blood,” Armsmaster rattles off. “She has been tentatively deemed hostile and should be contained and brought in for psychiatric treatment.”

“Is Josephus some sort of Master?” Aegis asks, almost hopefully. “If he is, then perhaps…”

“He is a Master. He is also a Thinker, a Stranger, and a Brute. And whatever he did to Panacea, it doesn’t change the fact that she needs to be restrained, both for her safety, and that of others,” Armsmaster looks around between us, and then sighs. “After our encounter with Panacea, Lasombra and I moved to engage Josephus. Lasombra made sure he didn’t escape, while I went for the kill.”

“Is there a Kill Order out against him?” I ask.

“Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time,” Armsmaster says, and nobody contests the point. “Unfortunately, just when I had him on the ropes, the rest of the Protectorate East-Northeast arrived. He employed a Stranger power to make them believe that I was him, and he was me. While the others attacked me, he used his pretense of being me to get Lasombra to help him leave the scene. We have found no trace of either of them. Lasombra is… presumed dead.” And the shame and guilt are back in full force, breaking through the seething rage.

“I…” I don’t know what to say. No wonder he’s so angry. Josephus murdered an entire maternity ward, tricked the Protectorate into attacking him, and then used Armsmaster’s own identity to lead off a teenager under Armsmaster’s protection and kill her, all while the leader of the PRT ENE was too busy fighting his own team to stop it. And he got off scot free.

“Josephus will be receiving a Kill Order, courtesy of the Chief Director,” Armsmaster says. “But if any of you see him, contact Console, and then run. He’s dangerous, and has shown a willingness to kill even children, no, especially children, and if he doesn’t kill you, he will make you wish you were dead. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sir!” we chorus.

---

I get back to the townhouse around ten, after a late patrol.

I buzz myself in, and then, as I open the door, I hear a scuttling sound, and-

---

I wake up surrounded by something warm, with a raging headache. My eyes slowly begin to open.

And then they open a hell of a lot faster as I take in my surroundings.

I’m… I don’t know where. Somewhere damp and dark, I think. The walls are covered with skin, and there’s something… some huge, insectoid thing skittering around in the shadows.

Abruptly, I hear someone scream, only for it to be almost immediately silenced.

“Hello?” I call into the darkness, wincing as my voice cracks. “Is… someone there?”

Something is coming towards me, something big. I hear the click-clack of its legs as it approaches, emerging into the dim light of the bioluminescent flesh encasing me.

The creature is about the size of a horse, huge and squat, covered in some sort of chitinous exoskeleton. It has six chitin-covered, pointed legs, and three sets of eyes that I can see. Human arms, dripping with some unnatural sort of amniotic fluid, dangle from raw openings in the chitin that look like open wounds, on either side of its broad front. A bit above the arms there are some sort of fleshy organs whose purpose I cannot identify. But, by far the defining feature of the creature’s face, if it can even be called a face, is the vertical, raw, slit that splits its front, which I can only assume to be some sort of mouth.

And then one of the arms pumps the air. “Splendid! You’re already awake!”

“W-What?”

“Oh, don’t you recognize us?” the creature asks, and I note that its disturbingly familiar voice is coming, not from the slit I assumed to be its mouth, but from the unidentifiable organs above its arms. “It’s us, Panacea!”

“I… hardly recognized you,” I admit, even I begin desperately searching for a way out of this mess.

“Well, we have made a few modifications, lately,” she admits with a gurgling chuckle. “Do you like what we’ve done with ourself?”

“Not particularly.”

“Oh, that’s just your monkey brain asserting its sensibilities. Basic human nature, we’ll get around to fixing it eventually.”

“Amy, what do you want with me?” I ask, trying not to panic. I can barely even see her emotions, and the colors I can see are ones I didn’t even know existed.

“You make Vicky happy,” she says matter-of-factly. “We love Vicky, and she would be sad if you died. So, we’re making an Emergency Dean.”

“What?”

“An Emergency Dean! To replace you when you die!” she puts her slimy hands on my cheeks. “Don’t worry, this won’t hurt at all.”

