Fire licked the walls. The chantry was burning! Morgana tossed restlessly on the white bed. Old memories surfaced in blood-hazed dreams of fire and shadow. She was an apprentice again, robe smouldering around her as she cowered back into the shadows. The walls against her back were hot, the fire on the other side was spreading. The door out was just ahead, but something worse than fire barred the way. The Cross, symbol of a faith betrayed and lost, condemming, no! Take it away! Get it away! Get it away!!

Morgana's eyes snapped open, staring sightless into the canopy. She blinked and sat up, wrapping her arms around herself. Nothing. No fire, no silver cross thrust towards her face. Just a terrible feeling that it was all about to happen again.

"The Inquisition. . . . " She murmured and lay back down, hugging the white sheets closer. Troubled dreams slowly gave way to an uneasy sleep, and then to the classic sleep of the dead; or the undead.

The next night was a "court date", a night during which Morgana held open audience as Justicar to hear complaints, accusations, defenses, and also to carry out sentences. The drain grill in the floor was an ominous reminder of executions past and potentially future, as was the sword upon the throne. Morgana, seated calmly upon the ebon throne, laid the naked blade across her knees and waited for the first arrivals. Within twenty minutes of sunset, early-rising vampires were trickling into the hall. This was unusual, indeed. The first, a young Gangrel, stumbled up the hall with a stunned look on her face and reported in shock that her sire was gone. His haven was ash, burned to the ground. Five minutes later a Ventrue came in, reporting being attacked by day. Men in black, carrying guns, stakes, and swords. Wearing crosses. Carrying torches. With only minor variations, the same story was told by virtually every vampire that came to the hall.

Sires, childer, brood members, friends were gone. Havens had been broken into, burned down, shot up. Individual survivors tottered into the chantry charred, bloody, shell-shocked. Morgana called in Josh, the other apprentice, and started compiling information. By midnight, it was apparent that some four or five of the city's Camarilla vampires were dead or unaccounted for. Another handful or so were hurt, some badly. Many of the survivors reported large teams of hunters, reported killing one or more. It became apparent that at least twenty Inquisitors, maybe more, were still in the city, making this the largest single operation that they'd carried out for fifteen years.

One vampire came in from his haven outside the city and reported an attack made on a lone werewolf. Upon spotting him, the party of Inquisitors had promptly attacked. He'd killed them all, and discovered while so doing that at least one was a hedge-mage of significant talent. A pyrokinetic, probably native talent. Morgana groaned mentally. The Inquisition was bringing in it's big guns, all right. They didn�t risk their psychic talents unless they were mortally serious.

Someone knocked on the heavy outer doors and Morgana sent Jean-Paul to let them in. As the new arrival entered the hall, she almost gasped. Some strange vampire, doubtless, but the man was perfect to an almost painful degree. She had never seen anyone more beautiful. Exquisite features, dark, seductive eyes fringed with long lashes, a graceful, muscular build. . . She realized she was staring and forcibly regained her composure. He advanced and bowed low, drawing a silver medal from under his shirt. Offering it to her, he said

"My lady, I have the honor of being assigned to your chantry. My name is Victor de la Fontaine, childe of the Prince of Vancouver, and I am at your service." Seven rings glittered on the medallion, empty-centered. A seventh circle apprentice, then. And a charming one, Morgana added mentally. Odd that no-one had mentioned a new assignment, but the report had probably gotten lost somewhere between Knoxville and Canada. Or. . . what if he was a plant? Her eyes narrowed slightly. With active Auspex, she scanned him and found. . . nothing? His aura was uniform, spotless, and light blue. Absolutely un-marked. Uncommon, but hardly threatening. Certainly no Inquisitor, and undeniably vampire and, apparently, Tremere, by the medal. Morgana smiled graciously. She rose from the throne, setting the sword aside.

"Welcome to Knoxville. I regret that you have arrived at what seems to be the start of an Inquisition crack-down, but we are glad to have you here." She waved Michael over and detailed him to show Victor around the common rooms of the chantry, and to set him up in one of the apprentice cells. Sitting down again, she watched them go, the taller, auburn-haired apprentice trailing after Michael. Charming though he was, there was something just a bit odd about him, she thought. Morgana resolved to keep an eye on him for a few days before turning back, reluctantly, to the next vampire in line.

By three in the morning, Morgana had sorted out the situation as best she could, given the current disarray of her city. Some thirty-five Inquisitors had entered the city during the last day, and, with a sureness indicating inside information, had sought out and attacked a majority of the city's vampires. However, they had avoided the city's one group haven, all havens in public or common buildings, and the chantry. Only vampires who slept alone had fallen in the first assault.

The Justicar was preparing to call a meeting of her Archons and apprentices. The elderly Ventrue, Alan, had not yet reported to the chantry, and she feared that the conservative vampire had fallen to the Inquisition. She got up and paced the hall, now empty of petitioners. Finally, she called in her youngest apprentice, Josh, and told him to go look for Alan, both at his haven across the city and at the house of a mortal bookseller that had befriended him. During the last invasion of 'holy joe' vampire hunters, Alan had been badly hurt, and survived only through the intervention of the young witch who ran the Cedar Chest bookstore and herbal center. The witch, Judith, was Alan's contact with the city's population of mortal magi. It was just possible he'd gone to ground at either her house or her shop.

Josh left obediently, directions in hand. Morgana decided to go ahead with her work during his absence, and called in the city's senior Nosferatu, who she gave instructions for the rest of the city. All vampires slain so far had been alone and in isolated surroundings. Therefore, it was suggested that all surviving Kindred move into the more populated parts of the city and remain in the company of other vampires so far as possible.

