Friday: 

The next morning when Tom stepped into his tutor room, all of his classmates stared at him.  Most gazed in fear, as if the serial killer would be on his heels at any moment.  Mike and Jono just looked worried.

“We’ll do everything we can,” Mike said a Tom slid into his seat.

“Everywhere we can,” Jono amended.  “My mum said she’d give you a lift whenever your brothers can’t.”  He lowered his voice.  “That’s why they’ve been giving you lifts, isn’t it?”

“I really did fall off my bike,” Tom said, “but year, Mum’s been worried, so Chris and Shane are home for a while.”

“Is Shelley safe?” Jono asked.

“’Course she is,” Mike said.  “She’s down in Surrey.  Besides, she’s a bird, and this killer only knocks off blokes.”

Jono rolled his eyes.  “That’s not what I meant.”

Tom smiled tightly.  “I’ll be fine.  Don’t worry.”

The girl behind him whispered, “D’you think you’ll die next?”

Tom wanted to groan when he saw her wide-eyed fear.

“Miss Lyons,” Mr. Harrison said icily, “do observe some decorum and cease pestering Mr. Phillips about his impending doom.”

The girl squeaked and lowered her head.  “Sorry, sir.”

Mr. Harrison cast Tom a sharp look and began calling the register.

* * *

At lunch, the Three Musketeers assembled at the park fountain.  While they talked they studiously avoided any mention of the serial killer.  Instead, Tom regaled them with plans of date-crashing.

“I’m going to play this strange game tonight,” he said.  “Shane will crash first.  Genevieve won’t suspect a family member.  After Shane’s done he’ll pass the crash data on to you.”

“Jono, you ought to go second,” Mike said.  “Sees, you’re the sensible one.  That way they’ll be utterly unprepared for me.”

Jono grinned wickedly.  “That’s brilliant.”

The three boys exchanged laughter and ate their food.  Tom watched his friends smile and was glad he could distract them, at least for a while.

“So, Tom,” Jono said, “are you going to try out for the school play?”

“Yeah.  Shakespeare,” Mike said.

Tom shook his head.  “I’ll probably join the Royal Juniors for the summer season, but the school is doing ‘Much Ado About Nothing’ and I prefer the tragedies.”

“But you’re so good at the comedies,” Jono said.

That prompted Tom to sigh.  “That’s mostly because Mum told the theatre director to restrict my roles.  I’ve wanted to be Mercutio, Macbeth, Iago, even Othello, but I always ended up playing Orlando or Romeo or even Malvolio.  ‘Much Ado’ isn’t a bad play, and the strychnine exchanges between the leading man and lady are fantastic, but the last time I was in a romantic play with a girl things at school got...sticky.”

Mike laughed.  “I remember.  Little Angela was mad for you.”

“She really thought you were her Romeo.”  Jono smirked.

Tom stood up and began pacing the edge of the fountain.  “I just wish for once I could die decently onstage, and not as a lovesick teenager.”

“Tom, you are a lovesick teenager,” Mike pointed out.  “Though perhaps minus the lovesick bit.”

Restless, Tom stretched.

Jono looked up at him thoughtfully.  “Mike’s right, make, but maybe you should be lovesick.  You need a girlfriend.”

Tom studied them both for a moment, considering.  Then he held out one hand.  “Soft, a word or two before you go.”

Mike blinked.  “Come again?”

“I have done the state some service, and the know’t,” Tom said.

Jono opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but Tom cut him off with a shake of his head and sank down onto one knee.  

“No more of that.  I pray you, in your letters, / When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, / Speak of me as I am.”

He gazed into their eyes, and Jono shivered at the agonizing regret he saw in his friend’s face.  Tom’s rough accent had slipped away and he spoke in crisp, sweet English.

“Nothing extenuate, / Nor set down aught in malice.”

Tom’s eyes darkened, and his voice began to tremble.  Jono winced.  The other boy’s pain was nearly palpable.