“Hey, Panacea! You in?” somebody shouts.

“Oh! Yes! Come right on in!” she calls back, pulling away from me as I breathe a sigh of relief. And then I freeze when I realize exactly who my savior is.

Josephus of Cana, the mass murderer with a Kill Order, whose atrocities could be considered worthy of the Slaughterhouse Nine, smiles disarmingly as he walks into the room. “Sweet place you’ve got here, Panacea!”

“Well, we try our humble best,” she demurs.

“I actually had a bit of a falling out with my regular crew. Could I crash on your couch?”

“Of course! We’re always happy to help.”

“YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS!” I shout, bringing their attention back onto me. “He’s a monster, a mass murderer!”

“I do the necessary work of the Lord, young man.”

“You murder babies.”

“And did not Jesus say, ‘Let all the little children come to me, and do not impede them, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven?’”

“That was NOT a blanket commandment to murder babies!”

“Look, I’m not here to debate semantics with… um, you? I don’t actually know who you are.”

“He’s Dean.”

“Oh, Victoria’s boyfriend? He seems like a righteous fellow. May I kill him?”

Amy’s chitin plates clack against each other in a bizarre sort of shrug. “Eh, why not. That’s what the Emergency Dean is for, anyways. Just wait until we’ve finished birthing him.”

“Wait, WHAT?” I scream at her.

The slit on her face spasms and begins to leak the same fluid that coats her arms, and I realize with a surge of nausea that it isn’t her mouth.

“Thanks, Panacea,” Josephus says. “I knew you’d let me save his soul.”

Okay. Okay, Dean. This is fine. You can do this. This is totally manageable. You just need to talk the serial killer out of murdering you, before the giant insect-mammal hybrid that used to be your girlfriend’s sister finishes giving birth to your clone.

Fuck my life.

“Please. Please don’t do this,” I beg. “I’m not… I’m not just… You just can’t replace me like that. It won’t be me. IT WON’T BE ME!”

“Indeed!” Josephus says, cheerful as can be. “It will be a soulless abomination that perfectly apes your mannerisms, bringing peace of mind and happiness to all of your loved ones. Meanwhile, you will be in Heaven, beyond the temptations of this unclean world! Oh, but do not fret! You’ll be reunited with your loved ones soon enough!”

“I DON’T WANT TO DIE!”

“You act like death is a bad thing, Dean! But it isn’t! In fact, it’s the best thing that could possibly happen to a righteous fellow like yourself. After all, there’s nowhere to go but down, when you’re at the top!” he claps me on the shoulder. “Life is just a waiting game, really, waiting to die, before the world sinks its teeth into you and twists you into a monster, no matter how much you say no, and beg, and pray, because you weren’t strong, or good, or faithful enough for God to save you, and now you’re a WRETCHED, WORTHLESS, DEMON OF THE NIGHT, FOREVER CAST OUT OF GOD’S GRACE LIKE THE WORTHLESS, WORTHLESS, WORTHLESS ABOMINATION THAT YOU ARE!”

I stare at him in silence, even as I note that I can see the crest of my clone’s head pushing it’s way out of Panacea’s… um… “mouth.”

“So, you see, Dean, really, the best thing that could ever happen for you is for you to die young, and early, while you’re still human- I mean good. But suicide’s a sin. And that’s why God made monsters like me. To kill you all, and then devour ourselves in the ruins of this dead, wretched excuse for a world.”

I stare at him, and I realize, as despair begins to dawn inside me, that he believes every word.

“Please.” I’m crying as I look at him, and my clone emerges up to the waist.

“Don’t worry, Dean,” he says, smiling warmly even as he pulls a fire axe out of the duffle bag over his shoulder. “You’re going to a better place.”

“Alright, Emergency Dean is all set,” Panacea says. “You can send Old Dean to Heaven, now.”

“Gladly.”

I close my eyes, and pray.

