While the Fulcrum and Sam’s tribes stared each other down, Lucy had retired to the dining room. She rolled a marble in slow circles, the fingers of her other hand toying with her fangs absent-mindedly. Her laptop was open before her, a map of New Orleans casting its glare over all assembled in the dim light. She stared at the streets and alcoves, hidden and plain hideaways for practitioners. It was as if the cluster of data points, the discordant chaos of possibility hated her personally. Humanity needed to see patterns where there were none. And yet here she was, clueless as to where Kariwase or Cavendish would be hiding. She wasn’t human, she supposed while looking over the printed-out Email from Monmouthshire.

Mary and Hana picked it up, thinking they’d lost some clue in his flowery language. He was speaking out of both sides of his mouth, disavowing any knowledge of Cavendish’s plan whilst thanking Crenshaw for his sterling work in bringing it to his attention. Not a soul in that room had a different conclusion from what it looked like. He’d found a bomb and kept quiet about it because it suited his aims. Now that the explosion was threatening to hit him, he’d suddenly discovered principles. At Lucy’s prompting, Livia had asked the Butcher of Usk for the hideaway of the conservative faction. In no reality would they hide in a hotel.

“We ain’t got enough info to find ‘em,” Mary eventually piped up. Lucretia groaned, rolling her eyes. “What? I’m just sayin’! We don’ even know if they’re in N’Orleans.”

Lucy doubted that conclusion, cinching her chin. All his allies were in that cursed city. Running from it would leave him with no contacts or assets, waiting for a vengeful sireless or three to fall on his ears. Once more, the Brit requested a phone. And once more, she was denied. Using her as bait had got them into that mess. Which was why it was the perfect method of capturing Kariwase. Psychotic cultist probably wanted to present her to his weird god as a gift. She looked out of the window as a crack of lightning sounded, driving all women but her to it. She’d seen the castle manifest before. Though the chaos outside did remind her of the serial killer’s lineage.

Sulis passed the windows of the dining room like a woman possessed, heading toward Ansa’s yurt. The mousy vampire felt a stirring of protective impulse toward the witch, hoping silently that her former mental roommate would show mercy. Being a liar, betrayer and a reckless lovesick puppy didn’t condemn someone. It had all gotten very complicated. But Cavendish was dreadfully simple. For all that he’d wrought, all the chances he’d been given and squandered, he deserved to die. To protect the community if nothing else.

The thought tasted like a lie as she stood, informing the other women she needed to speak to Sam. Mary, arching her eyebrow, returned to searching for their targets. Of the two, Lucy had an idea which she preferred. As the mousy vampire passed through the bar, she looked over to the wives speaking quietly. Maybe a little nosiness?

“Aren’t you guys going to see your wife?” Lucy asked with an innocent tone. Auset affixed her with a suspicious stare. They’d advised her against seeking out the writers of her tragic tale. Of course they had. They had the privilege of not being one of their victims.

“She said she needed to speak with Ansa” Livia answered with a saddened expression toward the yurt. “Her stunt with Tallas is going to cost her.”

And so it should. The spectre was malicious, devilish and as close to evil as Lucy had ever seen. Someone who wanted nothing more than the suffering of every soul on the planet. Which made her proclamations about Ansa inviting a great suffering all the more disturbing. The black goat, whatever it was, clearly had a chip on its shoulder when it came to humanity. Perhaps that hateful spirit was the black goat and messing with them for her own narcissistic amusement. Which gave Lucy an idea.

“For what it’s worth, I hope she comes back a little less mental” Lucy offered awkwardly. Not that she’d had a leg to stand on. They didn’t look too pleased, Francheska snorting derisively. “I’m serious. I’m one of the family, so to speak. If her wits snap, she’s bringing all of us European vampires with her. Like bloody Caligula all over again” the Brit clarified. Of course she knew about Caligula her parents were called Cassius and Augusta. What was she going to do about them? Not take her dad’s shit anymore that was for certain. One word out of turn she could snap him like a parmesan crisp.

“Caligula wasn’t as bad as history remembers him,” Livia opined airily. Three pairs of sceptical eyes slid to stare at her, forcing her to lapse into silence.