“Then you must speak / Of one that loved not wisely, but too well; / Of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought, / Perplexed in the extreme; of one whose hand, / Like the base Judean, threw a pearl away / Richer than all his tribe; of one whose subdued eyes, / Albeit unusèd to the melting mood, / Drops tears as fast as the Arabian trees / Their med’cinable gum.”  Tom’s eyes shone with unshed tears, and his voice became rough with emotion.  “Set you down this. / And say besides that in Aleppo once, / Where a malignant and a turbaned Turk / Beat a Venetian and traduced the state, / I took by th’throat the uncircumsizèd dog --”  Tom closed his hand over an invisible opponent’s throat, squeezed viciously -- “And smote him -- thus.”

He doubled over his own fist with a choking sound, as if he’d stabbed himself, and remained there, lifeless.

Mike stared in horror.  “Tom?”

“It’s all right,” Jono said, though he sounded uncertain.  “He was just acting.  Right, Tom?”  He reached out and prodded the boy.  No response.

Mike peered at Tom.  It didn’t look like he was breathing.

“The suicide scene from Othello,” a girl said.

Jono looked up.  It was Chris’s American girlfriend.  Then he realized that everyone had seen Tom’s impromptu performance and they were still staring.

The girl leaned close to Tom and said, “Awesome job.  If you play like that tonight, it’ll be a fantastic game.  Now, Chris has informed us of your...situation.  We’ll pick you up and take you home tonight.”

Panic shot through Tom.  He lifted his head.  Chris had told them?  Did they know he was onto them?

“You’ll give me a lift,” he said instead.  “Thanks.  That’s really decent of you.”

Genevieve smiled.  “It’s no problem at all.”  She waved and walked away.

Mike punched Tom in the arm,  “That wasn’t funny, Phillips.  You know you’re scary when you act.”

Tom just laughed, but inside he was terrified.  If Chris hadn’t told Meg and the others, it meant that they knew about Tom.

* * *

Genevieve smiled when Tom slid into the back seat of her car.

“Ready to play?  Have everything you need?” she asked.

Tom nodded.  He had his character sheet and a pencil.  He hadn’t the slightest clue as to where one could buy ten-sided dice, and he hoped one of the others had some he could borrow.

“Chris, you know Tom will be safe with us,” Genevieve said when Chris slid into the passenger seat.  “Watching a game is awfully boring.”

“It’ll be fine,” Chris assured her, and hefted his biology textbook to make his point.

“All right.”  Genevieve backed out of the drive and they began to the journey to the university dormitories.

If pressed, Tom would admit he was glad that Chris was coming along.  Of course, Tom would never say so aloud, and he wanted to see for himself if Genevieve and her friends were innocent, but he was scared.  He was more scared than he had ever been in his life, and it took all if his training and control to maintain a calm façade.

They arrived quickly, and Tom climbed out of the car, clutching his character sheet and pencil too tightly.

“You might want to keep your head down,” Genevieve said cheerfully.  “One of the theatre majors is a rabid RSC fangirl, and she’d kill to get a piece of you.”

Tom flinched at that and immediately slouched, hunching his shoulders and lowering his head slightly in a classically unobtrusive stance.

“You could’ve warned him earlier,” Chris said.

Genevieve shrugged.  “I just barely remembered.  It’s no big deal.  I think she’s at play rehearsals anyway.  C’mon, newbie.  Meg’s room is this way.”

The uni dorms were rectangular buildings of red brick that reminded Tom of prison cellblocks, without the bars.  Genevieve led them through a wide door and up a stairwell to the first floor.  Tom eyed the white cinderblock walls, the dark green carpeting, and chipped brown paint on the metal railings, wondering if anyone had bothered to remodel the place in decades.

Genevieve popped open the door to a narrow hallway lined with twenty or so doors, the same white walls and depressing green carpet.  As they walked, Tom noted the girls’ names posted on the doors on colorful cards, written in elegant calligraphy and decorated with paper flowers.  Chris seemed to know his way around well enough, and when they passed the den the girls watching the telly called out to him and waved.  Tom kept his head down, mindful of Genevieve’s warning.  Mike and Jono would have been overjoyed at the prospect of a load of uni girls all in one building, but all Tom could think of was how fruity-flowery scent of perfume was so incongruous with the building’s appearance.

Then he saw them, three in a raw, name-tags on doors: Elizabetta Soriano, Genevieve Pierrot, and Megumi Okita.

