Tuesday

Tom groaned when a mini klaxon siren assaulted his ears.  He peeled open one eye and groped for his alarm clock, desperate to shut it off.  He made it onto his feet and into the shower before his mother had a chance to inflict the verbal reality of his middle name upon him.

He barely remembered to make his bed before he headed to the kitchen for breakfast.  It was a pleasant surprise to see Chris and Shane at the dining table.

Shane lifted a fork in greeting.  Tom waved, then crossed the kitchen to kiss his mother on the cheek.

“Morning Tom,” Chris mumbled around a mouthful of toast.

Tom seated himself, smirking.  “With manners like that I’m surprised the ladies aren’t falling all over you.”

Shane snickered into his orange juice.

Chris swallowed quickly and glared.  “I’ll have you know that plenty of ladies find me attractive.  In fact, I have earned the company of a fine lady this afternoon.”

Shane arched one eyebrow.  “She probably won’t find you so attractive with bits of egg stuck in your teeth.”

Chris immediately closed his mouth.  Tom and Shane shared a discreet chuckle.

“Chris, you never told him you had a girlfriend!”  Elaine glared at her middle son as she handed Tom a plate of food.

Chris blushed furiously; he had forgotten his mother’s overeager interest in her sons’ love lives.

“Tell me about her,” Elaine said.  It was less of a request and more of a command.

The blond boy shrank in his seat under the weight of their collective gaze.

“Well...she’s an American exchange student...”

Shane lifted a hand to his throat in mock horror.  “An American?  For shame, Christopher!”

“Will you bring her around sometime?” Elaine asked.

Tom grinned, amused at his brother’s discomfort.

Chris squirmed.  “Actually, we’ve been assigned a group project in our history class.  And Mum - you always said we could hold meetings here, so today after classes we’re having a meeting.”

Elaine smiled.  “That’s so wonderful.  What’s her name?”

“Genevieve,” Chris said.

“What a pity,” Shane mused.  “I’ll be at work all day.”  He stood up.  “Take care of Chris in my place, all right Tom?”

The youngest boy nodded.

* * *

When Tom hopped on his bike and started the journey to school he could admit to himself when trepidation crept over him.  He cast more than a few wary glances about as he rode.  The police weren’t sure, but the first murder may have occurred in broad daylight. 

Tom sped down the hill toward the school.  He chained up his bicycle and darted past the prefects at the gate.

Mike and Jono met him as they crossed the quad from Harrison’s history classroom.

“What took you so long?” Mike demanded.

“Pardon?”  Tom blinked, confused.

Jono hustled Tom toward their tutor room, straightening his blazer and tie and stowing Tom’s satchel on top of the lockers.

“The headmistress has called a special assembly,” Jono said.

Tom sighed and allowed his friends to fuss over him; he had learnt early on in the film industry that struggling only made it worse.  Whenever there was an assembly, armies of prefects were out enforcing uniform codes.

“Come on - we’re almost late,” Mike said.

The three boys sped across the quad and tacked themselves onto the tail end of their form, earning a few glares from the prefects.

Mr. Harrison cast the trio stern looks when they sat down at the end of the row.  Tom offered an apologetic smile and then turned to face the stage.

Mrs. Georgeson was a formidable woman.  Even in her conservative headmistress dress sit she seemed an aged Amazon.  Her flaming red hair was tied back in a tight bun, but it did nothing to soften the sharp edge of her jawline or the hard glint of her eyes.  Having worked with famous actors, Tom understood the power of presence, but actors could also make themselves unobtrusive.  Mrs. Georgeson exuded raw power and an air of severe authority so much that Tom almost missed Inspector Rowland sitting beside her.

Mike and Jono listened intently as the headmistress introduced the morning’s guest.  Several students in Tom’s form began to look nervous when they learned that Inspector Roland worked for the Birmingham Police.  Tom squirmed in his seat when the man rose to the microphone.  As the inspector greeted the students his piercing gaze swept across the sea of faces and came to rest on Tim.

“The city of Birmingham and the police have decided to issue this warning in light of recent events,” Inspector Roland said, his gaze fixed firmly on Tom.  “While there is no need to panic, the city feels it prudent to remind everyone to exercise caution in going about their daily business.  Adolescents are more prone to risk-taking, and I hope my presence here impresses upon you the prudence you ought to undertake.  There is, at this time, no need to curb nighttime activities; however, it is strongly recommended that none of you venture out alone.”  Roland’s voice was firm but clam, and his gave never wavered from Tom.

“Perhaps some of you would infer greater danger than exists from the mere fact that this warning was issued at all,” the inspector continued, and many students nodded.  “Such and inference is incorrect.  This is merely a municipal reminder that the city is not as safe as we think it is and that we must exercise caution at all times whether or not a homicide has occurred.”

