An Unexpected Visit

Tori's temptation to return to the Civil War, and thus to Timothy Wayne, was monumental. As an exercise in self discipline, and because she would be damned and double damned before stooping so low to consort with a mortal the way Viktor had, Tori turned her thoughts in another direction.

She raised her hands above her head and in an instant, found herself in her suite, on the second floor. The housekeeper, Mrs. Cordelia, was there, neatly folding a silky lingerie in one of the drawers.

The innocent woman turned around and found Tori standing some metres away from her. "Oh my," she fussed, startled. "I wish you wouldn't do that. I don't believe I'll ever get used to it."

Tori smiled and then walked into her walk-in closet, and selected a pair of tight blue jeans, a leather jacket, and a tank top that resembled a man's undershirt, with a pair of scuffed boots.

The elderly woman shook her grey head. "Good heavens, Don't tell me you're going about with one of those American motorcycle gangs now," she said. "Nothing good ever comes from those lots."

"For my purposes," Tori answered, whilst changing, "bad company suits best."

"I suppose you're right." The housekeeper sighed with motherly regret. "Still, I hope you'll pay close attention to whatever is going on around you. You remember what happened to poor Viktor, when he mistook a warlock for one of us, mortals."

Tori sprayed mousse on her hair and combed it thoroughly with splayed fingers, giving it a wild, spiky look.

She ignored the mirror above the dressing table, since it would not reflect her image anyway. "I am nothing like my brother," she said, somewhat testily. "And you needn't worry much about me, I can take care of myself just fine."

"You're more like him than you think," Mrs. Cordelia insisted, "and not a moment goes by that I don't fret for your safety. You have powerful enemies, don't forget."

Tori raised her hands over her head and clasped both palms together. "Good night, Cord." She said, and disappeared.

Moments later Tori reassembled in a bar called the Last Ditch. It was a place Alexander had introduced her to long before. Though "hell" would have been a more suitable name, sadly, that one was already taken.

was taken.

Smoke filled the crowded bar, tinting the air with a greasy blue atmosphere, coupled with the singular smells of unwashed humanity.

Tori twitched her nose, revolted, engaging in a brief and wholly idle wish that vampire senses were not quite so keen.

She noted a warlock near the back door and nodded to let him know she was aware of his presence. He returned the courtesy with a smile and a jaunty salute.

Go to hell, Tori said. It was easier to speak mentally, considering how noisy the bar was.

The wariock's smile enlarged a little. If I get there before you, he replied, I'll save yos a seat.

Tori shuddered in spite of herself. She'd always been taught as a child, to fear the devil to the very center of her being. It was a fixation that she, like Alexander, who had been human in medieval times, had never quite been able to shake off despite immortality.

She said nothing more to the warlock, but instead scanned the crowd for a deserving victim. She passed over the ones who were merely misguided, and those

who suftered from some hidden wound of the mind or spirit, looking for someone who relished evil and practiced it willingly.

Tori was in luck, for there was a noted politician present, though he'd taken care to keep a low profile. He sat at a corner table, pawing a vacuous young girl who wore too much makeup and too few clothes. Their eyes met and as if he was enchanted, the politician did not remove his gaze.

A smirk formed on Tori's face as she sashayed towards the senator's table, with her slim, rounded hips swaying, and thumbs hooked saucily in the pockets of her leather jacket.

"Care for a dance?" Tori asked.

The politician who till this, point had not taken his eyes off the goddess before him, tossed the young girl aside as he clambered to his feet, upsetting his chair in his eagerness to accept Tori's invitation.

One minute he was in her arms, and they were moving slowly to the music. Some minutes later, he was laying half-dead on the cold floors of some underground railroad.

***

"DON'T you think you're cutting it a bit close?" Silas demanded as soon as Tori popped into her special chamber underneath the London house, soon after her feeding. "The sun will be up in fve minutes."

"What are you doing here, Silas?" Tori countered, pulling off her jacket and tossing it aside. "Don't you have some sort of coffin waiting for you somewhere?"

Silas shook his head. He looked young, with his slender frame and eternally boyish features, but in fact he was a founding member of the Council of Elders. He had been among the first nightwalkers created long ago on Atlantis, during a series of failed experiments.

"Such a bold creature," he said, "You remind me of your brother Tori—you seem to have no sense of what is appropriate, and that fact may well be your undoing."

Tori tossed her hair, wishing she could brush out the sticky mousse, but there was no time. Soon the consuming need to sleep would drag her down into the darkest depths of her own mind.

"It's beginning to get on my nerves," she confided, sitting down on the row of crates to kick off her motorcycle boots, "the way everybody keeps comparing me to him."

Silas, who appparently was in no hurry to return to his own lair, wherever it was, leaned against the dank brick walls and folded his arms. "It's natural, I think—you are his twin, after all."

Maeve tried to be polite to her uninvited guest,

though she could not quite bring herself to smile. She had just dumped a state senator in an underground railroad, and his blood had left her feeling a little ill.

"I was his twin," she corrected. After that she paused and then made an effort to be polite. "Please forgive my tart manner, Silas—it must be the costume."

Silas was in a plain tunic, with colorless leggings, and soft leather shoes. He took in her tough-chick getup with quiet amusement.

"Indeed," he agreed. His expression turned serious in the next instant, however, and he went on. "Word has reached the Council that Alexander has been attempting to incite some kind of rebellion against Carmilla. Is this true?"

Toti felt uncomfortable; for all her quarrels with Alexander, she was no snitch. Besides, she owed the other vampire a debt, since he'd given her immortality in the first place. "What if it is?" she asked moderately. Even respectfully.

Silas might have sighed, had he been human, or even a little inclined toward feigning their singular traits. Instead, he just looked resigned and weary.

"Alexander has been a nuisance since his making," he said. "Still, I personally find him entertaining, and therefore I tend to overlook his... shortcomings." The elder paused, regarding Tori with searching stare for a long moment before continuing.

"Did he ask you to lead some sort of campaign against Carmilla, as we suspect?"

Tori hesitated, then remembered how useless it would be to lie to an elder. Her thoughts were probably as clear to him as if they were goods on display.

"Yes. For some reason. He sees me as the next queen, but don't worry—i'm not particularly interested in overthrowing anybody." Exhaustion swept her consciousness, and she marvelled because the other blood-drinker seemed unaffected by the inevitable sleep.

"Do you plan—to—sleep here?" She struggled to say.

Silas gave no answer to her sleep riddled question. Instead, he bent over her. "You must not confront Carmilla for she is far more powerful than you can imagine," he said clearly. "She must not be angered, else—we will all suffer. It is not our job to protect mortals—that is the task of angels."

"Angels," Tori repeated softly as if she drifted off.