The Undead Heart

The chantry was quiet; a cat was curled on an armchair in the foyer, not even flicking an ear at the ghoul hovering tactfully just around the corner. Rebecca sighed and curled her foot a little tighter under her, hoping that Ezra would come back to the chantry before she fell asleep on the loveseat.

The door opened, admitting a breath of night air; Rebecca sat up a little straighter, expectant. She identified the figure in the doorway to be Steven Millan just as the heavy smell of alcohol hit her nose. He stumbled a little, looking at her in blurry surprise; "Oh, hi..." he said, and weaved his way into the foyer.

Somewhat alarmed, Rebecca half-rose. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I'm fine," he slurred, and nearly fell against a small table. Rebecca caught him by the elbow and guided him to a chair next to the cat. She sat him down firmly, ignoring his protests, and stood in front of him, somewhat at a loss for words.

She looked him over, frowning at his disheveled appearance; his hair was mussed, his clothing rumpled, and his shirt was sporting a torn sleeve, adding to his somewhat paler-than-usual complexion. Deeply concerned, she took refuge in acerbity. "I don't know how a vampire can reek of alcohol, but you certainly seem to have managed it."

He slumped in the chair's embrace. "Well, it goes straight into the blood..."

"I imagine it has the same effects, then." Rebecca took a seat on a bench across from Steven, as he draped himself across the back of the armchair.

A moment or so later, he roused a little. "Nice having the chantry right next to the University, the dorms...^* There's parties every night," he muttered to no one in particular. "They never know what happens to them..."

"Is there something to celebrate, then?" Rebecca asked.

Steven shifted. "Not celebrate, exactly..."

She tried again. "So what about the other use to which alcohol is generally put?"

"It's nothing, it's all right..." he waved a hand airily.

Rebecca frowned. "All right does not lead to drinking so much you can't stand."

"I just need something to help me relax a little..." he muttered, laying himself along the arm of the chair.

"No -- one or two glasses of wine helps you 'relax'. You have had considerably more than that." Rebecca leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, studying him. He really did look awful, even considering the fact that he was technically a corpse.

"Well, it's harder to judge with a pint or so...^* but I think she wouldn't have passed a breathalyzer test." He smiled a little, lazily, and raised his head again. "Oh." He looked with dismay at his torn sleeve. "She struggled a bit more than usual..."

Rebecca hid a small surge of unease. "What about the Masquerade?"

"I always take steps." Steven tried to focus his eyes on his shirt cuff.

"Even when you're falling down drunk?" Rebecca cocked her head at him as he looked up at her over his glasses. "After all, it would be embarrassing to have the Prince up on charges of breaking the Masquerade..."

Steven's voice was sharp. "I take care to clean up my messes." He leaned his head back again. "I learned that the hard way. Europe is much less lenient..."^* He trailed away as he took his glasses off, folding them absently and tucking them in his shirt pocket after only a few seconds of fumbling.

Easing back on her bench, Rebecca moderated her tone a bit. "It concerns me to see someone -- and after this much time I would hope I could call you a friend -- drinking heavily on a regular basis."

He frowned defensively. "How do you know that?"

"From some of the things you've said, I can tell you've done this more than once."

"A few times..." he evaded. "Once in a while."

Rebecca's voice had a sardonic edge to it. "How many?"

"Oh..." Steven fiddled with his glasses. "Once every week and a half..." Then, grudgingly, "sometimes more..."^*

Dropping all hint of sarcasm, she leaned forward. "What's the matter?"

"I just need it to help me relax." He laid his head back wearily.

"Drinking doesn't solve problems." Rebecca looked at him as he muttered something about how the Prince of the county shouldn't be lectured by a mortal. She waited until he trailed off again, and dropped her gaze. "I know it isn't my place to lecture you, but you understand -- any problem great enough to drive you to drinking is severe enough to affect the court, and that is my affair."

Steven laughed bitterly. "Affect the court? The problem is the court." He shook his head. "This court is worthless... this is the most clueless batch of neonates I've ever seen. If this were Europe, the Scourge would have exterminated them all within hours of their Embrace..." He sighed. "The court is a loss, I've alienated one of my own clan, and the Camarilla is against us; our so-called allies demand that we deal with their enemies, while they sit idle like cowards and talk of honor..."^*

Taken a little aback, she murmured, "I don't think the court is a total loss..."

"I don't think you can understand a life measured in centuries, but a mistake follows one of us for years." Steven sat up, looking at her; she refused to met his gaze. "If I fail here, in this court, it will stay with me for the rest of my life."