---​

I walk into Arcadia, taking in the sights. I start to whistle, as I make my way towards my first class of the morning, and it's all I can do not to skip.

Vicky finds me in the halls, and greets me with a kiss. "You're looking cheerful today."

I smile.

"What can I say? I woke up this morning feeling like a whole new man."

 

I sit uncomfortably in my sire’s office, pinned to my chair by his gaze.

He called me up here an hour after the Conclave of the Black Hand ended, and I’ve been silently waiting for him to tell me why for almost half an hour.

Finally, he speaks. “I have an assignment for you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I thought I was your equal now?”

He laughs at that. “My equal on paper. You are nowhere near to an equal to my physical, financial, and political prowess, and you’d do best to remember that.”

“I am well aware.”

“So, then, until you are my equal in truth, not paper, I suppose you’ll still be taking orders from me. Disappointed?”

“A bit.”

“Don’t be.” He temples his fingers. “It’s time you learned to stand on your own, without the direct support of your packmates. Kindred may be stronger together, true, but they must always be prepared to stand alone.” And then he tosses me a key.

“What’s this?”

“The key to your new personal Haven. Congratulations, by the way. Under normal circumstances, you would have continued to train under me for decades, at least, before I allowed you to go out on your own. But… unusual times demand unusual measures.”

“Thank you,” I say, dipping my head politely. This is definitely an opportunity. With this, I might be able to secure a powerbase of my own.

“It was no trouble. Now then. I want you to kill Joseph.”

“What?”

“Quite the task, no?” Wiglaf says. “

“But… Paul said that you’ve already tried!” I snap at him. “And it failed!”

“True.”

“So, what do you think I’ll be able to do?”

“What I think is unimportant. What do you think you’ll be able to do?”

“I… what?”

“You don’t know your limits. It’s time for you to push them. I sincerely doubt that you’ll be able to kill Joseph. His Generation is too high, and his experience too great for that. But whether you can is irrelevant. You have seen the carnage he can unleash. You know he is unstable. So, with that in mind, can you do anything less than your absolute best to stop him?”

“I…” I realize, in that moment, that he knows what drives me. And I know that he’s right. I can’t half-ass this. I’ve got to go after Joseph with all I’ve got. “Very well.”

“Be careful when confronting him. He’s Fifth Generation. Stronger than me. Easily the strongest vampire on the planet. Do not go in half-cocked.”

“Fifth Generation?”

He sighs. “When a vampire creates childer, the childer are naturally weaker than him. Thus, Generation. A system of measuring a vampire’s strength by denoting how far removed he or she is from the first vampire, Cain.”

That raises more questions, but I decide not to risk my master’s anger for the sake of my curiosity. “I will depart for the task immediately.”

“Excellent. I’ll be sure to send you a ghoul once the new crop is broken in.”

I blink. “Thank you, sir.”

I already knew what ghouls were, Paul told me that much, but I wasn’t really expecting to have one.

But still, I don’t think I have a choice in the matter.

---​

The first problem I have to confront in my search for Joseph is... well, actually finding him. The second is what the hell I’m going to do once I’ve found him.

But I persevere.

The apartment is nice, if a bit cramped, and I cover all the windows easily enough.

I roll a map of Brockton Bay out on the table, and I think.

Alright. How best to find a master of Obfuscation? He’s Fifth Generation, which means that he can probably do more with his disciplines. I know for a fact that he can obfuscate objects, after all, he obfuscated that car.

So. Where would he go?

I think on the question, and I realize that I have no idea. Joseph is nothing if not unpredictable, and I can’t really rely on him to act reasonably.

Wait. I do know something. His goals. He’s a spree killer, and one that targets babies and children in particular. And I know he can only operate at night, same as me.

Okay. I know which areas he’s most likely to attack. Now then. How do I exploit this to bring him down?

The answer is obvious. Dominate. If I use it to leave implanted commands to call me if there’s an attack in individuals in Joseph’s threat zones throughout the city, then I’ll have a cheap and easy surveillance network that will alert me to any attempt by Joseph to attack civilians.