Orders given, Morgana retreated to the library computer room and typed up a preliminary report for the Council. Her long fingers clicked over the keys by the half-light of the glowing screen. Finishing with a tally of those reported missing, she slumped back in the chair and brushed loose tendrils of hair out of her eyes. In the silence of the library, the clock on the wall chimed four. More 'rosebushes' twitched and rustled, disturbed by the vibration.

Four in the morning! Morgana rose and returned to the hall, her soft shoes whispering over the stone. Josh had not yet returned. She folded her hands into the wide velvet sleeves of her robe and headed towards the front doors. Suddenly the door was opened from the outside, and Josh, dragging another person, staggered in. Morgana blinked in surprise and hurried over to help, catching the other arm of the prostrate vampire. Between the two of them, the third vampire was hauled into the Great Hall and laid out on the floor. Tall, lanky, dark disheveled hair, pallid skin, tattered, charred clothing gaping to show burned skin and bullet holes. A bad case, Morgana thought.

"Where did you find him, Josh?" she inquired, arching an eyebrow. The younger vampire bobbed his head nervously, light eyes meeting hers for a moment before reverting to his feet.

"A, a back alley. By the Poet's Corner coffeeshop. There was a couple of guys in black robes." She looked over at him sharply.

"Are you all right?" He shuffled his feet for a moment.

"Yeah. Think he got a couple of 'em first. Others were picking up the bits." Josh grinned for a moment. "They didn't see me, so I nailed one, grabbed him, and ran. Don't think any of 'em followed me."

"Well done. Were you able to find Alan?"

"Yeah. He's with the mage. Says he'll be here soon as he can." Josh knelt over the wounded vampire and shook him slightly. His eyes snapped open with a look of horror, and he lunged for Josh�s throat with a snarl. Josh leaped back.

"You! Damn you, get back!" The vampire snarled, reeling to his feet with fangs bared. "You think you've caught me, but I'll get you too! Red robes. . . " He staggered and lunged at Josh again. Josh sidestepped and wound up behind Morgana, clutching her arm. The new vampire swayed in confusion as he re-oriented on her.

"Numbers won't help you, hunter! I got more than two of you last time." Morgana looked him in the eye coolly. He was obviously too injured and disoriented to be very dangerous to her, but he was also too upset to reason with at the moment. Focusing all the command she could, she said evenly, "Sit down." His knees buckled and he slumped back to the floor, staring at her in consternation.

"We are not hunters of vampires." she continued calmly. "We are vampires ourselves. Tremere, in point of fact. You are in the Knoxville chantry. "

"How do I know that?" The newcomer demanded sullenly. "Those ones that jumped me, they were dressed like you, red robes and all."

"They were wearing black robes." Josh contributed, leaning over Morgana's shoulder. The other vampire blinked and looked away for a moment, striving to remember the details of the attack.

"Yeah. Yeah, they wore black. I'm sorry." He shook his head and stood up again.

"I'm Valniero. I hang at the coffeeshop. Toreador." He brushed a lock of black, jaw-length hair out of his eyes.

"I am Justicar DeVries, of the Tremere. You appear injured." Morgana looked him over again. "You are welcome to remain at the chantry for the duration of the crisis, but I must insist that you not wander about unaccompanied. There are a number of traps for the unwary."

"Yeah. I guess they burned me worse than I thought. Thanks." The Toreador still seemed unfocused, but Morgana supposed that was to be expected.

"Take him down to the apprentice cells, Josh." She waved the two off and returned to her suit of rooms, where she found and loaded a little, deadly, handgun. She laid it carefully beside the bed before retiring, nervously, for another day.

Bitter smoke twisted through her dreams, carrying the hot ash of her former Regent's body. The hiss and crackle of a raging fire echoed in the vaults of memory. The maddening scent of burning blood hung in her nostrils. Again and again, a shining cross emerged from the smoke, and she fled.

A distant sound cut through her nightmare, something urgent, insistent. . . She struggled up out of sleep like a swimmer through murky water.

"My donna! My donna DeVries!!" Someone was pounding on her door. She shook her head violently.

"Intruders in the chantry! My donna!" She clawed free of entangling sheets and slid out of bed, white gown floating ghostly around her. Her hand raked across the bedside table and came up holding the little gun. She cast about her in confusion. Where was the noise coming from? The door. She reeled towards it, steadying herself against the thick wood. She fumbled with the locks, with the frustrated urgency of a dreamer. Her sleep-drugged body would not obey her. The last bolt slid back and Jean-Paul thrust the door open, falling almost into her arms. His white hair was wildly dissarrayed and his eyes were wide.

"Th-they came in the front doors! The guards are dead. . ." The faithful servant stumbled aside and stared at her in consternation. Morgana shook her head again, trying to shake off the day-time cobwebs.

"Right. Go out through the tunnel escape." she ordered, trying to get a grip on the situation. She grabbed a red robe off the nearby chair and dragged it on, then headed out the door as the old ghoul hurried down the spiral stair to the cellar passages. Shouts and gunshots rang through the rooms as she ran through the council room, bumping into chairs. The library was even louder, and ominous light filtered in around the doors to the Great Hall. She paused behind the door to flick off the safety, then pushed the door half open and looked into the hall, squinting painfully at the sunlight flooding in the ruined entry. The watch-plants were hacked, charred ruins, but some two or three Inquisitors were sprawled bloody on the floor beside them. More armed hunters were crossing the hall, some towards the stairs to the apprentice quarters, more to the library.