Inspector Roland stepped aside to allow Mrs. Georgeson delivery of closing remarks.  She reminded the students that they were all young adults and intelligent enough to make their own decisions, then dismissed them for classes.

Tom’s form returned to their form room to collect their books.

“That copper - he was looking at you the whole time!” Jono hissed.

“Do you think you’re in danger?” Mike asked.

Tom scanned their anxious faces and, for the first time in his life, regretted his talent for lying and deception.  “I think it’s just as the inspector said - we just have to be careful.  I don’t think I’m in particular danger - it was just a coincidence that the murder victim looked like me.  Perhaps that’s why the bloke kept staring at me - because I was like to ghost or something.”

Tom’s words, coupled with a reassuring smile, seemed to pacify the other two.

“We’ll be fine,” Mike said.  “We’re best mates - we go everywhere together.”

“Including to maths - late.”  Jono picked up his pace.

Tom glanced at his watch and took off down the corridor, Mike on his heels.

At dinner break the three boys chose yesterday’s course of action again.  They managed to beat the lunch rush to the pastry shop and so their food was fresh and hot from the oven.

“Hopefully that strange girl won’t be there today,” Michael muttered.

“Why?” Jono asked, and Tom immediately distrusted his friend’s feigned innocence.  “After all, she was about as close to a bird as you’ll ever get.”

Mike scowled and plunked down on the edge of the fountain.  “That’s right, mate, take the mickey.”  He unwrapped his meat pie and bit into it savagely.  “Just you wait till there’s a lady you fancy.  Then Tom and I will tease you about it, right Tom?”

Tom threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender.  “Hey, as far as you lot are concerned I’m Switzerland.”

Jono pounced on his friend’s neutrality with a smirk.  “Your argument has a delicious flaw, Michael.”

Tom started in on his sausage roll, amused.  Whenever Jono was on the offensive his arguments became eloquent and complex while Mike squirmed in his seat and glared.  Jono could make anyone squirm when he felt like it.

“You see, you plan on only teasing me when I fancy a bird.”  Jono picked delicately at his Cornish pasty, seemingly oblivious to Mike’s fierce glower.  “I, on the other hand, can mock you about your love life whether or not you actually fancy a bird, in which case my opportunities for mockery are more vast.”

Tom watched Mike carefully, willing to jump in before a true argument erupted, when mike suddenly said,

“Hey Tom, isn’t that your brother?”

* * *

A bland gaze traced the movements of the boy and his friends.  Indeed, lunch was the best time to follow a target.  Humans seemed to become more complacent and unguarded around food.  If he just moved a little closer he could hear their conversation and perhaps their plans.  If he knew where the boy would be in the future he could plan his next attack.  He wanted this boy.  This boy had the perfect skin, soft and warm as the velvet of a rose petal.  A quick twist of that pale, pretty throat and a few careful slices with a knife and anarchy would dissolve into a war of the roses.  The rose was so versatile as a flower - it symbolized beauty, love friendship, infidelity, and even death.  Roses were beautiful - and they were most beautiful when dead.

Jono and Tom followed Mike’s line of sigh across the park where a blond boy and an unfamiliar dark-haired girl were sitting on a green wooden bench. 

“Yeah, that’s Chris,” Tom said.  “I think today his university classes are light.  He’s probably on dinner break.

“Who’s the bird?” Jono asked, a wicked glint in his eye.

Mike considered the girl for a few moments.  Even though she was sitting down she must have been quite tall if she could look Chris straight in the eye without craning her neck - Chris was a hefty six-foot-four.  She was pretty; she had a bright smile and sparkling dark eyes.  Her face was framed by dark ringlets.  Chris flirted with her blatantly; she blushed and laughed.

“She’s pretty,” Mike offered.

“You don’t stand a chance, mate,” Jono said without taking his eyes off the romantic scene.

“Chris fancies her,” Tom said.  He glanced at Jono, and they shared identically mischievous grins.

“Should we hassle him?” Jono asked.

“Let me test the waters first.”  Tom smiled faintly.

Mike shot them dubious looks.  “Tom, you said you were Switzerland when it came to taking the mickey out of boys who fancy girls.”

Tom’s grey eyes glittered.  “We’re friends, mate.  All rules go to hell in a handcart where family is concerned.”

A slow grin spread across Mike’s face.  “Really.  So, who is the bird?”

“An American exchange student in one of Chris’s classes,” Tom said.  “Her name is Genevieve.”

Jono grinned.  “Test the waters, and we’ll have some fun.”

The three boys fell to plotting various ways in which to humiliate Chris in his attempt at courtship.