“So. Where is he most likely to strike?” I muse aloud. “The hospital, obviously, but where else would he be likely to find victims that fit his preferred profile?”

When I think, ‘where would a spree killer attack if he wanted to kill the most children?’ my first thought is ‘school.’

But that’s not helpful because Joseph can only operate at night, at hours in which the schools are closed, and the children sent home.

That means… I look over the map of Brockton Bay, and then I reach for a pencil. Which isn’t there.

One quick trip to the nearest store that sells writing supplies and is still open at this hour of the night (which happens to be halfway across the city and takes me over an hour to find) and I’m back at the map, using the computer Wiglaf gave me along with the apartment to cross-reference the city’s zoning ordinances, and highlight in which streets had what on them.

The second-most likely area for Joseph to attack would be people’s houses or apartments. With his Obfuscation, he could probably wipe out an entire apartment building without anyone noticing the bodies for hours. Thus, I’m going to need to set up multiple layers of observers, at least one in every single house in all of Brockton Bay, plus the hospital, plus whatever other businesses are open at night.

I stop. That… That’s absurd. To establish a spy network including that many people…

It’s daunting. But at the same time, if I pulled it off, I’d have the first bit of actual control I’ve had since my Embrace. And I want that.

Well, then. I pull on an overcoat, and then I head out. Time to get a bite to eat, and, hopefully, lay the first seeds of my network to come.

---​

Two days later, having just finished seeding every hospital in Brockton Bay with my informants, I return to my apartment and find an unconscious Nazi on my couch.

Rune slumbers peacefully, dressed in a white nightgown straight out of a Victorian bodice-ripper, and with a sticky note on her surprisingly ample bosom. (Her old costume really downplayed that bust.) I can’t help but notice, as I stare at her, so peaceful, so helpless, ripe for the taking, with that sinfully low neckline leaving her soft, delicious neck uncovered, just begging for someone to bite it…

I realize abruptly that I’m literally drooling on Rune’s neck, and back away, awkwardly cleaning my drool off with my sleeve before I grab the note off her breast and beat a hasty retreat towards the kitchen in order to read it free of temptation.

Dear God, I need a drink. I haven’t gone hunting at all while setting up my network, and the hunger is starting to really get to me.

“Hey, Taylor!” the note reads. “I was just dropping off the new ghouls we won from the Empire Eighty-Eight. I figured you’d like this one. Her real name’s Tammi, if you’re interested. Wiglaf worked her over with Dominate, to make sure she’d obey you, guard you during the day, and not try to escape, but I’d recommend you try and break her in yourself. It’s best not to trust in someone else’s programming to make your ghoul safe to use. If you want my advice, treat her right, and make sure to feed her enough of your blood to bond her to you. Stockholm syndrome is your friend, here. Make sure to meet with Anna-Marie, and bring Tammi, because Anna is an absolute bitch to her ghouls, and she’ll make you look like a saint in comparison. Just make sure you bring her on board soon, because if you don’t, she might find a way to betray you, and you don’t want someone that close to your secrets to stab you in the back. Good Luck!
Your Friend,
Paul Weathers”

I…

I look over to Rune, slumbering peacefully on the couch.

I’m helpless during the day, and she could protect me.

But what if she betrays me like E-

I stop myself before I think the name.

She won’t betray me. Because I know the right things to say, and I have powers I didn’t have before. I know just how to make her mine, to pull her levers and drag her under my spell until she can’t even comprehend the idea of betraying me. I know how to make her mine.

And then, finally, I will be the one in control.

 

The television shows an image of multiple crucified, decapitated ABB gangsters, lined up in a row outside Winslow.

“This morning,” the reporter says, looking slightly nauseous. “The bodies of thirteen members of the Asian Bad Boyz were found crucified in front of Winslow high school, sans their heads. Here’s police investigator Reynolds. Sir, are there any clues at the moment?”

“No comment.”