Genevieve pushed open the third door and led them in.

Tom blinked in surprise.  When the others had teased Meg about being spoilt and having the biggest room he had imagined expensive furniture and opulence.  What he hadn’t expected was a desk, a wardrobe and cushions set in a circle on the floor for gaming.  Where did she sleep?

Lawrence, Elizabetta, and Meg were already seated, gaming gear and snacks spread out around them.

“Sit, please,” Meg said, and Tom sat on the cushion opposite her, leaving Genevieve and Chris to sit next to each other.  Tom noticed that Meg was wearing another gothic black dress.  When she reached up to open the leather dice pouch at her throat, Tom’s gaze fixed on the lacing of her bodice, and he blushed.

“Phillips!  Catch!”

Tom lifted his head and reached out, closing his fist over the leather pouch before it could hit him.

Elizabetta grinned.  “Dice and a clan pin.”

“Thank you,” Tom said, surprised.  He truly was grateful.  He opened the pouch and six small ten-siders fell out.  They were heavy and gleamed silver.

“Stainless steel, to match your eyes,” Meg said.

Tom glanced at her, then looked away.  He hated looking at her because he always ended up staring at her scar.  It looked like a wound that was still healing, that still hurt, and Tom always felt a ghost of pain in sympathy when he looked at it.

“Well, put the pin on and see what it feels like to be a real gamer,” Genevieve said.  Her eyes sparkled warmly.

Tom looked down at the shiny golden pin in his palm.  His hands shook slightly as he turned the pin over and stared at that symbol, the first symbol from the first murder.

Anarchy turned on its head.

A fitting symbol for Tom’s world.

He glanced up and met Chris’s gaze.  His brother looked as scared as he felt.  Could Chris have come to the same conclusions as Tom?  No.  It wasn’t possible.  Only Tom had seen the evidence from the murders.

Lawrence glanced at Chris and seemed to notice the elder Phillips’ trepidation.  “Yes, as soon as Tom puts on that pin he’s consigned his soul to Satan.”  His tone was an utter deadpan.

The laughter that followed broke the tension, and Tom fastened the pin to his collar.  Then he picked up his dice; they rested coolly against his palm.

“Let’s play,” he said.

Elizabetta flipped open her laptop and booted it up.  “Remind me where we are.”

“I’m down at the Blue Calquhoun,” Lawrence said.  “I’m trying to track the Assamites who took out Tremere number two.”

“I am down at the sports field speaking to the dead.”  Meg shuffled through several sheets of paper.  “I have details on how the Tremeres have been dying.”

“I’m still with Lady Vivian in the basement of Lady Margaret’s College,” Genevieve finished.

Elizabetta nodded, scanning her laptop screen.  “Ezekiel, your cellphone rings.”

Lawrence rolled his eyes.  “Why did I let Stella talk me into this electronic leash?”  Then he sighed and said, “ ‘Hello?’ ”

“It’s Lady Vivian,” Elizabetta said.  When she spoke again, it was with a crisp upper-crust accent. 
“ ‘Ezekiel, return at once.’”

Lawrence spluttered.  “ ‘But I’ve tracked the Assamites --’”

“ ‘Now.’  And she hangs up abruptly.”  Elizabetta grinned.  “Okay, Bella.  A man stands on the edge of the field.  What are you going to do?”

Tom watched as Elizabetta maneuvered her three players together.  And then it was his turn.

“Slade, you’re standing in Lady Vivian’s opulent red velvet foyer.  Lady Vivian stands before you.  She wears a dark blue silk gown and is sipping tea from a delicate china cup.  Beside her stands a woman with dark red hair.  She is dressed in a smart pin-striped pantsuit.  You know her to be a Ventrue.”  Elizabetta prodded her laptop thoughtfully.  “The door you just came through opens, and in walks a young man.  He has a halo of dark curls and looks like a Ren Fair escapee, probably from a thieves’ guild.  Behind him is a girl.  Her dark hair is loose and woven with black ribbons, and she wears a black gothic dress.  Vivian says, ‘This is your team.’”

Tom pulled on the rolling Welsh accent he’d perfected from his childhood appearance in Comus.  “ ‘Wednesday Addams, the prince of thieves, and the Princess of Wall Street,’” he drawled.  “ ‘So all I have to do is keep you alive?’”