Rebecca nerved herself and looked at him. "It is not hopeless, or I would not be here. My one mission here now is to get the Garou, the Mages, and the Kindred talking and working together again. As soon as there is no hope of that, I'll be gone."

Steven's mouth twitched. "I don't see how much of a possibility there is of that. Those cowards demand things of us, and when we meet their requirements, they make more demands... All the while they sit on their asses on their mountain, doing nothing, and spy on us openly."^*

Rebecca chose her words around her irritation. "They stay there because they are under active siege; Tosco was polluting the area, and they were losing the battle against the corruption.^* They were relying on the court to take care of Tosco -- and we did, and they won't be able to deny that..." At Steven's sour expression, she sighed in exasperation. "Had it ever occurred to you that they watch the court not just out of suspicion, but out of hope that the Kindred will show themselves effective, and capable of helping them in their fight? They need you just as much as you need them."

"But they demand that we put ourselves on the line to take care of their problems, and they do nothing to aid us..."

Rebecca cut him off. "Do you know how many have died up there? I can't tell you how many there really are up on that mountain, but I can tell you how many they've lost in the last three months. Believe me, they have not been idle; they've been battling for their lives even more than the Kindred -- and until recently they've been losing."

Steven dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "They spy on us, demand things of us... our allies treat us like enemies."

Rebecca gave a snort of grim laughter. "Believe me -- you don't want to see how they treat their enemies."

"I know how they treat their enemies," Steven said, his voice growing taut. "I've seen those animals invade our court, carry off my Sheriff...^* I finally find someone who's not completely useless, and now he's in their hands."^* He let his head fall back again, his tone like steel. "The raid will be soon...^* I want blood. I will not just let him rot in there."

He laughed again, humorlessly, toying with his glasses in his lap. "Not that there's any support for the raid... of the three people I can confirm, one of them is captured, and one of them is myself." He looked at Rebecca wryly. "And one is the person organizing it." He looked down again.

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "I should think about going to one of Ramses' training sessions."^*

Steven went on as though he hadn't heard. "Here I am, raiding the Black Spiral Dancer pit, and I had never held a gun before... two weeks ago."

"I've never held one in my life."

Steven looked at her sharply, suddenly seeming to realize what she was saying. "No. You would never stand a chance out there. You remember what the Archon did to you?"^* Rebecca looked away abruptly; he continued. "These animals can tear five of us to shreds before we have a chance to react."

She rallied. "So you never give them a chance to react in the first place."

"Well, if any of us survive this raid, I plan on bringing Jeremiah out of there." He seemed to lose energy, and slumped in the chair again. "All three of us..."

"I think that if one raid is successful, you will gain the support of many more in the court." Rebecca looked over at the cat, sleeping with an air of supreme unconcern. "There have been times, in this past year... when I have wished I were closer to being Kindred, so that I could help out those who were with me." Steven looked over at her; she glanced at him and confided, "If you were wondering, that night with the Archon wasn't one of them." She looked away again. "I come here, risking my life -- there isn't a court I attend that I don't look around and realize I'm the only one breathing. Because I have to." She smiled a little. "Not to pretend to smoke..."^*

Rebecca looked up at where Steven was lying, head back, in the armchair, and made a conscious effort to ignore the fact that he wasn't breathing himself. "Progress has been made, progress which even the Garou can't deny. Once those of us on the court's side have enough facts to bang on Arnold's skull with,^* even he will have to admit that the court isn't worthless. I think that as soon as you take concrete action, the Garou will be willing to talk." Her tone became wry. "If you're sober enough to talk with them, that is... I realize that you haven't come like this to court, and I respect you for that, but you shouldn't be looking to alcohol to deal with these things."

Steven sat up, wincing a little, and rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing his forehead. "I just have a drink once in a while, to help me think."

Her tone was crisp. "Alcohol doesn't help you think; it doesn't dull the pain, either. It just takes you out of the world for a while... Then you wake up, and there you still are." She looked at him with a touch of sympathy, but went on. "If you really want to run away, I suggest you choose a more effective method."

That stung him. "I am not running away." He glared at her, then buried his face in his hands again at her skeptical look. "I only do it once in a while."

Studying him, she mused, "I have been an herbalist for... oh, well on eight years now. I've seen lots of people during that time, and most of the alcoholics I've seen have never gotten anywhere by drinking."

He looked up and said flatly, "I am not an alcoholic."

Rebecca looked him over, still skeptical, and with a wry twist to her lips. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt... but they went on binges too, and it didn't help them either." A bit more sympathy crept into her voice. "Alcohol does not help you think. It doesn't even help with the pain; I know that from experience. All it does is to keep you from acting for a little while longer, sometimes when what you need most is to act."

