11. The Udon Incident

Towson, MD June 21, 2004

Etienne sat on the side of his bed for a moment and delved into his memory for a particular phone number he hadn’t used in over two years. He then tapped those numbers into his cell phone.

A young, male voice eventually answered. “Prospero’s Books, how may I help you?”

“Hello,” Etienne said cheerfully. “I’d like to speak to Cassie Blair, if she’s available?”

Uh… hold on a minute, let me see if she’s here—” and he was put on hold, listening to some kind of new-age vocalist—sounded like Enya, perhaps? —until the phone was picked up again.

Hi,” another voice answered, warm and feminine, but still not Cassie. “She hasn’t come in yet, but I expect her in later this evening. Would you like to make an appointment?”

“Yes, but I’d like to leave my name and number for her, if that’s alright?” Etienne asked, and then gave his number. “Tell her it’s Steve Bishop—yes, that’s right. Thank you.”

“Bishop?” asked Dr. Hewitt, now emerging from the bathroom, fully clothed, his moustache freshly waxed. “I thought your name was Copperfield?”

“Bishop is the name she knows me by,” Etienne said, ignoring the unspoken query about whether perhaps Copperfield wasn’t his real name either. No doubt they’d be getting to that matter soon enough, but it would be a longer conversation than he wanted to have right now. “I’m sure she’ll call me back in a few hours. Meanwhile, we should probably figure out what to do about that girl—”

“That girl?” Charles echoed, in what couldn’t possibly be total obliviousness but was certainly a wonderful facsimile of it. “Oh. That girl.”   Continue reading


9. Unexpected Company

O’Hare Airport, Chicago, IL June 21, 2004

Etienne steered the girl back to the seating section, where TJ had rejoined the others. “Sit down,” he told her. “You will stay in that seat until I release you, and you will answer my questions. Is that clear?”

Eyes wide and frightened, she nodded, clutching the straps of her backpack where it rested on her lap.

Both the grad students, sitting just across from where he’d sat the girl down, were watching what he was doing with rather keen attention.  Etienne ignored them, turning slightly to hand  the girl’s phone over to Charles.

“Check the phone logs, and transcribe the numbers,” Etienne said. “Especially outgoing.”  He then turned his attention back to Chloe.

“You’ve been watching us. Why? And for whom?”

“I—I haven’t, it’s just—”

“Chloe,” Etienne repeated.  “Look at me—that’s it. You were watching us, we saw you. Just answer the questions. Who are you working for?” Continue reading

8. Starbucks and Spies

George Bush Intercontinental Airport, Houston, TX June 20th, 2004

Another night, another red-eye flight.

Diane stifled a yawn and tried to get more comfortable in her seat—TJ had won the toss for the window on this leg of the trip, and was already out for the count. Just once, she wished they could find a cheap flight that didn’t turn her sleeping schedule upside down. But she wasn’t paying for the tickets, so it wasn’t as though she had much room to complain.

“The Atlanta connection was a bit cheaper,” she overheard Charles telling Copperfield, in the seats behind them. “But a two hour layover—I didn’t think that would be a good idea.” Then he dropped into French. “Vous ne savez jamais qui pourrait être regarder.”

You never know who might be watching. It was amazing how well her high-school French still held up.

Oui, je suis d’accord,” Copperfield replied. Even to her ear, his pronunciation sounded perfect. “Yes, I agree. Chicago’s much safer. With any luck, they’ll never know we were there.”

Diane wasn’t sure who “they” were, or why a two hour layover in O’Hare was somehow safer than one in Atlanta. One airport was really much like another when it came to that, wasn’t it? Long terminals, long walks from one gate to another, and at that hour, they’d be lucky if anything was even open.

Then she remembered a dark-eyed stranger standing in the hallway outside their hotel rooms, and she felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air-conditioning on the plane. At least Charles and Mr. Copperfield were with them. Was their arrival what had driven the stranger away?

And what had that all been about, anyway? How could anyone suspect Charles of stealing from a museum? He’d purchased the jar from an estate sale, she’d filed the paperwork for him. He hadn’t even used University money.

Charles had told them it was just a misunderstanding. That they’d talked to the night manager and handed the deluded bellhop over to hotel security. There was no FBI, just a silly prank that had gone wrong when the bellhop misread his room slip. The hotel management had been extremely apologetic, and had even removed the cost of last night’s hotel room and their meals for the day off the bill.

But that guy in the hallway… maybe he wasn’t FBI, but he had been real. And he hadn’t come across as the pranking kind.

Diane was very glad they were leaving Houston, even if it meant traveling overnight again, through Chicago to Baltimore. At least it felt like they were on the trail of something interesting, if they did get to see the Qebehsenuef jar. And if it had the strange writing as the Imseti jar that Charles had in his carry-on bag, that really would be a discovery. Would the writing be the same? Or different? Maybe they could even find the rest of the set, and track down how the pieces had been separated, and what the strange characters meant. She might even consider changing the topic of her dissertation, with such a fascinating find to research. Continue reading

7. Sowing Confusion

Houston, Texas – June 20th, 2004

“Keep an eye on this fellow for a moment, would you?” Copperfield asked, when Charles came back from escorting his young grad assistants off to their well-earned rest. “I’m curious to see if there really was an order from room 624.”