Lawrence grinned at him.  “I brandish one of my throwing knives.  ‘I can keep myself alive, boyo.’”

Genevieve hastily gulped down a mouthful of soda and joined with, “ ‘You’d better with what I’m paying you.’”

“ ‘Of course, I prefer to see all of you dead.  I like watching people die.’”  Meg’s voice was light and breathy, like a child’s.  When she giggled it made Tom’s flesh crawl.  Horror curled in the pit of his stomach.  Did she mean that out of character as well?  Tom had almost forgotten why he was playing.

“I level a look at Slade,” Genevieve said, and gazed evenly at Tom.  “ ‘You’re a Brujah, warrior.  Surely there is something in this for you besides the hefty bodyguard fee.’”

Tom grinned to himself.  He’d designed his character with passion, and he planned on bringing it to life.  “ ‘Of course.  I believe that a vampire who was embraced against his will should have the option of resuming human life.’”  His voice was thick with emotion.

Meg cocked her head to the side quizzically.  “ ‘You do not enjoy the gift you have been given?’”

“ ‘I miss the sunlight,’” Tom said quietly.

For a moment the others just stared at him, surprised by the pain in his voice.  Then Elizabetta spoke up as Lady Vivian, giving him his first assignment.

Tom closed his eyes and reveled in her voice.  He could become Slade; he knew it.  He could become what he created, what he chose.

* * *

Tom came out of his acting mien when Lawrence closed his hand over his own wrist in the signal for out-of-character talk and said,

“Can we take a break?  I need some water.”

Elizabetta nodded, and Tom saw that she looked as fuzzy as he felt.  Acting that intensely for so long took more energy than people knew.

“Yeah,” Elizabetta said.  “Let’s take a break.”

“How are you doing?” Genevive asked, leaning over to Chris.

“Just fine.  It’s actually interesting to watch...”

Tom took the opportunity to scan Meg’s room again.  There were some scrolls of Japanese calligraphy hung on the walls.  A display rack on her desk held three decorative swords.  Everything was neat and yet so bare.

“Enjoying yourself so far?”

Tom jumped.  He hadn’t noticed Meg cross the room and kneel beside him.

“Yes, I am.  This is fun.”  His words were honest, but the way she’d silently sneaked up on him immediately resurrected his fear.  He fumbled for something to say, fighting the urge to squirm beneath her intense gaze.  “Erm...where do you sleep?”

Meg chuckled.  “Your brother asked the same thing.  I sleep on a traditional futon.  The mat and all its accoutrements store easily in the closet.”

Tom nodded.  “I see.”  It made sense.  He had only ever seen her dressed in traditional Japanese clothes and gothic gowns.  That she lived in traditional Japanese style followed logically from that.

The tinny melody of a cellphone ringtone startled them all, and Tom had to resist the urge to laugh when everyone else reached for their phones.  Meg pulled hers off the desk and flipped it open.

“Moshi-moshi.”

The others pocketed their cellphones.

Tom noticed Meg’s eyes darken.  She sank to her knees and turned away from everyone else, speaking in low, rapid Japanese.

Elizabetta frowned and glanced at her.

Lawrence returned then, settling onto the cushion beside his girlfriend.  He furrowed his brow when he saw Meg.  “Is it Thursday again already?  I thought she’d already called her mother this week.”

“Someone called her,” Elizabetta said.

Tom saw Genevieve, Lawrence, and Elizabetta exchange nervous looks.  Chris was oblivious, stroking Genevieve’s hand and studying his textbook intently.  Tom shifted his attention back to Meg.  Her shoulders were tense, and even though she spoke in a different language he could tell she was unsettled.  The others poked at their snacks, casting her worried glances.

Finally she turned her cellphone off and put it back on the desk.

“Everything all right back home?” Genevieve asked, and Chris noticed the tension that hung in the room for the first time.

Meg resumed her place on her cushion.  “That was my friend Yukari.  Her aunt just died.”

Elizabetta sucked in a breath sharply, and something passed between all four of the exchange students.  Chris didn’t understand - he looked as lost as Tom felt.