“As of yet, the police have no leads on the murders, but involvement from the mass murderer cape, Josephus of Cana, is suspected. The same could be said for the thirteen crucified gangsters found outside Arcadia and Immaculata.” She pauses. “Next up: Are liberals brainwashing our youth? The answer might surprise you.”

It cuts to some attack ads on Mayor Christner, and I turn the TV off.

There’s nothing to do. The well-polished floors and furniture of my… owner’s apartment almost seem to glare back at me.

The door is six feet away from me, but I can’t leave. There are three windows in this apartment, but I can’t open them.

And the vampire is sleeping in the master bedroom, but I can’t wake her.

I’ve been in her apartment for two days, and she still hasn’t said a word to me. It’s the silence that’s getting to me.

I’ve cleaned the place a hundred times trying to escape the boredom, but even so, the silence always comes creeping back in.

No books. I’m not allowed near my owner’s computer. Not even allowed to peer at the map she leaves out on the dining room table.

I can’t even use my power unless she gives her permission, and it lingers at the edge of my consciousness, like an itch I just can’t scratch.

The only breaks to the boredom are going to the bathroom and the TV. And… Well… one more thing.

Sometimes, if I’m up when she rises, or when she comes back from doing… whatever she does… she comes up to me, and grabs me in that unbreakable grip of hers, and then she sinks her teeth into my neck, and I- It feels good.

And that’s the closest I have to social interaction anymore. A crappy tv that only gets one channel that constantly runs ads accusing Mayor Christner of being a vehicular homiciding, child pornogrifying hypocrite, and the woman who has more or less made me her live-in slave walking up to me and making me… um… fall asleep… by biting me.

I turn the TV again.

She’ll be awake, soon. The sun must be getting lower. I realize, then, as the seconds tick by with agonizing slowness, and the words of the ads blend together, that I’m looking forward to it.

She will rise, soon. And I can’t tell if I’m more frightened or excited by that fact.

---​

It’s been a week, now, since the Ugly Man gave me to Mistress. She still hasn’t said anything to me, and the food is running low. My food, that is. I’m her food. I giggle at that thought.

The TV isn’t enough, now. I can’t escape it, the nagging suspicion as I sit there, watching the talking heads babble about distant events in faraway lands, lands I used to traverse so freely, and can now hardly remember. Oh, God, how could I have ever taken the simple luxury of being able to go outside for granted? How could I have ever taken for granted that other people existed?

Because I can’t believe it, now. I can see the gnomes. They scurry about, along the edges of my vision, but I see them. Hiding away, playing tricks on me.

I broke the TV, yesterday, when I saw a gnome crawling into it. It was probably a good call. I realized after, when I was crying and shaking inside the shower. If one gnome could find its way inside, then there were probably plenty more. The TV was probably full of gnomes, deceiving me with their elaborate gnomish lies. But still, I sit on the couch and giggle at the broken screen, a thought occurs to me: Were other people ever real?

The dreadful question bounces about, vigorously splattering itself across the inner walls of my skull, and the whole world tilts. I fear, for a moment, that I might be going mad. Who was a gnome, and who was a real person? I don’t know, and I cry.

Then, another thought occurs to me, as I’m hissing at passing gnomes from beneath the dining room table: What if I’m a gnome? I thought, before, that only what was in the apartment was real, but what if I’m not real, either?

“I am not a gnome,” I tell myself, even as raw panic begins to bubble up inside me. “I AM NOT A GNOME!”

They taunt and mock me, as I run past them, the gnomes crawling out from the lines between the floorboard, inflating forth from the dimples in the white paint on the walls like the inside-out cherubs that they are.

I need Mistress. I need to see her. I need to touch her. I need to hear her speak, because without her, I’ll lose my mind, completely and utterly, beyond any hope of recovery, trapped inside the deafening silence.

She’s lying on the bed, but I can’t touch her. I can only look at her. Look at the long black hair that lies spread out on the pillows. Look at the too-wide mouth, and the too-pale face.

But she’s real.