* * *

The levity of teenage mischief followed Tom all the way.  He hopped onto his bicycle, calling promises over his shoulder, before he started up the hill toward home.

Shane was away at work, so it was down to Tom to carry out the tradition of Phillips boys and courtship.  When Shane had dated Shelley, Chris and Tom had hassled the new couple to the point that they were going spare.  Shelley, however, was more stubborn than either of the younger Phillips boys could predict, and she held out.  She and Shane had been married for over a year and they were still very happy.

Tom was surprised to see a second car in the garage as he coasted up the driveway.  Was it is his mother’s?  She mentioned getting a new one when he got home, but he hadn’t put much mind to it.  She usually worked later than this.  Tom chained his bike around the side of the house and headed insde.

The den was empty, but muffled voices murmured in the kitchen.  Tom changed out of his uniform and went to investigate.

Chris, the girl from the park, a dark-haired amazon of a woman, and another bloke sat at the kitchen table, maps and charts spread out between them.

“Why wasn’t I invited to the party?”  Tom leaned against the door frame.

Chris looked up and blushed, darting a glance at the girl beside him.  Tom wore his trademark smirk.

“It’s not much of a party,” the young man said, brushing a long lock of red-brown hair out of his eyes.

Tom noted that he spoke with an American accent.

“Don’t you have homework?” Chris asked and pinned Tom with a pointed look.

Tom shook his head, still smirking.  “Nothing I can’t do later.”

Chris glared and opened his mouth for another dismissal, but the girl beside him spoke.

“I’ve seen you before.”  Her brown eyes sparkled.  “I thought you looked familiar.”  She nudged the girl beside her.  “Elizabetta, where have you seen his face before?”

Elizabetta looked up from the map and blinked as if she had just noticed Tom.  He remained calm under her scrutiny, silently enjoying Chris’s discomfort.

“Robin Goodfellow, with the Junior Shakespeare Players in Stratford, four years ago,” Elizabetta said.  She smiled at Tom.  “Great job, by the way.”

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.  “Chris, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”  He was intrigued.  These exchange student friends of Chris’s were some kind of amazing.  That Elizabetta and Genevieve could remember the face of a boy they had seen but once four years prior was astounding.

Chris’s attempts to intimidate his little brother out of the room had clearly failed.

“Everyone, this is my brother Tom.  Tom, this is Genevieve, Elizabetta, and Lawrence.  Our other work partner, Meg, hasn’t arrived yet.”

“So you’re an actor,” Lawrence mused.  He raked his gaze over Tom’s form , then cast a sidelong glance at Chris.  “You said you didn’t know any actors.”

Chris glowered at Tom before muttering, “It must have slipped my mind.”

Tom tilted his head curiously.  “What do you need an actor for?”

“We don’t need an actor per se,” Genevieve said.  “But we’re playing a game and we want another guy to play, and it’s the sort of game an actor would enjoy.”

Chris cast a pleading look at his girlfriend.  “Not now.  We have work to do.  Besides, I don’t think Tom’s up for that sort of thing.”

Genevieve waved it aside.  “We won’t get anything done until Meg gets here anyway.”

“What game is this??”  Tom was even more intrigued.

Elizabetta wrinkled her nose, trying to think up an explanation.  “You know what D&D is?”

Tom shrugged.  “Vaguely.”

“It’s a role-playing game.  You design a character and assume its persona in a given setting, and you use special dice to determine what you can and can’t do,” Elizabetta said.  “One person controls the setting, and everyone else just sort of rolls along with the  punches.”

“So I’d make up a character and act him out?” Tom asked.

“Pretty much,” Elizabetta said.  “It wouldn’t be full-out acting - no costumes or sets or anything.  You improv you lines.  The most important thing is climbing inside your character’s head, knowing his history and personality and knowing how he’ll react to certain situations and interact with other characters.”  Her eyes shone with excitement.

Tom felt something tug in his chest.  That’s what he loved about acting; stepping inside someone else’s life and taking on their mind and soul.  “So what sort of universe is D&D?”

Lawrence grinned then.  His smile was eerily wide and not completely friendly.  “The game we play is like D&D, but it’s not.  What we play is called ‘Vampire: The Masquerade.’”  

Chris groaned and face-palmed.  Genevieve laughed softly and patted his shoulder.  

Tom raised his eyebrows.  “Vampire?  So I’d be a vampire?”

Genevieve nodded.  “It’s fun.  There are vampire clans and all kinds of secret orders and everything.”

“Is there blood-sucking?”  Tom scanned their faces, steeling himself for their responses.  He could deal with a bit of imaginary blood if it meant he could act again.

Chris lifted his head suddenly, eyes wide.  “Can we just get some work done now, please?”

“Of course there’s blood-sucking,” a voice breathed in Tom’s ear.