Morgana prayed that Jean-Paul had thought to rouse the neonates and took aim at the nearest hunter. As the shots rang out, the hunters recoiled with surprise. Two fell, and the rest massed and returned fire. Morgana dodged back behind the door and felt the impact as one bullet slammed into the frame. Other shots passed through the opening, and more clinked off the stone walls. On the floor below, someone screamed in agony and more shots were fired. Morgana leaned around the door again and shot back, moving faster than any human could. Two more went down, and a third screamed and dropped his gun as the bullet shattered his shoulder. A return shot sang past her ear like a deadly fly and two more hit the door. The disorganized hunters had figured out where the shots were coming from. She ducked back again and slumped against the door, mind racing. She raked a draggle of hair out of her eyes. How many left? Three? Four? How many downstairs? Who had screamed, down below? Oh God, were the apprentices awake? She shook her head again. Three left. Three hunters. And they were getting closer to the door. She looked at the gun she held. Yeah, she could do that. She leaned around the door one last time and fired, and the Inquisitors fell like pins as her last three shots hit. Another scream echoed up the stairs, gut-wrenching. She stepped out and ran towards the stairs. . . And recoiled in shock as an Inquisitor staggered back up them, wreathed in flames. The shrieking man clawed helplessly at the sickly colored fire, marsh green, smoky red, phantom blues licking at splitting skin and charred cloth. He reeled across the last step and fell to the floor, unnatural fire eating through his flesh and showing bone by now. Morgana froze. No-one below should have been able to do that!

The sunlight through the doors hurt her skin, her eyes, as she stared at the flaming heap that had once been a man. Morgana slowly moved deeper into the shadows of the hall, trying to pin down the memory that made that sickly hued fire familiar. Her day-fogged mind refused to respond.

More footsteps thudded on the stairs, coming up. Her head snapped up and she refocused on the door, checking the load of her gun. Long-haired, pale, tall. . . . Victor. Not seeing her, the apprentice emerged into the hall, seemingly undisturbed by the wash of sunlight. His stunningly handsome face contorted in a snarl as he kicked aside one of the fallen bodies.

"Victor?" Morgana called, blinking against the light. He spun in surprise, and then looked concerned.

"My lady?"

"Is everyone all right down-stairs?"

"Yes, we all made it through. I don't think they were expecting resistance."

"Good." She rubbed a hand over her eyes, felt the sunlight, indirect as it was, stinging her skin. "I'm going back to bed. Is Jean-Paul down there?"

"The ghoul? Yes, he woke us up."

"Tell him to have something done about the doors, if you please." Morgana turned and made for the blessed dark behind the library doors.

Night settled again over the city. Morgana awoke, feeling weary and sandy-eyed. She suppressed a groan as she recalled what she had to look forward to this night. Obviously, the inquisition had worked themselves up enough to go after large groups of vampires. She slid reluctantly out of bed and walked over to the mirror. Her translucent reflection peered back at her. Sitting down in the fragile chair, she fished a comb out of the array of antique and modern toiletries on the vanity. She tugged tangles out of her black hair impatiently. As the last knots vanished, she sat back and looked at her reflection again. Then she reached for a brush and smoothed the hyacinth curls to a glossy black. Brushing her hair helped her think. Now, where had she seen that odd fire before? It wasn't a variant of the Lure of Flames path that she knew of, but she'd seen it. . . . Fighting a Baali!

Morgana dropped the brush with a clatter. An Infernalist! Who was down there? Her apprentice and childe, Michael; the adopted Tremere, Josh. Neither of them were likely, Michael less so than Josh. Victor, the new apprentice, and Valniero, the (self-proclaimed) Toreador. Maybe. She got up and began to pace urgently. Victor had no proof besides being a vampire and bearing a medallion. It was just possible that he could be a traitor, but that clean aura. . . . No, probably not Victor. The Toreador, then. She'd never seen him before, had nothing to go on but his word that he lived in the city. But, she had Josh�s word that he�d been caught by the Inquisitors, and Josh had said nothing about any unusual fire. I'll have to ask him, she thought. She flopped back into her chair and tapped long, tapered fingers on the dark wood. Better to keep an eye on them both for a while. Now, how do I do that? She suddenly snapped her fingers and jumped up. Her thin white gown swirled down the hidden stair behind her. In the private lab/ritual room at the foot of the stairs, she rummaged through a dark, water-stained chest. At the bottom, a small silk bag lay, tied with red cords. Morgana picked it up and looped the cords over her wrist before closing the chest.

Back up in her room again, the elder vampiress spilled the bag's contents out on the table: Two smallish, dark green stones flecked with a glowing red. Bloodstones, a useful minor magic. Planting one on another person made tracking them embarrassingly simple, and scrying them almost as easy.

"If only all my problems had such simple answers." Morgana slipped the stones into a pocket of her robe.

Early in the night, she looked to the reconstruction of the doors, which was progressing well, checked in on the apprentices, who had all survived in good order, but neither of whom had seen anything unusual that day, and told Josh to help Jean-Paul get rid of the corpses. The neonate shudderingly obeyed.

Morgana then sought out the Toreador, Valniero. He was below, slumped on the cot in one of the apprentice cells. Still healing, I suppose, Morgana thought. She paused in the doorway and scanned the sleeping vampire. His aura was reduced to normal sleep levels, and flecked here and there with pain from healing wounds, but showed no other anomaly. Absence of proof not being proof of absence, she planted one of the stones in his pocket anyway and slipped back out. On her way back through the Great Hall, she paused where Josh was trying to scrape the charred blood and bone off the floor without actually touching it.

"Josh, when you brough the vampire back here last night, did you see anything unusual at the scene of the fight?" He let the scrub brush slip back into the bucket of dirty water.