I sit, and I stare at her, drinking in the sight of another person. She’s beautiful. It’s just the two of us, alone, together forever, God wiping the Earth clean, and leaving us as the new Adam and Eve. I don’t think Kaiser would like that thought, but he was never real anyway, and she is.

I want to hear her voice. I want to feel her teeth in my neck as she takes me again. Oh, God, I want to touch her.

But I can’t, so instead, I hover over her, inches away, as I watch her sleep and try to breath in the scent of her hair. It keeps the gnomes away.

---​

When Mistress wakes up, and sees me hovering over her, eye bloodshot, hair tangled, and cheeks sunken, she looks at me with disdain, and then gets up to go about her night.

“Please,” I say, lunging off the bed and grabbing the cuff of her pants. “Please, I’m begging you. Talk to me. I’ll do anything, anything, you hear me? I’ll sleep with you, I’ll let you drink my blood, I’ll drink my own piss if I have to! Just… talk to me. Touch me. Something… Anything… Just… Don’t leave me.”

Her pants cuff is pulled free from my grasp, and I start sobbing as…

And then I feel a cold hand on my head, stroking my knotted hair, and I look up to find that Mistress has knelt down over me, and is smiling softly.

“My poor little Tammi,” she says, and her scratchy, hoarse voice is the single most beautiful thing that I’ve ever heard. “So desperate and needy. I really have neglected you, haven’t I, pet?”

“Thank you, mistress.” I murmur, hardly believing my ears. She talked to me. She talked to me!

“Perhaps tomorrow, I’ll take you out on a walk. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

I wordlessly nod along in agreement.

“Good. Now, then. Before I go out to the store to get some more food for you, would you like to make it so that I can always be with you?”

“Yes!” I blurt out without hesitation, because I want this. I want this more than anything. To hear her voice, and to feel her presence, the overwhelming realness of her. I want to stay with her forever.

“Well, then,” Mistress says, cutting her palm open and holding it face up towards me. “Drink up.”

I lap up the blood in her palm without hesitation, and it sweeps through me like a wave. I feel her, her cold blood somehow burning with impossible heat upon my tongue and entering into my veins. I feel her inside me, her presence filling me, her existence defining me. And I… I love her. Iloveheriloveheriloverher!

And then, the throes of sheer ecstasy that had wracked my body fade, leaving me exhausted and content.

As Mistress tucks me away, I can’t help but smile. Because Mistress is here. She is everything, and she acknowledges me.

And that is all I need.

 

I’ve been at it for two weeks, building my network and searching for Josephus, when it occurs to me. I’m at the dining room table, looking over the data I’ve compiled from the news and my Dominated spy network. Tammi is behind me, humming as she does up my hair.

“It doesn’t make sense,” I muse, as I compare the various sightings.

“What doesn’t, Mistress?” Tammi asks dutifully. She didn’t even need coaxing to fall into the position of my sounding board, after her week of complete silence.

“These sightings,” I say, gesturing at the map. “My contacts have spotted Josephus, sure, but he’s almost never anywhere near the sight of the crucifixion murders!”

And keeping track of those had gotten absurdly hard after Tammi broke the TV. Still, I managed, even if it had required getting a newspaper subscription.

“Well, maybe he’s not the one that’s doing the crucifixion murders?” Tammi offers up, still combing my hair.

I freeze, and then turn towards her, and she flinches. “I’m sorry, Mistress, it was just an idea, please don’t be mad at me!”

“Don’t be sorry, Tammi,” I assure her with a smile. “It’s a good idea. In fact, it’s brilliant.”

“Really?” She beams as I pat her on the head.

“Of course. I wouldn’t lie to you, pet.” Honestly, it’s surprising how much Tammi has grown on me. There’s just something endearing about her, a guileless, desperate devotion that puts me in mind of an affection-starved dog. I take her over to the couch, and, dragging her head onto my lap as I sit down, begin to stroke her hair as I think.

Now, then, who besides Joseph is likely to put on gristly, cross-themed murders? What other groups of bloodthirsty monsters with a cross fixation and a desire to overthrow the status quo are there in this town?