Steven laughed bitterly. "Act how? I can't do anything with the court as it is." He sat back again. "All those I trust are in court positions -- and even some I don't."

Rebecca sighed. "They are strong people, and they are behind you. I am behind you."

He laid his head back, defeated. "Now, I am not so sure, especially since I have alienated the one of my clan whose respect I hold dearer than my own life."

She looked at him, puzzled. "Ezra?" At his nod, she frowned. "Because of the accusation against her?"^*

"Yes..." Steven's brows pulled together, and he shook his head slowly. "I doubted her, her own clanmate... I let those preposterous accusations turn me against one of my own clan, of my own blood."

Rebecca's voice was muted. "Do you doubt her now?"

Steven sat up and shook his head again, more decisively. "No -- but the damage has been done." He fumbled in his trouser pocket.

Thoughtfully, she countered, "I don't know how old Ezra Darke is, but I should think she would have enough experience to be fairly lenient..."

He brought out a pocketknife, turning it over. "It wouldn't matter how lenient she is; I have done her a great wrong by doubting her."

Unfolding the blade, he slashed it across his left wrist, then dropped it into his lap. Rebecca lunged halfway out of her chair, barely restraining herself from grabbing his arm to stop him; she banished the reflexes gained from long nights of suicide-watch with an effort. She perched, taut, on the edge of her seat, as he curled around his arm and started muttering.

With a kind of horrified fascination, she watched as black, viscous fluid flowed from the wound. As it slowed, Steven bent to put his mouth to the cut, then straightened; he folded the knife and put it away, with quick, decisive motions very unlike those he had shown earlier. He glanced at her, seeing her look of alarm and puzzlement, and said, with no trace of a drunken slur, "It has been taken care of." He massaged his wrist briefly, examining it, then looked up. "You convinced me that it is not the answer, so I have rid myself of it."

Rebecca said nothing, overwhelmed by the reminder of how alien this man sitting across from her truly was. She pushed her curiosity to the back of her mind, where it clamored dimly at her to check his arm for a scar.^*

Steven sighed and leaned back in the chair, not nearly as relaxed as he had been; absently, he put his spectacles back on. "So, now that I am done with that... there is still the problem of the court." He shook his head. "Were this any other time, any other place, half this court would be little heaps of ash by now.^* More than half."

A little shakily, Rebecca told him, "I trust almost no one in this court -- two people, now; I stay because I see the potential. It is not hopeless."

"Well, even if they weren't incompetent, we can't survive as we are, and we'll be getting no help from others of our kind... the Camarilla believes that we should be destroyed at worst, and will ignore our pleas at best. Our own kind are against us."

Rebecca's words were matter-of-fact. "Well, if they turn against us, we'll fight them too, then."

Steven gave her a level look. "No. We cannot fight the Camarilla."

Considering it, she replied, "'Will not' I can understand. 'Cannot'..."

He cut her off. "To go against the Camarilla is to go against the one thing which unites us all as Kindred. Do you realize what it would mean, to go against the Camarilla? Killing your friends, your family, your own kind; that is what it means to go against them."

Taken aback by his vehemence, Rebecca said firmly, "will not, yes. I agree with you." She sat back a little. "The other option, then, would be reconciliation."

Steven chuckled without humor. "Do you know what that would take? The Archon was sent here to deal with the actions of traitors, and reports that we were going against tradition. The Camarilla is against the alliance with the Garou. Reconciliation with them would mean war with the Garou."

Rebecca frowned again. "Would they at least approve of the cease-fire you have had here for over ten years?"

He shook his head. "I don't know... all I know is that our allies will not help us, I may have turned one of the Tremere against me, and the rest of our kind have either turned their backs on us or want us destroyed."

"The Garou call these the end times." She looked away from him, at the rest of the foyer and the chantry beyond. "They say that the Apocalypse is near, and from what I have heard, the Kindred have their own legends..." She paused, and Steven nodded, murmuring softly, "Gehenna..."

"The Garou say that there is the possibility -- a slight one, but it is there -- that the Apocalypse can be turned aside, kept from happening. If that is true, then it may be that we, with our alliances, could be the ones that keep it at bay." She looked at him, where he sat studying his hands. "I would remind you that saviors of any kind are always ostracized, and in most cases, they are crucified as well." In response to Steven's short laugh, she continued, "that doesn't mean they are ineffective. I put my life on the line every time I come to this court, because I believe it must be done." Her voice firmed. "I, personally, would still rather be a savior than one who just sits back and laughs."