"Are dead inquisitors unusual?"

"No, not really. At least, not under these circumstances. I was thinking of any burned patches, odd lights, anything like that." Morgana pointed at the seared stone with blackened bones half-melted into it. Josh swirled the brush in the froth of soap and splashed more onto the stone.

"No, nothing like this at all."

"Hmmmm. . . . . Thank you." Morgana went on through to the front doors again to talk to Jean-Paul. Having been downstairs at the time of the attack, he might have seen the Infernalist in action, but would not necessarily know that there was anything strange about it. Unfortunately, he had been in Josh's cell, trying to wake him up, and had seen nothing outside that.

On the street outside the chantry, Morgana noticed a rather odd-looking man in a black cloak. Long, curling hair spilled over his shoulders. The antique formality of his garb contrasted oddly with the other people with him, most of whom wore tattered street clothes. He waved the others back behind him and approached her cautiously.

"Greetings, Madam Justicar. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Orpheus D'Avignon." A faint French accent gave away the derivation of his last name. Morgana frowned thoughtfully. Orpheus. . . . Oh yes. The name was familiar from the records that the last Regent had left. An anarch leader who normally kept to himself and ran with a motley bunch of neonates. The records were unclear as to whether said neonates were actually his childer, or adopted, but a majority of them appeared to Malkavians. Orpheus himself claimed to be Brujah, but most of the other vampires regarded this as a probable lie. Himself apparently fairly old, he'd been reported as manifesting some sort of unknown ability. She'd formed an alliance with the self-proclaimed 'anarch overlord' upon her arrival, but the two of them had met only briefly before, during a fight against the Sabbat. Morgana inclined her head in response to his slight bow.

"How can I assist you?" She asked. Orpheus, a rather grim expression on his features, explained that his 'brood', as he referred to the clutch of neonates, had been set upon by a large party of Inquisitors and that he was seeking shelter for them. Morgana arched a narrow eyebrow and invited him to bring them inside. He turned to the mob of vampires on the far side of the street and waved them across towards him. Morgana turned and preceded him into the public rooms of the chantry, through the broken doors.

"As you may have noticed," she remarked "We have been having some minor troubles of our own."

"I would imagine so." The French vampire replied. The young anarchs flocked up in the Great Hall, gawking at the walls and throne.

"You are welcome to stay here for the time being, but I am afraid that the chantry was not built with the expectation of having to accommodate so many. I can have one of the laboratory rooms emptied for you, if that will be adequate?" She glanced over at Orpheus. He quirked an eyebrow and nodded.

"Also, there are a number of traps for the unwary or uninvited in the passages. I would suggest that you ask one of the apprentices to escort you." A yelp of shock interrupted her as one of the anarchs jumped back from the 'watchplant' that had been moved to the top of the stairs. Orpheus reached for a weapon which, apparently, he was not carrying and then caught himself and returned to a calmer stance as the rattled neonate returned to the center of the room, clutching melodramatically at his garishly colored clothing.

"That was one of them." Morgana added dryly. "If you wander around by yourself, there is a good chance that one or more of these things will try to eat you." At this point, the Toreador, who had evidently just gotten up, ambled up the stairs and recoiled in shock as the plant made a grab for him. It hissed in frustrated hunger and whipped it's tendrils as far down the stairs as it could. The anarchs stared at the plant in consternation. Morgana hurried over and pushed the plant back from the stair opening.

Valniero edged by behind her, eyeing the plant warily. Morgana walked back into the room, noting that now, all of the anarchs were staring at her.

"Josh?" Morgana waved him over as he re-entered the room, carrying a chisel this time. "I need you to get Michael for me. You can work with the burned spot later." Josh put the chisel down besides the bone fragments and went back through the library. Michael came in a moment later.

"Michael, I need you to go to the first laboratory and move all the equipment into the rear room. I know the tables are bolted down, but see that everything else gets taken out. Sir," she nodded to Orpheus, "If you would care to supervise?" As she turned back, she scanned the group, reading auras, and pausing abruptly at one young woman.

"But if I might have a word with you first?" She added, looking back at Orpheus. He turned to face her, expression restrained. She motioned him over to a side wall.

"Who exactly is the young woman with swarthy skin?" Morgana's eyes were narrowed. Orpheus tensed, alarm rippling momentarily through his featureless, grayed aura, before vanishing again..

"She is one of my childer." Calm, very calm, on the surface at least.

"No, she is not. Must I explain why I am certain?"

"She came to me three years ago. I never inquired as to the circumstances of her Embrace. We presumed she was Caitiff."

"I suspect that you knew otherwise, but that is your affair. I will hold you personally answerable for her actions while she is here." Morgana shrugged. Orpheus bowed again, more deeply.

"Thank you for your understanding."

"My, ah, understanding dates from some time back. Josh is also renegade antitribu." She smiled slightly at the Brujah's bemusement. Orpheus blinked, then bowed again. He turned and followed Michael, who had paused at the top of the stairs.

Morgana returned to the library, meaning to see if any of the books had further information to aid in catching her traitor. At the back of the room, Victor sat with a volume on the history of the Inquisition, flipping pages in the glow of a reading lamp. He looked up briefly as Morgana passed him, one hand lying on the page before him. Morgana went to one of the shadowy back shelves and began skimming the titles, glancing once over her shoulder. His beauty was almost painful to look upon, and harder to look away from. Built like a young god, face half-hidden by long, damp-silk strands of dark auburn hair, and his long, graceful hands stroking the pages as he turned them. Morgana firmly brought her attention back to her books, reminding herself why it was unwise to 'fraternize' with one's subordinates. A movement in the doorway made her glance back up to see Valniero enter, keeping a careful eye on the remaining watchplant. He had apparently found a katana somewhere, probably hidden under his coat before, and was wearing it over his shoulder. Once inside, he looked around the room and promptly zeroed in on Victor. Morgana set the book in her hand back on the shelf and watched closely, expecting violence. The Toreador stalked across the room, glaring at Victor as he closed the gap. His dark hair was hanging in damp tendrils around his face, and his eyes were wild.