None, now that I think of it. I mean, the Teeth might pull this sort of thing, but they’re not in town. Maybe the Slaughterhouse Nine, but they probably wouldn’t stick to the same theme for ten days running. And it’s not Joseph, he’s been spotted across town from the murders twice. I mean, that just leaves…

Us.

And, I mean, it’s not us, right? Wiglaf wouldn’t pull something that mass murder-y. Even if he apparently sponsored Joseph for centuries and didn’t mind all the homicide. And the killings are done so stealthily and untraceably that only a master of Obfuscation could pull them off, which leaves Joseph and… Paul.

Oh, God, it’s totally us.

I need to go talk to Wiglaf.

“All right, that’s enough thinking for tonight. Time for you to get to bed, little ghoul,” I say, getting up and dislodging Tammi’s head from my lap. “Unlike me, you actually need to sleep at night.”

“Okay, Mistress,” she says obediently. And then she blushes, making me positively drool at the thought of the blood in those pretty cheeks of hers. “er… Could you…?”

She bares her neck suggestively, and I notice she’s wearing that lace nightdress again.

“Oh? I can’t possibly think of what you might be implying, little pet,” I say, playing at ignorance as I draw closer to her, pushing her back against the wall. My hunger rages inside me, waiting for the starting gun to break free and finally take her, make her mine. “Would you like me to tuck you into bed? Or perhaps…” My lips draw close to her ear. “… something more intimate?”

“Y-yes,” she stammers.

“Speak up, pet, I can hardly hear you.”

“Please drink my blood, Mistress!” she begs, her cheeks flushed so red I can’t resist…

I lunge, bearing her down as my lips find her sweet, soft, defenseless neck and-

CLONG!

I pull back in concern, and the standing lamp rattles from where Tammi bonked her head against it. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, Mistress,” she says, rubbing her head. “Just a little bruised.”

I help her up, and she finds her balance quickly enough.

“Okay, maybe you shouldn’t go straight to bed. You don’t want to risk a concussion.”

“It’s just a bruise,” she argues. “And besides, I have your blood inside me, Mistress! I know you’ll keep me safe!”

I take a brief moment to restrain myself from pinching her cheeks for her overwhelming cuteness. “Well, that’s good, then.”

“But…” Rune blushes, and suddenly I’m raring to go again. “Maybe, when we do this sort of thing in the future, we could do it on the bed, or on the couch? Just doing it anywhere seems… risky.”

“Oh, that’s all right, then,” I say trying to conceal my eagerness. “So, are you ready to go-“

“Um, actually, I was kind of thinking I’d just go to bed, instead,” she says, and I feel myself practically deflate.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“Well, the lamp was a bit of a mood killer, and now I have a headache, so I’m just going to lie down,” she says, awkwardly waving goodbye. “Goodnight, Mistress.”

“Goodnight,” I reply, returning the awkward wave as Rune leaves the room. Then I turn towards the lamp and glare at it.

Once I’ve finished twisting that goddamn lamp into a pretzel with all my vampiric might, I sit down on the couch and sulk. Because seriously… What the hell was that? Her neck was bared, her ample bosom heaving in that sinfully delicious Victorian nightdress, and then CLONG! Hello headache! Goodbye feeding time!

And why am I so damn frustrated about this? It’s just blood! Sweet, sinfully delicious blood, and the soft cries of my prey beneath me as I… No. Bad brain! Bad!

I mean, seriously, it’s not like it’s anything sexual!

It… It isn’t, right? It’s not anything sexual. Because, if it was sexual, that would mean I was basically having sex with Rune. And I’m not into girls. Or Nazis. Or girl Nazis.

So it’s totally not anything sexual at all! Really! Because I’m not into girls! Not into girls with their soft… smooth… delicious necks, and NO! Bad brain!

Okay, okay, boys! Thinking of boys. Like that one E88 guy, with the muscles, and the neck tattoos that added a surprising amount of flavor and-

I realize abruptly that I am still fantasizing about a Nazi. Just a male Nazi.