“Blunt as your point is, we have to accept it,” Auset sighed after a moment or two. “Hopefully she’ll have a few reforms in the offing. She might give me a position. That would made the old guard positively explode,” the Nubian grinned to her fellow wives. They seemed to share her enthusiasm, which confused Lucy somewhat. Had Sulis truly never given her wives any important tasks when it came to running the vampires? Probably not, the rich girl reasoned. Easier to deny culpability when there were no formal power structures besides clans and a senate. Memories of the senate chamber flashed in her mind’s eye. Truly, the most opulent imperial core she’d ever stood in.

“Where do you fit in the royal family?” Francheska asked the Brit, breaking the look of concentration on her features. That was a good question, even if it was just a joke.

“I dunno. Guess I’m the bastard daughter. Or the court jester” the mousy vampire shrugged with a grin. She liked the idea of being a jester. The outfit was gash but the privilege of mocking Sulis for the rest of eternity was almost worth it. If the monarch ever got upset over what their funny little gal was saying, who’s to say it wasn’t true? “Fulcrum kinda pays for my living. So I’ll probably have to stay with them for material needs if nothing else.”

“Pluto take those rootless agitators!” Livia dismissed the notion, standing quite suddenly. “I’ll be taking care of you. After all that our wife has done to you, a life free of monetary troubles is the least I can do,” the Roman spoke with surprising generosity. A sentiment shared by her wives and shocking to its intended recipient. “Just don’t go overboard with the luxuries” she added sternly. Ah, there it was. She was back.

“Best not make those offers lightly. I just might show up in that ridiculous mansion you have in Scotland,” Lucy grinned before recalling her own home. Though she’d gone to Oxford, her family lived in the Cotswolds. She missed it, a little. Perhaps it was time to make good on her promise to her mother and actually visit. She could only imagine their reaction to the fangs.

She left the wives to their planning. They each had an earful to give their wife in turn and she didn’t want to deprive them of their fun. Though they’d offered a wisp of hope for the future, their tasks were before them. And her mood, which hadn’t recovered since Kariwase’s attack, remained as icy as ever. She’d just gotten better at hiding it. That, and Lucretia had stolen all her booze.

The standoff wasn’t helping matters, she reminded herself as she left the manor. She slid her way between the busses, flipping off the buzzcut twerp they’d stationed to guard the perimeter. It wasn’t like they could stop her. As she crossed the No Man’s Land, her eyes flicked to the castle door. It had an arch now. Nice touch. Very regal.

Turning her attention to the line of vehicles that were supposed to be a replacement earthwork, she watched the Native vampires, and their families poke their weapons over the hoods of their cars. She rolled her eyes, holding her hands up with a very loud request to talk to Sam. He eventually emerged once it was passed down the line that ‘Ansa’s pet’ wanted to talk to him. Lucy made a mental note to do literally anything else notable to get a better nickname. As the grumpy sireless made his way over in his ragged clothes, he looked like a particularly tired car mechanic. He didn’t go far from his troops, leaning on an aggressively American pickup. With folded arms he gestured with his chin for her to approach.

“What can you tell me about Kariwase? I’m kinda hoping he’ll flip on Cavendish,” Lucy opened with a casual air. One that Sam didn’t care for, his eyes hardening at the mention of his sireling. The gallery of ornery vampires behind him were even less pleased, hurling insults. Most focused on her association with the Fulcrum. Funny, she didn’t remember their patriarch reaching out to help her despite his reputation. “Forget about him like you did me, eh?” she needled him. It was undiplomatic, foolish. But right now her own foul mood had robbed what little tact she’d had for the insufferable politicking of vampires.

“We don’t want you getting into danger again” the sireless responded with a taut voice.

“Danger’s an old friend. I’m in danger right now” she retorted with a derisive sniff. “All because some long in the tooth codgers won’t come together to find a serial killer and his slaving enabler.”

Sam drew a sharp breath, looking to his people who very much didn’t like that rhetoric. They’d probably heard it before, stuck in the past as they were. But her sympathy well had run dry, and her patience was the film of water that remained.

“It’s really easy to preach tolerance with such convenient friends,” Sam asserted with a flicking stare toward the Fulcrum busses which even now had their guns arrayed and ready to fire on the tribes. “I’m sure finding them is the most important thing in the world to you, but Sulis and I have to stop this before it becomes something more serious. There’s a lot of angry vampires here and they’re not going home with a few sweet words from their oldest member.” He spoke in an undertone, hoping the noise of the two camps would drown out even the sharpest hearing. But Lucy wasn’t budging, giving him a scornful stare.