Fear lanced though him.  How had anyone made it so close to him without noticing?

“Vampires do have to eat, after all.”  That voice chuckled, deep and velvety.  Tom recognized it - where had he heard it before?

He gasped when teeth nipped lightly at his throat, just below his jaw.  A tongue flicked out and soothed the wound.  Tom’s eyes slipped closed as pleasure spiked through him.  That chuckle sounded again, warm and vibrant against his skin.  Tom tipped his head back, exposing the line of his throat.

Chris made a strangled sound.

“Meg, what have I told you about eating hosts’ family members?” Lawrence asked.

Tom’s eyes flew open, and he lurched away.  Chris was goggling at him, and Genevieve had one hand on his arm, though reassuring or restraining Tom couldn’t tell.  Lawrence was smirking at him.

“About time you showed up,” Elizabetta said.  “The maps aren’t even in English.”

“Maps of Kyoto from 1855 wouldn’t be in English, now would they?”

Tom whirled around.  The girl who stood in the doorway was dressed all in black once again, though the gothic gown was replaced with far more exotic regalia.  She was grinning at him, her scarred eye glinting wickedly, and her long black hair was swept up in that high ponytail, emphasizing the gauntness of her cheekbones and her long slender neck.

“I thought I told you to be careful, Tom Phillips,” she said.  “And look.  You’ve fallen in with a group of masquerading vampires.”

Elizabetta grinned.  “Meg, you’re blatantly cross-dressing this time.” 

Meg?  Her name was Meg?  That was too banal for the spectre that haunted the fountain in the park.  Tom swallowed hard, remembering her mouth on his throat.  He swept his gaze over her.  Was she cross-dressing?  She was wearing loose, flowing black pantaloons, a wrap-around black top and a black jacket with wide sleeves.  After Tom thought about it, she looked remarkably like a samurai.

“Tom, this is Okita Megumi, the group straggler,” Genevieve said.  “Meg, it seems you already know Tom.”

“We met in the park,” Meg said.  She reached up and fiddled with the golden pin on her jacket.  “You know which park.”

Tom heard the pointed tone in her voice and looked to Genevieve.  She blushed furiously.  And that’s when he saw it, the golden pin on her collar engraved with the symbol of a royal sceptre.  A small black leather pouch lay in the hollow of her throat.  Tom flicked his gaze over to Lawrence.  He wore the pouch and the pin, though his was engraved with a stylized cross.  Elizabetta wore them as well.  Tom’s breath caught in his throat. when he saw what was engraved on her pin.  An inverted anarchy symbol.

“Elizabetta,” he said faintly.  “Your pin is upside-down.”

She glanced down and frowned.  “What?  Oh no, it’s fine.  This is the symbol for the vampire clan Brujah.”

Tom wondered where he could find Inspector Roland’s number.  That symbol hadn’t made any sense before, but it made shocking sense now.

“All of the different clans have symbols,” Genevieve said.  “My clan is Ventrue.  Lawrence’s is Ravnos.  Meg’s is Clan Giovanni.”

Tom glanced at Meg again.  Megumi.  That was a better name for her.  She was staring at him again, her black eyes glittering eerily.

“Despite what one sees in films, vampire feeding is actually quite pleasurable for victims.”  She grinned.  “Except for Clan Giovanni.  Our bite is both poisonous and painful.”

“Get over here and help us,” Lawrence said, though it was more of an amused gesture and less of an order.

Meg crossed the room, sweeping her jacket off as she went.

“I’ve told you hundreds of times, as long as you know which way is north and which side of the city Ikeda-ya is on, you can navigate easily.”  She leaned over the maps. 

“Come back later, Tom, if you’re still interested in playing,” Lawrence said,

Tom nodded and ducked out of the room under Chris’s relieved gaze.  He thought about it for a moment, then said,

“I’m going out on my bike for a bit.”

Chris’s head came up.  “No!  Tom, Mum said you’re not to go out alone.”

Genevieve swatted him on the arm.  “Chris, your brother’s already seventeen.  Leave him be.”

Tom sighed.  “Yeah.  Slipped my mind.”  He let the kitchen door swing shut and headed for the telephone.

“Birmingham Constabulary,” a woman said calmly.  “How may I direct your call?”

“I’d like to speak to Inspector Roland, please.”  Tom twirled the telephone cord idly around one finger.

“And who shall I say is calling?”

“Tom Phillips.”

“One moment, please.”

Tom cast a glance at the kitchen door again.  Chris’s friends were nice, but he was nervous.  Genevieve was a sweet girl, and Tom was glad for his elder brother.  Elizabetta was nice as well, but from just one glance at her Tom knew she could cause serious damage in a fight.  Lawrence, for his slender build, was unassuming at first sight, but something golden and feral glimmered in his hazel eyes.  Meg, though,she still set Tom’s nerves on edge.