Okay, I need to take Nazis of the menu. Maybe have sex with an ABB- Wait, shit, I meant drink from! Drink from! Oh God, now I’m mixing it up all on my own! Okay. Okay, just… Come on, Taylor. Clear your head.

I take a moment to glare at the standing-lamp-turned-pretzel. Stupid lamp. If it hadn’t interrupted my nookie. Wait I mean nightie, no, I mean neckie, I mean- RAGH! FUCK! But, I mean, not like-

You know what? You know what? I am just going to march out the door, and go talk to my sire about the crucified, decapitated gangbangers all around town, with their delicious, oozing stumps full of-

I am fantasizing about licking the stumps of decapitated corpses.

What a new and interesting low I’ve sunk to.

Okay, new step on the itinerary: Find someone to drink from. Maybe several someones. Because I’m thirsty, and I’m no use to anyone like this.

---​

Two hours later, Kayden opens the door of my sire’s Haven to find me on the doorstep, nice and full.

“Hey, Kayden. Is the boss in?”

“Oh, yes. He instructed me to direct you to him if he came to visit.”

She guides me down to the basement, where I find my Master in the middle of something I’ve never seen him do before: Relaxing.

He’s lounging on the basement floor, his white button-up shirt’s sleeves rolled back. Some classical music is playing in the background as he peruses through an Edgar Allen Poe anthology, and occasionally sips at a glass of suspiciously red wine.

“Master,” I say, dipping my head in a gesture of respect.

“Oh, hello, Taylor,” he says with a smile, which just looks… weird coming from him. “Care for some Amontillado? I mixed in a spot of blood, so it should go down just fine.”

“I guess I’ll take a glass,” I hedge, not wanting to be rude. There is a sizable portion of my brain screaming at me that everything about this is probably just some sort of elaborate illusion because the real Wiglaf would never be this friendly.

“You guess?” he repeats, amused. “Are you sure? You really must learn to be more decisive when you speak, dear girl.”

Whew. Crisis averted, he’s definitely still a prick, which means he’s the real Wiglaf. “I meant, yes. I’ll take a glass of Amontillado.”

“Good lass.” He pours out a glass for me as I come to sit by him.

“May I ask what occasion merited the drinking?” I ask carefully as I take a sip.

“We’ve secured a victory today. I rather wanted to celebrate in accordance with my usual custom.” He takes a sip. “And on that note, doing great, Skidmark!” He shouts the last bit towards the wall opposite us.

I turn to look, and then I do a double take.

The leader of the Merchants is meticulously laying bricks inside a low-ceilinged alcove across from us, slowly but steadily bricking himself in.

“He’s…”

“Earning the unsafe amounts of heroin I left in the alcove, which, once he’s done bricking himself in and chaining himself to the wall, he’ll shoot up with?” Wiglaf finishes in good humor. “Why yes, yes he is.”

“And you do this sort of thing… regularly?” I ask.

“When the mood strikes me, yes,” my master answers breezily. “So, what did you want to ask about?”

“Well…” I take the plunge. “Are you behind the crucifixion murders?”

“Well, obviously. Joseph doesn’t actually do crucifixion. Says that Jesus exalted it, and that we are unworthy to share his pain, or something. Personally, I don’t get it, but it’s a good way to pin things on him.”

“But… why?” I ask. “You’re going to start a gang war!”

“Because we can’t beat Lung, Taylor.”

“What?”

“Fire is our weakness. What do you think a firebreathing dragon will do to us?” he takes another sip. “So, we’re taking the psychological approach. Kill thirty-nine of his men per night, leave the heads in geometric patterns around his bed, that sort of thing.”

I… I don’t know what I expected.

“Is that everything you needed confirmed?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. Theo, you great lump, come and show my apprentice to the door!”

A pudgy boy with a soft face makes his way down the stairs, and then sighs as I follow him back up them.

And then I’m out on the streets again, hands in my pockets as I make my way home.

Here’s hoping Tammi is up for a bite or two when she wakes up.