"I don't know who you are, but you aren't what you say you are!" The Toreador slammed his fist down on the reading table. Victor arched his eyebrows, totally unruffled, and closed the book lying before him.

"It's just a little too convenient, you showing up right before the city gets hit like this!" Valniero snarled. Victor looked across at Morgana.

"Must I put up with these. . . wild accusations? I would think that an outsider like this would have more to prove."

"I'm not the one throwing fire around, you freak!"

"Oh really?" Victor tapped his fingers together, gazing calmly at the enraged Toreador. Morgana stepped in at this point.

"Throwing fire?" The Toreador ranted incoherently about Victor's 'evil magic', and then sort of ran out of steam when Morgana failed to react.

"Check his blood! I don't know what he really is, but he's no Tremere." Valniero finally demanded.

"It's a reasonable request, Victor. If you will permit me?" Morgana seconded the statement. Victor rolled his eyes and then bowed his head to her.

"Of course, my lady." He held out a wrist. She flicked a nail across the vein and caught a trickle of blood in her palm. Dabbing a finger in the pool, she lifted a drop to her lips. As a trained thaumaturgist, the taste as the blood spread translated into clans and lineages. Very familiar, definitely Tremere, but with something. . . . indefinably wrong in a subtle way. Interesting.

"He's Tremere." Morgana stated flatly, at the same time slipping the Bloodstone she had palmed into one of Victor's pockets as she laid a hand on his shoulder. The Toreador's face was a study in confusion and baffled rage.

"Now that that has been taken care of, may I go feed?" Victor inquired. The Toreador snarled and made for him. Morgana stepped between them and grabbed Valniero's arm.

"Stop right there!" She punctuated her statement with a tightened grip. "Yes, Victor. You are, of course," glaring at the Toreador, "free to go. Be back before dawn, please." Victor bowed coolly to her and strolled past, robe flapping at his heels. Valniero, clearly on the verge of frenzy, snarled again and tried to pull free momentarily. Morgana spun him to face her and stared him down, waiting until Victor left the room.

"Quiet!" she hissed. "I know, there is something wrong with his blood, but he doesn't need to know that. I have a way of tracking him now, and I want to see where he goes." She let go of his arm with a final warning look. The Toreador nodded, calming slightly. Then he turned on his heel and headed out the door, evading the plant again. Morgana fished a book off the shelf and sat down, planning to give Victor time to get wherever he was going before tracking him.

Meanwhile, Orpheus D'Avignon was downstairs, carrying jars of something he was trying not to look at too closely. Michael, behind him, had an armful of books. The two had made several trips, aided by Jean-Paul, who had the keys to the store-room. The first lab was almost completely stripped, with only a single shelf of spell components and lab equipment left in it. On his return to the lab at the base of the stairs, he heard a sudden wail of fright and pain from above. The voice was unmistakably that of the youngest of his group, a 14th generation Malk who had been about 13 when her sire found her. He swore under his breath in French as antique as his costume and raced up the stairs, hauling the startled apprentice behind him. The young Malk was cowering on the floor besides the plant, which the other apprentice, Josh, was waving away from her. Orpheus scooped her up and held her for a moment. On the far side of the room, the Justicar had appeared, an elderly text in one hand and a look of alarm on her aristocratic face. Her dark hair was working it's way loose from the heavy twist she wore it in. She blinked as she scanned the room.

"D'Avignon, where are the others?" He put the child vampire down abruptly and looked around himself. The room was empty save for himself, the Malk, and the three Tremere.

"Dear," he asked the Malk, "Where did the others go? Did you see?" She was sucking an injured fingertip solemnly, big-eyed.

"I was going to look for you." she explained "The others said I couldn't go along." Across the room, the Justicar made an abortive move towards them, then caught herself and waved at him to carry on.

"Where were they going, that you couldn't go as well?" Orpheus was being as patient as any elder this worried could be.

"To find the bad man." She shrugged. "The man with the funny name told them all to come help if they wanted to, but they said I couldn't go."

"What bad man, dear?"

"The inf. . .Infer. . . .In-fern-al-its." She smiled proudly at having gotten it right. Across the room, the Justicar had frozen in mid-movement. Orpheus looked from Morgana to the Malkavian and got a very bad feeling.

"Th, thank you,dear. Go play with Josh, okay?" He headed towards the Justicar little short of a run. "What is she talking about?!" He hissed urgently. Morgana waved him back and turned to the Malk herself.

"Dear, can you tell me what the name of the man that the others went with was?" The Justicar was barely concealing tension. The little Malk narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.

"Va. . . Val-ni-ro. That was it." The Justicar put a hand over her eyes and muttered something untranslatable under her breath.

"What is going on?!" Orpheus demanded. "Where are my children?" <--!start proofreading from here !-->

"Come with me, if you please, and quickly. You too, Michael." The Justicar turned on her heel, then paused and looked back at the younger vampires. "Josh, stay here and keep her out of trouble and away from the plants. And tell Jean-Paul that he is to take care of anything that comes up for the next hour or so." Morgana hurried through the library and the council room, sending Michael to fetch some ritual tools and call her archon, Alan. She took Orpheus into her study and swept papers and files aside, clearing the center of her desk, explaining as she did the current situation.