There was a small pause, as Steven digested this; his voice was somewhat mollified as he said, "That still doesn't explain how we are supposed to take action with everyone against us. I have alienated Ezra, the one Sheriff I could put faith in has been captured, the court is worthless..." He took his glasses off again, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I destroy the people, the things which matter most to me."

Her voice soft with sympathy, she contradicted him, "You strengthen the court."

His denial was a mutter. "I strengthen nothing."

Rebecca leaned closer to where he sat, head down and elbows on his knees. "You weren't there this last court, but I was, and I saw the difference. As soon as you were elected, the court crystallized. As soon as you were absent, the court dithered."^*

His voice was rough with weariness. "I doubt anyone could lead this sorry excuse for a court."

"There are two people I can think of who could do it, and you are one of them." She became more passionate, trying to get through his haze of dejection. "You have the strength -- with those who stand behind you. You may not trust them, but they stand with you, if only for their own reasons."

He didn't look up. "The only people who support me are fools and officers." He gave a short laugh. "Often both."

Rebecca's voice was heavy with sarcasm. "Why, thank you." Steven didn't seem to notice. As he muttered to himself a bit, she asked him, "Which do you count yourself as, then, a fool or an officer? I know which one I am."

He glanced at her; his laugh this time had more humor in it. "Well, I took this court, so I must be a fool..." He winced a little. "Damn. It feels like the ritual wasn't completely effective for some reason..."

Rebecca looked at him steadily. "There may be more who support you than you think... even if people oppose you, you still have to act, to do what you must." She sat back. "I stand behind you because I believe you have the strength to do what must be done, whatever happens."

Steven put his glasses in his shirt pocket again and rubbed between his eyes. "If you were any other mortal, that statement would mean less than nothing. From you, it means a great deal." He leaned into the chair, resting his head on the back.

Rebecca spoke with quiet intensity. "You have what support I can give you."

"Thank you." His voice held no echo of her earlier sarcastic gratitude. "You have always been so good to me..."

"Somehow I gained your respect; I use that to its fullest advantage," she said, with a bit of dry humor.

"Oh, you gained more than my respect." He sat forward, avoiding her gaze; he ended up looking at the cat, who showed him a long pink tongue in a yawn and resettled itself.

Nonplussed, Rebecca fished for a response. "Trust?"

"More than that, even." Steven stood, with a wry smile. "Do you know why I wanted to Embrace you?" Meeting only her stunned silence at this seeming non-sequitur, he paced over beside the bench she was on, to stand slightly behind her. "No?" She started as he laid a hand upon her shoulder, reminded obscurely of the fact that the Archon had gripped the same place.^* His cool touch unnerved her, though it was gentle and friendly;^* she flinched a little as he smoothed her hair back from her face. He withdrew, and with a small sigh, muttered, "perhaps that is better so."

Troubled, she sought to straighten her thoughts as he took a seat again in the armchair, leaning his head back. She spoke slowly, choosing words from a tumble of memories. "I had always thought that the Tremere saw me as valuable, and you were simply the one to approach me."

He sighed. "No, the Tremere did not seek to Embrace you. It was only me."

She paused. "I respect you more than to suspect it of you now, but -- the only thing I can think of is that you sought to obtain me as some sort of advantage in a personal game."

He hesitated, then said softly, "No. The reason was a great deal more... personal."

Completely lost now, Rebecca frowned. "I don't understand."

Steven became a bit more brisk. "At first I saw you as an asset, an advantage. Then..." he paused, and continued haltingly. "Then a part of me that I thought was long dead woke again... a feeling..."

He sighed, and paused for a long time, murmuring a little to himself. Rebecca resisted the urge to prompt him, knowing that it might well stop him completely. Her tension sought other outlets, and she had to restrain twin temptations: one to look outside to see whether it was still dark -- she seemed to recall something about vampires going to sleep when the sun rose, but she didn't know whether it was true or not, and he looked almost like he was dozing off -- and the other to sneak a look at his wrist, to see if there was a scar there. She throttled both, and waited.

Steven muttered for a little, and then fell silent; any worry she had that he might have fallen asleep was driven completely out of her head when he spoke softly. "I sought to Embrace you... because I fell in love with you."

He didn't seem to notice her stunned silence; she sat there for a moment, completely devoid of thought, overwhelmed by some emotion she could not name. A small movement caught her eye, and she looked up reflexively. Two dark trails were making their way down his face, like tears -- blood? Irrelevantly, she thought, of course, that's probably the only way they have to shed tears, before her rational mind was lost in chaos again.