“What can I do for you, Tom?”

“That picture you showed me, of what was carved on the boy’s chest,” Tom said.  “I talked to a girl today, and she told me that the symbol comes from a game.”

“What game?” Roland asked.  His deep voice was harried and intense.

“A role-playing game called Vampire: The Masquerade.”  Tom darted another glance at the door.  “The inverted anarchy symbol is the sign of a vampire clan called Brujah.”

“Thank you, Tom,” Roland said.  “Is there anything else?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“All right.  Good day, then.”  And the line went dead.

Tom set down the receiver and took a deep breath.  He could hear voices from the kitchen again.

“Harada Sanosuke was the leader of the tenth squadron.  Despite what you see in the cartoons, his squadron wasn’t there.”

“What about Nakagura and Toudo?”

“Kondou had three squadrons there - one, two, and eight.  That’s why Ikeda-ya is such a huge success.”

“Sounds dumb to me.  The other two thirds of the force were wandering around town checking inns under Hijikata.  Didn’t he do the interrogation on Masuya?”

“Hitokiri versus country samurai.  Do the math.”

“Just because a guy graduates from a sword school and serves as a samurai doesn’t mean he’s a great swordsman.”

“And the Shinsengumi took only the best.”

Ice shot down Tom’s spine.

I take only the beset.

He fled to his room.

* * *

The boy’s eyes were all wrong.  Wrong color, wrong shape, wrong emotion as they gazed up at him in terror.  But his skin was perfect beneath fingertips, soft against strong hands that wrung that slender neck.  Soft as it parted beneath the blade of the knife and the next symbol came into existence in crimson life-ink.  The boy’s eyes were all right now that they were devoid of life.  What mattered was his flesh...

* * *

“Tom!  Supper’s ready!”

He blinked and glanced at his watch.  It was six already?  Tom set down his history book and opened his bedroom door.   The scent of steak and kidney pie wafted from the kitchen.

“Grab a spare seat from the garage, will you dear?”  Elaine bustled past with a fresh-cooked pie steaming in her hands.  Chris and his friends were seated around the dining table, chatting pleasantly.

Tom headed into the garage and found an old wooden stool.  He dragged it back into the kitchen and set it at the last empty place opposite Meg.  She paused in her conversation with Genevieve and winked at him with that scarred eye.

“Thank you so much for letting us stay for supper, Mrs. Phillips,” Genevieve said, beaming.

Tom’s mother set a bowl down a bowl of mashed potatoes and seated herself at the head of the table.  “Oh, my pleasure.  I love meeting my boys’ friends.  And please, call me Elaine.  Have you all met Tom?”

“He stepped in to say hello when he got home from school,” Chris said.

“Genevieve, Elizabetta, and I had the pleasure of seeing young Tom on stage at Stratford several years ago in ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’,” Meg said.  “He’s a talented actor.  You must be very proud of him.”

Elaine’s smile faltered when she met Meg’s fractured gaze.  “We’re very proud of him indeed.  Oh, go on Chris, pass the mash.”

“How was your day at work, Mum?” Chris asked.  He passed the bowl of mashed potatoes to Genevieve.

Elaine’s smile returned.  “Just fine.  How is your history project coming along?”

“We absolutely had to have Meg before we could get anything real done,” Chris said.

Elaine’s eyebrows went up.  “Is the project that difficult?”

Lawrence shrugged.  “Not really.  It’s just that all the primary sources are in Japanese.”

“Genevieve and I know some Japanese, but not enough to decipher maps and police reports,” Elizabetta said.

“You speak Japanese?  That’s impressive.”  Elaine darted a glance at Meg, careful not to meet her eye.

Meg shrugged one shoulder.  “Thanks, but I was born and raised in Japan.”

“It’s more of a feat that she speaks English,” Genevieve said and elbowed Meg playfully.

“Then, you speak English well,” Elaine offered.

“Thank you.”  Meg smiled at Tom.  “How was school today for you?”

The question caught him off guard.  “It was...fine.”  Then he grinned.  “Mike, Jono, and I have found a new spot for lunch.”  The Lunch Spot was a Three Musketeers tradition, and they took great pride in selecting a new, fun one each school year.

“Really?  Where is it?” Chris asked.

“A fountain.  It’s at the park on Church Street.  It’s peaceful to listen to running water while we eat.”

Chris narrowed his eyes in a glare, and Tom smoothed his face into an innocent expression.

Elaine, oblivious to the whole exchange, turned a warning glance on her younger son.  “You be careful, wandering about town like that.”

Tom beamed at her.  “No worries.  Mike and Jono are always with me.”

Chris’s glare intensified.