"There is in fact an Infernalist somewhere in the chantry. However, there are two likely suspects. One of them is the person your childer are chasing, a Tremere named Victor. The other one is the Toreador leading them." Orpheus went white and swayed slightly. My children! The Brujah thought helplessly.

"However, I have a way to track both of them, which is what I'm about to do. I hadn't planned for this to come to a head quite so quickly, but we'll just have to deal with it. Ahh, thank you, Michael." The apprentice trotted back into the room, piling an oddly engraved bowl, two black candles, a pair of candleholders, and a length of red cloth on the desk. Morgana quickly flipped the cloth out flat, set the bowl in the center, placed a candle in each candleholder, set them on either side, and directed Michael to put out all the other lights. She pulled a notebook, a map, a pencil, and a box of matches out of a drawer and handed the notebook and pencil to Orpheus.

"Here. As I see landmarks, I'll describe them. You may want to write them down, as I at least do not have perfect recall. I personally suspect Victor of being our culprit, but I'm going to look for Valniero first. Don't say anything until I come out of trance. If you break my concentration, I have to start over." The Brujah took the pad and nodded, grimfaced. Morgana continued her rapid-fire dictation.

"Michael, go arm yourself, and open the garage door. D'Avignon, you're a swordsman, right?" He nodded again. "Get the French saber on the third shelf as well, and take it to the garage with you. Thank you." Michael hurried out.

Morgana shot a glance at Orpheus, then fished a silver stiletto out of her sleeve and opened a vein in her wrist. Blood spilled darkly into the bowl. She wiped the knife on a fold of her robe, laid it aside, and lit the candles. Cupping her hands around the silver basin, she gazed into the dark pool and began chanting inaudibly in Latin. Orpheus fidgeted, unwilling to wait, then forced himself to stillness. Morgana slowly passed a hand over the basin, eyes unfocused.

"East of the chantry. . . An apartment building on the right. . . . Crossing Laurel. . . Towards the manufacturing district. . . . Where's Victor?. . . .There, up ahead. What place is this?. . . . The sign is faded, but the windows are glowing. . . . Pentex Products, Inc." She shook her head and sat back. After blinking for a moment, she pulled the map over.

"Here," dotting it with red "Is the road your childer are on. And here." Circling half a block, "Is where Victor is going." The road led almost directly to the red circle.

"Let's go." Morgana said flatly. She blew out the candles and led Orpheus out the back, down a flight of stairs and into a small but cavernous area where Michael already stood, arms full of weapons.

"Can you drive?" Morgana plucked a set of keys out of a box, glancing at Orpheus.

"Yes."

"Here. Catch." She flipped the keys at him, and pulled the sword out of Michael's grasp. He took both, twirling the blade momentarily to check the balance, and twitching a brow in approval. He swung into the driver's seat, sliding the sword onto the floor between the seats. Morgana pulled off her long robe and draped it over a hook on the wall, as Michael did likewise. Under the robes, the two dressed much alike, in black jeans. Orpheus fired up the engine, and the two Tremere settled onto motorcycles and flanked him as he tore out of the doors.

The city night was shattered by the roaring engines. Orpheus drove as fast as he dared, followed by the two 'cycles. The Brujah completely disregarded stoplights. Tail-lights flared as he braked to make a sharp turn, headlights sweeping over the buildings. His tyers screeched in protest, and the blackcar fishtailed wildly over the railroad tracks. The lighter motorcycles bounced into the air, crunching back to earth on the far side, broken glass glinting under the wheels.

Somewhere ahead of them, voices shouted and shots rang out. Orpheus swung through a final turn and threw the door open as the car screeched to a halt. A dark warehouse loomed up before him, flames dancing behind the windows. In the gravel lot before it, a mass of neonates were mobbing three hideous things. Eight feet tall and massively deformed, the hairy brutes were shockingly fast. One of his childer whipped a crossbow from under his garishly patched coat and sent a bolt thudding into the chest of the closest one. The thing grunted and staggered, but kept coming. The Ravnos blinked and retreated. Another young vamp put a bullet into it's head and it reeled and fell. One of the other wolf-beasts sank it's claws into a leather-clad youth and threw him to the ground. The downed one started to get up again, and then the werewolf who ran with the anarchs ripped it's chest open in a spray of blood. Orpheus ran forward, blade swinging expertly.

Morgana swung her cycle around to the far side of the group and fired half a clip of bullets into the other Black Spiral Dancer as it lunged for another vampire. Valniero ran one through, then recoiled in shock as it kept coming. Closer to the building, another figure emerged from the flame-lit doorway. The last Spiral Dancer went down under Orpheus's sword as Victor strode out of fire and darkness, a nimbus of hell-fire lapping around him. His eyes blazed red, and foot-long talons swept from his fingertips. Morgana went cold with rage and took careful aim, hoping to slow him. The one bullet that might have hit splattered to the earth as liquid lead. His return bolt of flame hissed past her as she flung herself aside. Damn! I think I'm outclassed. She hit the ground and rolled, coming up four feet to the side and firing again. Molten lead dripped to the barren ground. Sickly fire hit the earth and splattered, flaring wide.