“You didn’t hear him or see how he fought. He’s mad and has to be stopped,” the younger vampire argued in a voice burning with resolve. One that clearly worried her elder as he practically recoiled from her words. “And let’s not forget your accomplice and all that he’s done. As far as I’m concerned, this whole mess is on your head. You could have stopped Sulis with one word. Saved her with a few more,” Lucy summarized with a deadly calm. The winds of the frigid tundra inside her chest only screamed one name. Like a lioness slowly turning its eyes to a new gazelle, her anger was beginning to track toward the source.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Sam hissed as loud as he dared, eyes briefly flickering to their sireless form. “Cavendish acted alone.”

“Success has many fathers, failure’s an orphan. Isn’t that what one of their presidents said? I didn’t see you, picture of contrition, helping her out of my skull” Lucy gestured over her shoulder with a thumb toward the city. “Not until I was literally dying. In any case I’m not interested in your excuses. Only in fixing your mess and the mess of every elder who’s sat on their duff the last four centuries.” She felt the rage boiling now. It coursed through her cheeks, breath coming quicker as his prevarications and deferrals rained down. It might work on Sulis, but it wasn’t about to work on her. A peacemaker was just a politician without the spine to do what was necessary.

Sam looked furious for a moment but smoothed his brow, digging deep within himself to find what patience he could. Lucy almost wished he’d make good on his earlier threat. She wanted to rend them all, hurt them however she could. She’d deadened herself to it for so long yet here they were, refusing any accountability. The older vampire tried to lay a conciliatory hand on her shoulder only to wince as she drew the creaking of stressed bones from it. She was done with head pats and appeasement.

“Kariwase almost beat you unconscious. He almost took you. If Ansa hadn’t saved you….”

“If Sigrun hadn’t been outplayed, if you’d killed Cavendish, if Sulis hadn’t made the spell. More hypotheticals!” Lucy hammered him with her tone, tenor rising as she grew yet more frustrated. “I want him dead Sam. I want both of them dead” she insisted with a zeal that almost frightened her. But nowhere near as much as her horrified imaginings. Kariwase’s dark god, horned and monstrous looming on the horizon. Cavendish lining up police officers to take the fight for him. Along with whatever malcontents he could scavenge. And all they could do was posture over some meaningless jurisdictional debate. It was bad comedy.

“I can’t tell if it’s Fulcrum or Sulis speaking to me right now,” Sam confessed through a disgusted expression, backing away from Lucy. Which only enflamed her fury all the more. “You were supposed to be better.”

The Brit’s remaining patience evaporated. A blazing sun of rage replaced the cold, filling her so completely she felt as if she’d explode. Desperately she tried to contain it. Don’t shout or scream. Don’t claw him. Her fingers ached for it, demanding she punish him. Not for some nebulous collective responsibility but for something he chose to ignore. Something he could have done. If he’d intervened sooner, she wouldn’t be this thing. Her thoughts were invaded by the creeping imagery of Francois, claws piercing the metal beneath her fingers as she saw those feckless idiots Amara and Ranjit.

Disappointed and dismissed by her elder, the Brit marched back to the manor wishing one of them would. Hell, she wished the Fulcrum would. But the arsenal of Sulis’ memories had presented her with a better alternative. One she intended to employ the second she got to Ansa’s basement. If the living wouldn’t help, the dead would be more than happy to.

“I take it the old man wasn’t much use?” the smug voice of Sigrun cut through her thoughts. She sat in the stairwell of her RV, a mug of tea held under her nose. They both could smell the rain coming and both knew what it would enable them to do. But Lucy wasn’t interested in in a deal with the devil. She flipped the other woman off and resumed her sulking step towards the manor. “They’re never going to let you kill them,” she said over the tempest of her thoughts. With curiosity biting her temper in half, she looked back expectantly. “Cavendish kept Louisianna as a tight ship. Perfectly obedient to the Council until Sulis vanished. In other words, he’s useful,” the shieldmaiden observed lightly. Of course she’d say that. It played into the mousy vampire’s biases. Perfect little narrative for her purposes. “Kariwase? Well, you know how they close ranks. Even if he wasn’t one of Sam’s sirelings I doubt he’d let you kill him,” she appended with the fakest realisation dawning on her features. “Oh dear I shouldn’t have said that. Or mentioned that he helped Sulis kill Leofric. And Eivor. Then watched us wipe out his unseemly little tribe when they started worshiping the black goat.”