“How’s she handling it?” Lawrence asked.

“I talked her through it,” Meg said, and that ended it.

A long silence followed.

Elizabetta said, “Do you want to keep playing, or --”

Someone knocked at the door.

“I’ll get it.”  Meg rose to her feet and crossed the room.  Still the others tracked her movements with worry in their eyes.

Meg stretched up on her tip-toes to peep through the peephole.  She reached one hand toward the bamboo stick standing in the corner, then seemed to think better of it and pulled open the door.

She bowed formally, as Tom had seen in films.

 “Irrashaimashita,” she said, her voice as sweet and breathy as Belladonna’s.  “How may I held you?”

Tom’s blood ran cold when the person on the other side of the door spoke.

“My name is Geoffrey Roland, and I’m a detective chief inspector with the Birmingham Police.  I was wondering if I might have a word.”

Chris’s head snapped up.

“I’m afraid there are no comfortable seats in my room,” Meg said, her tone neutral and polite.  “If this is to be a long conversation, perhaps we ought to retire to the lounge.”

“This conversation will be as long as you make it,” DCI Roland said.  His deep voice held menace and warning.  “By the way, where are your two neighbors?  I’d like to speak to them as well.”

“Then you are fortunate, for we are all gathered here,” Meg said, and opened the door wider.

DCI Roland stood in the doorway, flanked by two bobbies.  The three men towered over Meg.

“Of course, there are also some guests,” she added.  “Should I ask them to depart for the night?”

Roland’s gaze swept the room.  His eyes widened slightly when he saw Tom and Chris.

“The guests can stay.”  He scanned the room and its occupants again.  “Oh.  Good. Lawrence Elliot is here as well.  I have some questions for the four of you.”  Roland swept into the room, and the bobbies advanced with him.

Roland held up a card.  “Do these symbols mean anything to you?”

“Sure,” Elizabetta said.  “They’re clan symbols from VtM.  Brujah, Toreador, and Gangrel.  Why?”

DCI Roland didn’t answer her.  Instead, he help up the three messages the murderer had left behind.

Tom scanned his brothers’ friends faces.  They all looked confused, save Meg, who had resumed her position on her cushion.  Her face was utterly stoic, and for a moment Tom wondered if she was still alive.

Then he realized he was staring at her scar and turned away, but not before she noticed and slid her gaze over to him.

Chris gazed at Genevieve anxiously.

Elizabetta and Lawrence kept a wary eye on the bobbies while Genevieve explained the second and third clues.

“As to the first clue, it could mean anything.  I’d say it’s in reference to the fact that clans embrace kine who best exemplify clain traits, but sometimes a random loser is embraced and is then trained up,” she said.  She shrugged.  “Wish I could help more.  What is this all about?”

Roland turned to Meg and said, “Where were you between five and nine last night?”

“Here, working on a history project with the people present, save Tom.”  She looked up at him steadily.  “Why?”

“Can anyone else verify this?” Roland pressed.

“Sure,” Elizabetta said.  “All the others girls on this floor.”

“And you were here the whole time?” Roland asked.

Chris shot Genevieve a look of alarm, and Tom shifted uncomfortably.

“What is this all about?” Lawrence demanded.  His eyes narrowed.  “I saw the news last night.  You think we’re guilty just because we’re gamers, don’t you?”

“Should we contact a solicitor?” Meg asked quietly.

“We were all here the whole time save for when Meg went to buy us some more supplies,” Genevieve said patiently.  “She has the receipts to prove it because we agreed to split the bill, and I’m sure the people at the store remember her.”

Roland narrowed his eyes.  “Those swords on your desk - are they real?”

Meg lifted her chin defiantly.  “Yes.”

“Indeed?”  Roland arched one eyebrow and crossed the room.  He paused by her desk and ran an appreciative hand over the hilt of the longest sword.  “Last I heard, university dormitories have a standard no-weapons policy.”

“I obtained special permission,” Meg said.

“Really?  And how did you manage that?  Don’t tell me you carry these in public, too.”  Roland glanced at her out of the corner of his eye; clearly he knew she did just that.

“If you’d like, I can show you the paperwork.” Meg made to rise, and Roland closed his hand over the hilt of the longest sword.