Morgana swore in Spanish and rolled again, lunging to her feet and dodging his next cast. Behind Victor, Orpheus was running towards the warehouse door. Two of his childer were at his heels. Michael aimed a burst of gun-fire at Victor. He flinched slightly. Maybe one had made it through, but guns obviously weren't working. The Ravnos was nocking another bolt into his crossbow. Morgana dodged closer, willing her own claws to grow. Four inch nails hooked from her hands. Maybe I can slow him up a little. She gathered herself and leapt at him, claws outstretched. He sidestepped, but not quite fast enough. Her nails tore through the leather of his coat, drawing blood beneath. She landed beyond him, rolling again, and hissing with pain. The fire playing about him clung to her hand and burned for an instant before dying. Victor, too, hissed in rage and shock. Hurts, does it? About time something did. Another ball of hell-fire licked past her.

Inside the warehouse, the babble of chants and shrieks reached a new crescendo. She glanced aside for a moment as Michael dodged past, picking off another attacker. Then Morgana gasped in pain as Victor's claws slammed into her side. I let him get too close! He dragged her upright, dagger-edged nails buried between her ribs. The nimbus of flame flickered and died as she clawed at his arm, feet dangling above the ground. He smiled cruelly, lifting his other hand.

Inside the warehouse, Orpheus staggered in shock as he dodged into a corner. The cracked concrete was red with blood, and the bodies of the unfortunate victims were tossed in heaps against the outer walls. A good score of vampires and Black Spiral Dancers were leaping and yelling around a central pit filled with flame. Sprawled on a massive, crudely shaped altar before the fire, three mortals writhed and bled. Outrage flooded through the old vampire�s mind. He drew his sword again and darted towards the altar, hoping to save those who could still be helped. His childer followed on his heels.

Most of the blood-soaked celebrants were completely oblivious, working themselves up to a frenzy pitch. Orpheus pulled one man from the altar, holding him up one-handed. His childer grabbed the woman beside him and an older man. A handful of Infernalists noticed this and turned, snarling, on the trio. Orpheus cut down the nearest and ran, the neonates behind him. The remaining Infernalists gathered up, gaining as he reached the door and turned, letting the mortal he'd taken slide to the earth at his feet. The first, a young-looking man with a black dagger in his hand, leapt at the elder, to be speared in midair on the dueling saber. The sword flashed again as the vampire fell, and the corpse was headless by the time it hit the earth. Gritty ash, soaked with blood, powdered into the gravel underfoot. Two more huge malformities loped out of the doorway, eyes blazing red and fangs dripping. Orpheus whipped the blood off his sword and slashed at their eyes.

The leading Spiral Dancer growled and ducked under the blade. The other faltered and fell behind, shaking it�s misshapen head. Orpheus struck again, lopping off a ragged, bat-like ear. It was too fast! He feinted and cut again, opening a long gash on the thing�s chest. It howled in rage and lunged at him. He stabbed it, fell back under it�s great weight, and chopped at the Dancer�s back as it fell. It twitched and convulsed, and the wounds began to close as the second Dancer went for the elder�s throat. His blade sang through the air, leaving tracks of red hatching it�s matted fur, but it was driving him back. A burst of gun-fire buzzed past his shoulder, slamming his current opponent back against the warehouse wall. He slashed it�s throat open to the spine and prepared to deal with the regenerating werewolf. Out of the corner of his eye, a flicker of light and motion caught his eyes. He glanced aside, then froze. The Justicar dangled like a broken marionette from the claws of another, familiar vampire. She twisted, clawing at her opponent�s arm as he lifted a hand.

A shocking growl snapped Orpheus�s focus back to the werewolf at his feet. It was staggering back to a standing position. He swore and stabbed it through the throat, jerking the blade sideways as it reeled. It fell on the corpse of it�s erstwhile packmate. He scooped up the wounded mortal and dragged him free of the fight zone, glancing frantically at the center where his childer ran, ducking and firing.

Victor smiled like the edge of a knife as his claws grazed Morgana�s throat.

"It�s almost a pity, you know. You could have made a fine Baali, if only we�d gotten there first." He shrugged. "Too bad." Then he jerked forward, lips frozen in a grimace of triumph and pain. A trickle of blood bubbled out the corner of his mouth. He fell across her, muscles locked. She ripped herself free of the agonizing talons, ignoring the burning pain in her side. Blood-soaked and dazed, she pulled her body free of his and reeled to her feet, the light of rage in her eyes. Victor lay at her feet, the feathered butt of a crossbow quarrel protruding between his shoulder-blades. A perfect shot. The Ravnos, ten paces away, lowered his bow with a feral grin on his face. Morgana smiled back, feeling suddenly reckless.

The warehouse was hemmed round, inside and out, with rusting drums of chemicals. The Justicar got a dangerous gleam in her eye.

"Everybody get clear of the warehouse!" she shouted. One white hand made a scooping motion, as if she were catching an invisible orb. Fire spat between her fingers as she hurled the newly made fireball at the pyramid of drums. Anarchs dove in all directions as the hissing globe slammed into the barrels. A fountain of fire, spattered with chunks of shattered metal, erupted against the creaking wall. Flames engulfed the building at lightning speed. Shrieks of horror and rage mingled with the roar of the inferno. The roof buckled and fell inwards, succeeded by a gout of flame leaping a hundred feet into the night. The flame twisted and writhed like a living thing, sculpting itself into a huge, insectile mound that loomed overhead, fiery jaws working. It bent slowly over them, eyes like the Pit sweeping the cowering vampires. Then it crumbled and fell inwards in a shower of flame, dissolving into the central bonfire.