“Right—“ Charles agreed, and stood where he could give their unfortunate captive his very sternest gaze. But being realistic about his ability to intimidate with his gaze alone, he also kept the sword in his hand and clearly visible.

Copperfield held the receipt in one hand and tapped in the room number. “Yes, this is the kitchen,” he said, when the occupant in 624 picked up, his voice picking up a very genuine French accent, “Pardon the intrusion, but did you place an order—“

Charles could hear the outrage sputtering out over the phone without even trying to listen.

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6. Room Service Done Wrong

Houston, Texas — June 19, 2004

“Oh, cool,” TJ said, playing with the TV remote. “The new Tomb Raider movie’s on pay-per-view.”

Diane looked up from her book.  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said at last.  “That is SO not real archaeology…”

“Of course not,” TJ said.  “Nobody makes a movie about real archaeology.  If there aren’t curses and traps and magical artifacts and shit, nobody would watch it.“

“Not to mention guns and boobs,” Diane said sourly. “You’re not really going to put that on Charles’ credit card, are you?”

“I’ll pay him back,” TJ said. “Chill out, will you?  It’s just a movie. You want to pick something else?”

“No, I was about to go to bed anyway, soon as I finished this chapter.  Which I can do in the bedroom.  Rot your brain if you want, just don’t cite Lara Croft in your footnotes.”

TJ chuckled.  “That’s an idea—at least then I’d know if my advisor was actually reading my footnotes—“

Diane rolled her eyes, took her book and notecards back into the bedroom and shut the door.

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5. ‘Real’ Art Opens Doors

Houston, Texas – June 19th, 2004

As a Kindred diplomat and negotiator of many years’ standing, Etienne de Vaillant had more than a passing familiarity with the biased nature of vampire politics in general and Toreador clan snobbishness in particular. He had made three attempts—two of them before Dr. Hewitt and his fascinating artifact had even arrived—to contact Ms. Laeticia Robicheaux, the childe of his late friend and client Colonel Beauregard Litton. But to her secretary’s deepest and sincerest-sounding chagrin, Miss Robicheaux was always regretfully unavailable for any appointment whatsoever with Mr. Copperfield of Tremere. She was out, or taking another call, or simply ‘not receiving this week.’

One might think that for Dr. Hewitt of Ventrue she’d be terribly busy washing her hair or something, but no—one call and he was on her schedule. Never mind that Stephen Copperfield of Tremere had been one of Colonel Beau Litton’s oldest business associates, and Hewitt was a merely a visiting Kindred professor from the other side of the country she’d likely never even heard of before.

But Hewitt was Ventrue, a member of the clan of bankers, businessmen, aristocrats and princes. And Etienne was Tremere—a clan whose mysterious powers of blood sorcery and secretive ways had never put them at the top of anyone’s social call list. True, he probably could have pulled rank, used his real name and title to force a meeting, but there were equal disadvantages in revealing his true identity and age in a city where he knew nothing of the political dynamics and how his presence, if known, might set them all askew. Especially since he hadn’t even revealed that identity to Hewitt as yet. So as much as it galled him to be treated like an unwelcome salesman at the door, retaining his anonymity and accepting the advantage of Hewitt’s Ventrue heritage was—at least for now—the more prudent course.

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4. An Aura of Mystery

Houston, Texas – June 17th, 2004

“Magic?” Charles repeated, although he was not entirely surprised.  “Well.  I suppose that’s one explanation. And that is more your area of specialty than mine.”

“I wasn’t sure if you remembered my clan,” Copperfield said.  “But yes. House and Clan Tremere have rather cornered the market on that specialty—at least in the Camarilla.”

“Right,” Charles agreed. “But this jar—if it’s authentic, and I believe it very likely is—is thousands of years old.  Surely there weren’t Tremere in Egypt at that time. Were there?”

“No, we don’t go so far back.  Historically, though, we’re hardly the only clan to practice some form of blood sorcery.  The Setites and Assamites have much longer histories in the region than we, and they have their own occultists. But even so, that does not explain these letters.”

“Or why Diane and Thomas could see them—and my colleague in the department could not?”

“It’s possible anyone with some degree of talent could see the writing,” Copperfield mused. “But your young associates have been trained as scientists, not as seekers in the mystical traditions.”

“I would presume so,” Charles agreed. “Archaeology is a science, after all.  It relies on the careful examination of physical evidence. They study old religions and mythical traditions only in context of understanding more about the people who did believe them.”

He chuckled a little. “I dare say they don’t even believe in vampires.”
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3. Special Consultation

Houston, Texas – June 17th, 2004

The hotel lobby was quiet, mostly deserted except for the desk clerks and one jet-lagged businessman hunched over his laptop in a far corner of the lounge. The bartender was wiping down the tables in the lounge, preparing to close, when three very late arrivals came in the front doors, hauling their luggage behind them.