A sidelong glance from Meg sent a shiver down Tom’s spine.  She deliberately unsettled him; he had to unsettle her right back.

“If it’s not too personal, how did you get that scar on your face?”  His tone was neutrally polite.

Chris and Elaine blinked, surprised.  Genevieve, Lawrence, and Elizabetta shifted uneasily in their seats.

Much to Tom’s disappointment, Meg was completely unfazed.  “My aunt and I dueled often when I was younger.  Once, she got the better of me.”

Tom realized that Meg had got the better of him too and finished his supper in silence.

Elaine seemed disturbed at such a glib reply, so Genevieve jumped in and steered the conversation toward something more pleasant.

After supper, the girls helped Elaine do the dishes while the boys set up their project on the table once again.

Chria clapped Tom on the shoulder a bit too hard to be friendly.  “Thanks, mate.  Run along now.”

Lawrence leaned in and lowered his voice.  “Are you still game?”

Tom blinked.  “Pardon?”

Lawrence grinned.  “Vampire.”

Tom remembered with stunning clarity.  The game that used the symbol from the murders.  With Meg, who only took the best.  Perhaps he could find the killer on his own.  Inspector Roland insisted that the killer would not come after Tom directly.  If Tom played this game, maybe he could find some meaning in the murder.  After all, he was an actor, and actors had to be good at these role-playing games.  He grinned.

“I’m game.”

Lawrence clapped him on the back.  “Great.  The faster we get done tonight, the faster we can build you a character.”

Chris winced.  “Well, I’m still not sure this is a good idea --”

“He can help Meg with the translations,” Genevieve said.  “It’ll go faster if she has a scribe.  The rest of us can sort out context.”

In the corner, Meg rifled through a stack of parchments covered in unintelligible Japanese symbols.

“This is proof that Hijikata came from the medical profession before he joined the Shinsengumi,” she said.

“What makes you say that?”  Elizabetta peered over Meg’s shoulder.

“His calligraphy is terrible.”

Lawrence snorted.  “So are is haiku.”

“C’mere, Tom.”  Meg waved him over.  He crossed the kitchen warily.

Elaine thanked the girls for their help and retied to the den to watch some telly.  As she stepped out, she said to Chris,

“Don’t work your brother too hard.”

Chris smiled weakly.  “No worries, Mum.”

Tom sat down at the table beside Meg.  She slid a notebook and pen over to him.

“Please write neatly.”

“Right.”  Tom uncapped the pen and poised it to write, watching her expectantly.

Meg scanned the first document, murmuring under her breath.  Then she began to describe the aftermath of a massacre, lists of dead and wounded lumped into bizarre categories.  Choshu clan.  Squadrons.  Aizu clan.  Captains.  Spearmen.  Swordsmen.  Pages.  When the horror was done, Meg gave the document a final once-over, utterly undisturbed by what she had read.

“Title it ‘Chief’s Casualty Report’.”

Tom obeyed, striving to make his usually messy scrawl as neat as possible.  “What is this project for?”

“History class.  We are researching the Japanese civil war.”

“I didn’t know they had a civil war.”  Tom capped his pen.

“Many countries have had - and still have - civil wars.”  Meg straightened the papers absently.  “A civil war tells you what lies at the heart of a country’s ideals.”

“The English Civil War was about religion and royalty.  What did the Japanese fight about?” Tom asked.  From this angle, the scar on her face looked like a tear trail permanently branded into her skin.

“Their souls.”

What did one say to that?

Meg stood up.  “All right.  I have some field reports from captains that describe the actual battle at Ikeda-ya.  It’s quite gory.”  The crying girl with the frail doll’s frame suddenly became the menacing, dark ghoul from the fountain in the park.  She began to translate smoothly, as if the papers were written in English and she were merely reading them aloud.  The report was gory and cruel, a man cutting a swath of murder and forging a path of blood for his men to follow.  Meg seemed calm, too calm, at the graphic images of death.  She translated the different sword motions, noting certain moves for different injuries.  Tom wondered how she knew all this. 

They finished more quickly than he expected, and when he glanced at his brother he saw that they were finished as well.

“Thanks for helping, mate.”  Chris clapped Tom on the shoulder as the younger boy crossed the kitchen to fetch a glass of water.

“So is Tom playing or what?” Elizabetta asked.

Chris bit his lip and cast Tom a worried look.

Resisting the urge to draw himself up to his full height in defiance, Tom said, “Of course.”

Genevieve smiled.  “That’s awesome.  Now Lawrence won’t be the only b oy.”

“Who has the book?” Meg asked.

Lawrence reached into his backpack and drew out a large green hardcover book.  Everyone sat around the table.