Far away, a siren began to wail. Morgana blinked and scanned the surrounding area. Most of the anarchs were huddled in knots, at the periphery of the parking lot. Orpheus was kneeling over the bleeding man he�d dragged from the altar, staring up at the flames. Michael had taken cover behind the chantry car, eyes wide. Off to one side, three of the anarchs were rocking another car back and forth. The wheels left the ground and slammed back down. Thud, screek, thud, screek. . . In the front seat, a white-faced man huddled, clinging to the dashboard. Morgana hauled Victor over to the chantry car and unceremoniously dumped him in the trunk. She slammed it closed and stalked over to the other car, waving the anarchs away from it. They reluctantly obeyed. The man attempted to straighten up for a moment, then recoiled in panic as Morgana drove a clawed hand through the door and ripped it away. She yanked him out of the car and dumped him on the ground at her feet.

"Now, you're going to do what I say, right?" He nodded frantically. "Good." Michael came over at her nod and took the man back to the chantry car as well, pushing him into the back seat and sitting beside him. Morgana slumped into the passenger's seat and closed her eyes, feeling an incipient headache struggling to be born.

The car pulled back into the garage, beside Alan�s vehicle, which had arrived in Morgana�s absence. Alan himself was pacing the floor in the Great Hall. As Morgana appeared up the stairs, Alan hurried over. Michael, behind her, was dragging Victor.

"What happened?" The normally reserved Ventrue was visibly perturbed. Morgana�s bloodstained, torn �work clothes�, along with the panic-stricken mortal she held by the arm, indicated rather clearly that something had gone seriously awry. This was a major blow to the conservative ancilla�s preferred orderly existence.

"Apprentice Michael called me, but I was unable to learn where you had gone. Why is there a Malkavian in the laboratory?" Alan was quite rattled. Morgana smiled wearily.

"Come with us, and I�ll explain." She took the mortal prisoner back into the second lab room and left him standing, grey and shaking, in a corner while she and Michael shackled Victor to one of the tables. The long, blood-red claws trailing from his hands fanned out on the metal.

"This is Victor de la Fontaine, posing as a Tremere apprentice. It seems that he is actually a Baali plant, and an Infernalist." Alan�s eyes widened. "This, on the other hand, is Mr. Scott Jones, a would-be Nephandus. You might want to ask Judith Stewart about that." Morgana scooped a sringe out of a drawer, and picked a pair of forceps off an instrument tray. After a moment of probing, she was able to grip the butt of the crossbow quarrel and jerk it free, broadening the wound in Victor�s chest. He jerked reflexively, snarling with rage and then dropping into a defiant, icy composure.

"A*s for you, sir, I believe I had better start more extensive blood testing." She drew off a vial of blood. "Hmmmm. . . you are 6th generation? And still test as a Tremere, which I find professionally interesting. However, that does mean that I can�t Dominate you." She shrugged. "There�s also a very odd taint, which I presume comes from your netherworld contacts." Alan had sunk into a chair with a stunned expression on his face. Normally an elderly lawyer, Alan was really not prepared to deal with the more brutal realities present.

"Oh, Alan, could you go upstairs and see if Orpheus D� Avignon is here yet? I need to talk to one of his childer." Alan nodded and left gratefully.

"Meanwhile, I think my simplest course is to let the Council deal with you. However, there are still a few answers I want." Morgana drew a stiletto from her sleeve and laid it on the counter, then hunted up a goblet in the cabinet beside it. "Much though I generally dislike bloodbonding, I think it will save me a good deal of time and effort." She pierced a vein and filled the cup, then approached the table, swirling the blood gently. "I can inject this, or you can drink it. Your choice." He smiled thinly, but complied when she tilted the cup to his lips. "Very good. I�ll be back tomorrow." She bowed and departed.

Upstairs, Orpheus had just arrived after dropping the rescued humans off at the hospital. Most of his childer were already back at the chantry. Morgana came up the flight of stairs and met him at the door, now re-built. Alan was keeping an eye on the milling anarchs. The young Malk skipped over and tugged on his sleeve.

"Hi, mister!" Alan blinked.

"Can I help you, little girl?" Alan tried to adopt an avuncular tone.

"Wanna play marbles, mister?" Alan looked helplessly at Morgana. Morgana shrugged and left him to his fate, turning to Orpheus.

"Thank you for your aid in this incident. You and your childer are always welcome in my city. If ever I can do anything for you, let me know." She smiled. Orpheus bowed, smiling faintly in return. "The Inquisitors may be active again today, so. . . . " She motioned towards the stairs. Orpheus shepherded his charges downstairs.

Over the next two nights, a handful of scattered attacks took place, but with surprisingly little success. Some hit empty havens, one or two actually brought down vampires, but more of them were killed. Morgana, meanwhile, continued to feed Victor her blood. After the first night, Orpheus and his brood moved back out. Alan received some much-needed instruction on the darker side of vampiric existence, as Morgana dug through old books and files for data on Baali and Infernalists. The Ventrue was profoundly unnerved by her research, but tried to keep his opinions to himself. Her other archon, a Brujah named David, was occupied in the streets to cover up the inadvertent sightings of vampires and suchlike.

The crisis, by and large, was over, and the city's vampires would have breathed a collective sigh of relief had they still breathed at all. Morgana's personal dilemma, however, was not yet resolved. What was she to do with Victor? Having Blood-bound him, she felt a certain responsibility for him, and also, she was anything but sure that he'd tell her everything. Victor had already proven himself to be deceitful in the extreme, and far more powerful than she'd expected. A summary execution, much though he deserved it, was not the answer. After several nights of questioning, and several restless days, Morgana decided to hand him over to the Council of Seven, along with transcripts of the interrogation and a full report of the incident. Despite the faint feeling that she was passing the buck, Morgana was relieved the night Victor left, staked and in chains. Luis, who had returned, was to escort the encoffined vampire to Vienna.