Diane looked around at the spacious hotel lobby, the vaguely Texas-themed decor, the scattered leather sofas, tables, and carefully cultivated greenery.  “Your contact lives in a Hilton hotel?”

“Well, no, he doesn’t live here,” Charles explained. “Actually he lives in Hong Kong, but as luck would have it, he happens to be in Houston on some business, so he asked if we could meet him here.  Splitting the difference, as it were.”

“Technically speaking, halfway between Madison and Hong Kong would be more like Hawaii,” TJ felt obliged to point out. “But I don’t think the department’s travel budget would go that far.”

“Sadly, no,” Charles agreed.  “Ah, there he is.  Right on time.”

The two graduate students looked across the lobby to the man approaching them from the bank of elevators.  He was of average height, middle aged, wearing a well-tailored suit in dark green.  But what set him apart was his hair, red-brown and oddly long, combed back away from his pale face.  Too long for an ordinary businessman, Diane thought, although a wealthy collector and broker in arts and antiquities might tend towards the eccentric side. And from his pallor, he certainly didn’t look like he did much actual field work.

He offered a polite little smile as he approached them, and held out his hand to Charles.   “Dr. Hewitt.  Good evening, it’s been far too long.”

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2. A Genuine Artifact

Madison, Wisconsin – June 12th, 2004

“Hello, you’ve reached Grad Central Station. We’re all out working very hard on our theses right now, honest. No, stop giggling, it’s TRUE! We really are!  Leave a message and we’ll get back to you as soon as we come up for air and ramen.  Hopefully soon, but you know how it is. You know the drill….”

“Good grief—“  Diane Webster hit the pause button on the answering machine and gave her roommate her patented over-the-glasses Are you shitting me?  Look, though she still found it hard to totally suppress her smile.  “You were drunk when you recorded this, Lisa, don’t try to deny it.  Come on, shouldn’t our message be a bit more, I don’t know, professional?”

“You’re welcome to record the next one if you want,” Lisa said loftily.  “Go on, listen to the message.  Maybe someone wants to ask you out—someone with a sexy British accent.”

“Yeah, right,” Diane replied.  “He’s my boss, he’s not allowed to ask me out.  Okay, hush, let me hear it.”

She pushed play again.  The voice that emerged was male, a pleasant light baritone, and did indeed have a distinct British accent that could have come straight out of Masterpiece Theater.

“Oh, I’m supposed to talk now, aren’t I?  Right.  Well. This is for Diane, of course.  I was just wondering if you and Thomas would like to take a closer hands-on look at the new pieces I’ve acquired from the Drayer Foundation. They just arrived today, and I’m uncrating them this evening.  Come by the office around… let’s say, ten? Give me a call when you arrive and I’ll come down and let you into the building.  Well. Hope that’s sufficient enticement to lure  you out on  a Saturday night.  Hope to see you soon, then….”

“See?”  Lisa grinned.  “What did I tell you?  Nothing like a late night secret rendezvous over ancient Egyptian artifacts—so romantic.”

“Stop it,” Diane let a bit of annoyance show in her tone—the joke was getting a bit old now, and Lisa really did know better.  “Besides, if TJ is there, and he will be there if he gets the same message, this is going to be work. What time is it—ten-thirty?  Oh, shit, I’d better get a move on—“

“What—going in to work now? Can’t this wait until, you know, Monday?” Lisa asked.  “Or at least normal working hours?  Are you crazy?”

“No, I’m an archaeologist,” Diane said, scooping up her car keys and cell phone.  “Besides, if he did get some pieces from Drayer, no way am I gonna let TJ hog all the fun.”

“You have a really weird idea of fun.”

“Oh, like I’ve never been told that before,” Diane said, grinning. “I’ll see you tomorrow, don’t wait up—“

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1. Luck Swings Both Ways

Chicago, Illinois – June 7th, 2004

It was a stroke of luck, or so Charles Edward Hewitt liked to think of it later, that he even found out about the estate sale.  He’d known the deceased, of course. Mr. Alfred Drayer had been somewhat of a collector, starting with pieces his father, the General, had rescued from a Nazi hoard back in ‘45, and over the years the historical foundation the family had founded to handle the growing art and antiquities collection had occasionally called on Dr. Hewitt’s services as an appraiser and authenticator.  That such appraisals only took place after dark, never during the morning or afternoon, was not something Mr. Drayer ever thought to question.

By the same measure, the Foundation’s secretary did not question a kind request from Dr. Hewitt to review the list of artifacts now being offered for public auction from the collection.

The catalog listing for the sale had already been published, but it only took minor persuasion from Dr. Hewitt to convince Mr. Drayer’s secretary and estate executor to allow him (in light of their long-established business relationship and personal friendship, of course) to privately purchase a few of the less valuable artifacts two nights before the auction was scheduled to be held.

And so it then followed that when certain other less well-connected but very determined parties broke into the auction house’s secure storage facility, looking for certain artifacts listed in that catalog, they were not at all pleased to find the items they were most interested in acquiring (without proper compensation, naturally)  had apparently already been sold. And due to the Foundation’s secretary having taken the paperwork home with him, there were no records as to who had even purchased the items in question.

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