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


10. Chloe

BWI Airport, Baltimore, MD June 21, 2004

The problem with sitting in the back  of a large airplane, Chloe knew, was that you were always going to be one of the last ones off the plane when it arrived at the gate. Even having no luggage in the overheads didn’t help—there were just too many people in the aisle between her last-minute seating and her targets up in first class.

The one thing in her favor, however, was the inevitable time lag between when passengers disembarked—and when their luggage actually showed up at baggage claims.

So when Chloe followed the rest of the passengers from the Chicago-to-Baltimore flight to the baggage area, the vampires and their mortal assistants were still there, waiting on their luggage along with everyone else.

Great. Now what?  She had no idea. Clearly they would be going somewhere—but where? Dawn would be coming soon, and vampires would need somewhere to stay, secret and safe. It was unlikely she’d be able to overhear the address they told a cab driver, or be able to follow them, even if she had a rental car ready to jump into at the door.

Why was she even hereContinue 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

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.

Continue reading

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.

Continue reading

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.”

Continue reading

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—“

Continue reading

Prelude: How I Spent My Summer Vacation

by Diane Webster, student archaeologist

If I told you how I spent my summer vacation, you would never believe it.

I’m still not sure I believe it myself.

I know a lot of people think the life of an archaeologist is bullwhips, ancient curses, walking mummies, and finding ancient tombs filled with golden treasure. Straight out of the summer movies, right?

Usually it’s sifting through a metric ton of sand to find a handful of pottery shards. That’s what I was expecting. Backbreaking and painstaking work, with or without air-conditioning, depending on whether we were doing it in the back room at some museum or in the field.  Which was fine with me. It doesn’t pay all that great, but it pays something, and it counts as professional experience. I considered myself lucky I got a graduate assistantship that summer that was actually in my field. The professor was a bit eccentric, but I assumed it was something I could deal with.

But as it turned out, “eccentric” didn’t even begin to cover it.

And that boring summer job of sifting through sand and identifying pottery shards? That turned out to be more like something out of the movies, complete with special effects by ILM and WETA.  It started with a random bellboy attack, and progressed from there to airport stalkings, museum robberies, weird prophecies, kidnappings and heroic rescues, secret societies, cryptic cyphers, ancient curses, forgotten tombs, ritual murder, blood, corpses, giant serpents, a lunar eclipse, flying monsters, resurrected gods, earthquakes, and entirely too much unexplained supernatural shit to be at all plausible even by Hollywood standards.

But let’s not forget the epicenter of the weirdness that was my summer job-slash-vacation, without which none of the rest would likely have ever happened.

I’m talking, of course, about the Vampires.