There was an ominous click as the blade slid loose from the sheath.

“Do not draw that unless you intend to shed blood with it.”  Meg’s voice was icy, and her black eyes blazed.

HEr friends stared at her, horrified.

Roland turned his head to look at her but did not let go of the hilt.  “Is that so?”

Meg stood up.  Her gaze locked with Roland’s, and she crossed the room to her desk.  She pulled open a drawer, drew out an envelope, and handed it to Roland.

“Read that before you do something stupid, sir.”  The honorific came out like an epithet.

He accepted the envelope and scanned the letter inside it.  His eyes were hard when he shoved the letter back at Meg.

“Call your solicitor.  We’re going to the station,” he said.  “Tom, CHris, one of my men will escort you home.”

* * *

He watched as his chosen four were shoved roughly into police cars and smirked.  Those arrogant policemen were playing right into the stereotypes he was depending on for his success.  Their prejudice would be their downfall.  Those four were good students, were intelligent and innovative; he could depend on them.  He glanced down at the sleek black tanto in his hand and smiled.  The western world could refuse to admit it, but Japanese folded steel was stronger than Damascus steel, and this lovely piece parted skin so smoothly. The kanji carved into the hilt amused him.  They were another perfect - and perfectly misleading - clue.  His students could handle all he threw at them.  Then he saw the other two boys being led to a separate car, and his throat closed.

“My son,” he whispered.  “I am so sorry, my son, that I was not there for you.  I will be now.  I promise, my son, I promise.”

* * *

Shane was just climbing into his car when the bobby pulled up in front of the Phillips residence.  Shane paused and turned, starting to frown, but his eyes went wide when his two younger brothers spilled out of the back of the police car and onto the pavement.

“What happened?”  he demanded.  He strode over to them and began to check for injuries.  Tom would have laughed at the way his brother was channeling their mother if he wasn’t still sick with fear.

“Nothing’s wrong, sir,” the bobby said calmly.  “I just escorted them home.”  He climbed into his car and pulled away.

“I thought I was picking you up after the game,” Shane said.  “Why did you need a lift from a copper?”

“DCI Roland broke up the game,” Chris said.  “He took Jen and the others downtown.”

Shane’s brow furrowed.  “Why?”

Tom spoke, and his voice trembled.  “Because the killer - he leaves deliberate hints for the police.  Hints from Genevieve’s gaming universe.  And I - I think because of Meg.  Because of her swords and the way she acted --”

Chris narrowed his eyes at his younger brother.  “What did you tell Roland?”

“Leave him alone, Chris,” Shane cut in.  “Let’s go inside, all right?”

In the den, Elaine was watching the telly again.  She perched on the edge of the sofa and gazed at the screen with wide eyes.

On the screen, a neatly-dressed anchorwoman was interviewing a group of teenagers dressed in outlandish clothing.

“It’s prejudice is what it is,” a violet-haired girl was saying.  “People think we gamers are amoral freaks who have no grip on reality.  Role-playing is just impromptu theatre, and some people applaud that and call it art.  The World of Darkness doesn’t induce Satanism either,” she continued indignantly.  “Talk to any pagans and they’ll tell you that our gaming world has no basis in the pagan tradition.  As soon as a bunch of corpses turn up with funny symbols drawn on them the coppers blame the gamers and the pagans.”  She tossed her head.  “If they asked nicely we’d probably help them out, but no, they just harass us instead.  Any half-wit who can read and do a bit of math can open a role-playing book and understand the system without ever gaming.”

“We’re not stupid, lazy yobs,” a boy added.  “Gamers - good gamers - are some of the best problem-solvers in the world.  We can innovate, we don’t panic under pressure, and we’re fast on our feet.  If the coppers got the right group of gamers together they could probably solve the puzzle, but the coppers are prejudiced, and they’ll lose for it.”

Elaine turned to Chris.  “Genevieve and her friends are gamers, aren’t they?”

He nodded.  “Yes, but --”

“Just be careful, al right?” Elaine begged.

“Don’t worry, Mum.”

“I’m going to bed,” Tom said.

Elaine frowned.  “Are you all right?”

“Just tired.”  He hugged his mother good night and retreated to his room.