Elizabetta spoke.  “I’m the Storyteller, and I run the game.  I’ll give you a rundown of the story line, and then the players will describe their characters so you can decide what dimension you’d like to add to the game.”

Tom nodded.  His heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his expression calmly interested.

“There are three types of vampire political groups in the world of VtM,” Elizabetta said.  “The Camarilla is a coalition of vampires keen on preserving the Masquerade.  The Masquerade is the grand farce vampires play, pretending to be human to allow for coexistence.  There are strict rules for human interaction, and the Camarilla has harsh enforcers.  The Sabbat, on the other hand, believes vampires are superior to humans and wants to rule the world, enslave the human race, kill most of them off and use the rest as a food source.  They have to overthrow the Camarilla before they can stage a coup.  Then there are the independent clans.  THey care only for their own survival and will play either side to ensure their success.”

Tom nodded.  “All right.  Sounds simple enough.”

Genevieve nodded.  “It is.  However, vampire politics are just as sophisticated as human politics, although many systems run along medieval or renaissance lines.”

History and intrigue fascinated Tom; at least he wouldn’t have to completely feign interest in the game.

“In this world - set in contemporary Europe - Clan Tremere, the magician vampires, has developed a new elxir.”  Elizabetta shuffled through a notebook.  “It’s rumored that this elixir has the power to turn a vampire back into a human.”

Lawrence wore an eerie smile.  “Clan Tremere is a young clan.  They became vampires when their mage elders turned themselves into vampires without taking the traditional embrace.  It seems the Tremere have found a way to reverse this original process.”

“The implications are huge,” Genevieve added.  “If the Sabbat finds this elixir and can use it, they can overthrow the Camarilla by turning its ranks into humans.  No opposition and a whole load of food.”

Elizabetta nodded.  “That’s right.  It’s the party’s job to find the Sabbat’s stash of elixir as well as protect the last well-known creator of the elixir, a Tremere.”

“My character,” Lawrence said, “is a Ravnos.  Clan Ravnos is independent, the gypsy tricksters.  Ezekiel is a theif, con artist and sleight-of-hand magician.  He works for the Camarilla for the money.”

Genevieve spoke next.  “My character, Stella, is the money keeping Ezekiel in line.  She hails from Clan Ventrue, the organizers of the Camarilla, and can only drink the blood of redheads.  She’s very stubborn and determined, and she believes firmly in Camarilla ideals.  She is a politician and a socialite, wealthy and well-connected.”

Tom soaked in the information, shaping his character while he listened.

“Belladonna is from Clan Giovanni, also an independent.  She comes from the crumbling stone palazzos of Florence and is vaguely related to the Medici.  She’s old money and an old vampier.  She’s one of the strongest necromancers to emerge from the House of Giovanni, and she abandoned human ideals long ago in her pursuit of the Path of the Bones.”  Meg grinned as she spoke, dark eyes glittering.  “Bella cares for one thing only, and it is death.”

“Right.”  Tom shivered.  “For a team of adventurers, you don’t have much in the way of brute strength.  Seems like you have a lot of power at your disposal, however.  I’d like to be a warrior.  What are my options?”

“You could go independent like Meg and me,” Lawrence said.  “Clan Assamite is the guild of assassins, Middle Eastern.  They work for whoever pays them, and once a contract is out the assassins won’t stop until the target is dead.”

Tom rolled that around in his head.  “Might be a bit ambitious, considering my lack of experience.  I think I want a character who fights for a cause.”

Elizabetta smiled, then.  “Clan Brujah is the one you want.”

Lawrence opened the book to a page with “Clan Brujah” splashed across the top.  It featured a picture of two teenagers dressed as street hoodlums who grinned to bare their fangs.

“This clan,” Lawrence said, “is the clan of rebels and revolutionaries.  They like to recruit off of college campuses.  Brujahs look like gang-bangers, and other vampires often overlook them as stupid hired muscle, but the vampires of this clan are passionate about polemics.  They’re not as cohesive as, say, Clan Tremere, but give them a cause and they’ll band together as the fiercest army.”

Tom said, “That’s perfect.”

Elizabetta fished a character chart out of a folder, and the others crowded around to help him build.

Half an hour later, Tom was ready to play.

“So, when’s the next game?”

“We usually play on Friday nights at about half past seven,” Elizabetta said.  “We tend to play in Meg’s room because it’s the biggest.”

Genevieve shot the smaller girl a mock-glare, but Meg merely lifted one delicate shoulder in a shrug.

“Just because my parents are wealthy...”

Elizabetta pretended to sneer at her.  “Your parents spoil you.”

Meg threw her head back and laughed, and Tom jumped at the sheer bitterness in her voice.  “If I were spoilt I’d be at Tokyo Dai like Yoshiki is now and he would be wearing the crest of Okita and marching under the flag of Makoto.”