Steven sat up a little, avoiding her gaze, and fished for a handkerchief, wiping the tears away. Rebecca watched him, still speechless, and was faintly surprised at the first thing she felt; revulsion she might have expected, but instead a great wave of pity washed over her. She dropped her eyes, feeling a little embarrassed for his sake, and fumbled for words.

"When I first came to this court, a year ago, I came looking for a distant cousin of mine who was said to frequent the place." She spoke hesitantly, feeling out where she was going, trying to give him time to compose himself. "I asked around, and finally contacted someone who knew her. I was given a small classified ad, and told to ask for Longfellow.^* When I got there, there was no Longfellow, and Juliet had last been there two weeks before..." She shook her head. "I saw several things I probably shouldn't have. I suspect now I was very close to being mindwiped and sent on my way.^* There was another mortal in the court, Sarah; she took me aside and told me to run away as fast as I could and never tell anyone.

"I thought very hard that week, and in the end I went to an acquaintance of mine, and came to court again with a talisman to protect my mind from tampering. Know why? Because I didn't know anything about your kind, and I wanted to learn, even though I knew it might cost me my life. My curiosity has always been my weakness... Now, a year later, I realize I still don't know anything about Kindred."

She paused, fingering memories of other times, tasting old startlement again. "Despite the fact that I hear that vampires are static and unchanging, they surprise me more often than anyone else..."

She sighed a little, measuring what she felt, and looked at Steven's feet. "I started my own business -- I work out of a briefcase, instead of an office, and not just because it's cheaper. I go where I am needed. This court needs me; there is no one else who can do what I can. The Prince needs me, thus I am here. I ask you, Steven, who needs me: what can I do for you?"

Steven paused, taken a little aback. His words, when he spoke, were measured, and almost too quiet to hear, spoken into his hands clasped before him. "All I can ask is that you do your best to keep relations open with the Garou. I can't ask you anything else in good conscience; I will not get you killed."

Rebecca spoke patiently, gently. "Whatever you ask, I can refuse. Even if you ask as the Prince, I can still refuse -- but I'm not talking to you as the Prince. I ask you again: what can I do?"

She watched him as he hesitated again, obviously torn. He sounded a great deal less confident when he murmured, "I suspect there is very little you can do..."

"Even if all you need is only someone to talk to, to vent, I can do that. You are a friend, and I will not stand by while my friends destroy themselves." She kept her eyes on him, watching the bent shoulders, the hands pressed together between his knees, for some sign of emotion, good or bad. She had put as much sincerity as she could into her words, trying to give him hope. He had so little...

He sighed, and his back seemed to relax a trifle. "Thank you."

Moved by impulse, Rebecca offered her hand to him, finally touching his when he showed no sign of awareness outside himself. He took it in both of his, and she repressed a shiver at the cool dryness of his skin, so unlike that of a living person. He moved forward, and kissed her hand almost before she realized what he was doing; it took an act of will not to snatch her hand away from the fear of his fangs. His lips were cold.

Steven stood, still holding her hand, and caressed her cheek, stroking her hair back again. She stayed on the bench, her knees feeling a little too unsteady to bear her weight, and reluctant to come any closer to him than she already was. She flinched, very slightly, at the touch of his hand.

He dropped the hand not holding hers, and paused for a moment, looking down at her. "I must go... the ritual^* drained me somewhat, and I must feed again before the sun rises."

Rebecca managed to dredge up a bit of strength from somewhere and looked at him. Her voice held only a trace of shakiness as she said, "I trust this subject will be a bit less..."

His smile was wry. "Inebriated? Yes."

She fought down a surge of revulsion at the thought of his means of existence. "Good."

He turned, releasing her hand. "Until later." She caught his sleeve as he moved away, and he paused as she spoke. "You know how to find me."

He looked at her for a moment, then said simply, "Yes." Then he turned toward the door and opened it, looking over his shoulder at her. "Good night."

The night air floated through the archway again, and he was gone.

Rebecca remained sitting there, barely even aware of the passage of time. When the cat woke up and yawned, she jumped. She looked around, a little sheepishly, and found not even the unobtrusive ghoul in evidence; either he was gone, or he was even more unobtrusive than he had been earlier. She took a deep breath and stood, then headed for the archway and the door to the outside. Her conversation with Ezra could wait, and the night was growing short.

Headed for home, she reflected that she would probably see the sun before she slept that night. As it happened, it was long after dawn before the turmoil of her thoughts subsided and her mind smoothed into sleep.

[From the transcript of a scene played July 19, between Nick Kolowski and Alison Stewart.]

[A note: the chantry cat was based on a cat who was in the room at the time, and was assumed to be Ezra's.]

Footnotes