The other three exchanged alarmed looks; Tom and Chris could only shrug, utterly in the dark.

“I thought you were over that,” Genevieve said softly.

Meg sighed and reached up to smooth down a loose strand of hair.  “I am, for the most part.”  She darted a glance at the Phillips brothers out of her good eye.  “We can talk about this later.”

Tom wondered what she was angry about.  Perhaps Yoshiki was her brother?  Chris seemed to vaguely understand now, his gaze fixed on the circular logos adorning Meg’s jacket.  The crest of Okita, Tom realized.  And Makoto...it was a banner of one of the samurai clans Meg had described in the battle.  But that civil war had occurred over a hundred years ago.  The samurai were disbanded, so surely their old alliances were no longer important?

The uncomfortable silence broke when the kitchen door flew open.

Elaine stood in the doorway clutching the phone with white-knuckled hands.  Tom blinked; he hadn’t even heard it ring.

“It’s for you, Tom,” she said.

He rose to his feet and crossed the kitchen, starkly aware of everyone watching him.

As son as he stepped into the parlor, his mother swept him into a bone-crushing hug.  Alarmed, Tom reached up and hugged her back.  He felt tears wet against his neck and jerked back.

“Mum!”

She just shook her head and held out the phone.  Tom accepted it, watching her worriedly all the while.

She turned away and lifted a hand to wipe her eyes.

“This is Tom.”

“Glad to know you’re alive,” Inspector Roland said.

“And why is that?”  Elaine’s tears made more sense now.

“A group of girls found a boy’s body in Bromwich.  They called the police immediately, thinking he was you.  I’m here at the crime scene, and I must say, the resemblance is remarkable.”

Tom glanced at his mother.  She watched him and wore a faintly determined expression.  Roland must have called and scared her half to death.

“As you can hear, I am quite alive,” Tom said shortly.  He turned away from Elaine’s piercing gaze.  “Listen, could you be a bit more gentle with my mum about this?”

Roland didn’t answer the question.  “In this vampire game your lady friend plays, is a rose of any significance?”  There was a meaningful stress on the words lady friend, but Tom ignored it.

“I’d have to see the rose, as the Clan Toreador emblem has a rather specific design.”

“I see.  I’ll get my men on it.”

“This is two in two days,” Tom said softly.

“Tom...”  Inspector Roland’s voice went muffled for a moment.  “Does the phrase ‘DC 10, dice pool 8’ mean anything to you?”

“It’s - I’m not sure I can explain it,” Tom said.  Fear and frustration tightened in his chest.  He darted a glance back at the kitchen door where Meg and the rest of the ‘masquerading vampires’ were.  “Can I spekt to you tomorrow after school?  I’m tired and Mum’s worried --”

“Tomorrow.  I will send a constable to collect you from school.”

“That’s not such a good idea,” Tom said quickly.  “My friends don’t know it’s a serial killer, and I’ve no wish to upset them.”  He raked a hand through his hair.  “I’ll just catch a lift from a friend, okay?”

“All right.  Be careful.”

Tom murmured an assent and hung up.  He turned, and Chris stood in the doorway.  Elaine immediately scooped Tom back into a hug as she tried not to cry.

“We’ll just be going now,” Elizabetta said.  She and Lawrence slipped out the front door.

Chris cast a desperate look at Genevieve, took a step toward his mother and brother, faltered.

Genevieve’s eyes were wide with concern.

“Stay with him,” Meg said quietly.  “I’ll wait outside to drive you home.”  As she headed out the front door, she paused and scooped up a pair of black lacquered walking sticks - one shorter than the other - and slid them into place on her hip.  She stepped out into the cold night, and from his mother’s suffocating embrace Tom saw that her silhouette in the doorway was indeed that of a samurai.

Then the door swung shut, and Chris gathered Genevieve into his arms.

“Chris, what’s wrong?”

He shook his head and buried his face in her hair.  Genevieve held him.

Tom wriggled free of his mother and whispered,

“It’s okay, Mum, I’m alive.”

Elaine eventually ushered him to bed, leaving Chris and Genevieve alone.

As Tom’s eyes fell closed, he wondered how long Meg would wait outside.

Another pin in the map.  Bromwich.  Another date on the chart beside the Toreador rose.

“Soon, my boy.”

Those deft hands cleaned the knife.  It was a delicate knife, its blade razor-sharp, and it parted flesh and drew blood like a paintbrush on canvas, smooth and clean.

Eyes flicked to the picture on the wall.  The boy was smiling shyly, as if he were embarrassed under the attention of the lens.

“I will find vengeance, my boy.”

It was a vow.

“Vengeance, my boy.”

The boy in the picture kept smiling.