That had to be a lie. At best, a convenient half-truth. Lucy doubted Sigrun would see Kariwase’s tribe any differently no matter who they worshiped. She’d spent enough time with the woman to know it was all the same to her. Just another notch on her blade. She scoffed before resuming her walk, not bothering to dignify Sigrun’s little tale with proper scrutiny.

“Hey, I’m trying to help,” she shouted at her back with a surprisingly tender voice. One that Lucy deigned to ignore. She’d seen enough charlatans in this place to know false affection when she heard it. “What you said to Amara and Ranjit was right. If I’m going to offer you a deal, I have to keep you sweet,” Sigrun started again, slipping into the skin of a slick saleswoman. As if the appearance of honest intentions was enough. “You want them? I’ll send the Fulcrum to grab them.”

“I’m not interested in your movement or whatever you call it” the Brit bit back, baring her teeth. “I was here for Ansa, not for your lot. Anything you have to offer me comes with way too many strings.” She continued her trek then, determined to ignore any further offers from Sigrun. Her choices had led her to this. Being the lone general, fighting a war nobody wanted anymore. And that was the perfect fate for a shieldmaiden that had slipped through the neck of the hourglass. Lucy wasn’t about to pretend she was righteous or some grand architect. It was a vendetta, plain and simple. The world didn’t allow for much else.

“Sam was useless. I wish I could say I was surprised,” Lucy grumbled as she entered the dining room. She noticed a distinct lack of fiancés, spying Lucretia still hard at work deciphering the pattern of Kariwase’s victims. “Where’d the other two go?”

“Sulis brought Eddie. They said you’d know who that was,” the New Yorker replied easily as she resumed staring. The Brit grunted in acknowledgement before closing her laptop with a snap. One that sounded so final that Lucretia looked up in surprise. She was sure the other woman saw the look in her rescuer’s eyes. It didn’t matter how many walls her elders put up. She’d punch through every single one. “They told me not to let you call him,” the dark-haired vampire told her with a warning tone. One that irked Lucy all the more.

“Either Edward gives me Kariwase, or the reverse” she explained to her fellow. “They’re too preoccupied with their politics to help me. It’s always been like that. They left you in a freezer because they were happy to let that slaving prick have free reign. Do you want to give those two any more time to hurt us?” Lucy leant over the table, looming above Lucretia with a grim expression. She didn’t believe in auras but invested every iota of threatening energy into her own.

Her companion took a moment or two, turning the argument over before shaking her head. Lucy allowed defeat to enter her expression. Allowed the consoling hand and concerned expression to condescend to her. They talked about other things for a while, trying to take their minds off the horror. Eventually, with a look toward the steadily approaching dawn, she suggested they both get some sleep. Perhaps they could find them tomorrow. That even Kariwase by himself would be beyond them. They needed a proper strike team, not two girls on their lonesome.

With heavy steps and a sad smile she waved goodnight to the wives, promising not to drink before bed. She entered her bedroom with a clicking of the lock, her expression falling to the grim resolve it had frozen into lately. Amy had been a welcome holiday from it. But that was all she was getting. Little breaks here and there. There were no wives or castles for her. Nobody in her corner. Lucky Lucy, somehow going to die alone. But she’d have her pound of flesh for it, that was for certain. With a determined air, she bit into her thumb and held it open with a claw as she’d seen Sulis do. With slow, unsure strokes she wrote the required symbols. Or what she hoped were the right symbols. Unable to use anything else, she scrawled on some printer paper before stepping back to admire her work.

At first, nothing happened. Lucy stared at the drying pictograms with growing disappointment. She expected it to work like the memory of the graveyard. Instead of rising from the paper, claws appeared in her periphery and forced her to whirl. She tripped, falling onto her bed as Tallas manifested from the corridor wall. Her expression was briefly curious before the red sparks lit up in their sockets. She chuckled slightly as she looked down at the paper, noting that the Brit had accidentally used Sulis’ signature. She stomped on the anger that reared from the comparison, knowing what the shade was like. At least she’d not bound her like certain others she could mention.

“I’ve seen Sulis use her spirits to find people,” Lucy began as she righted herself. The gaunt monstrosity turned with an eerie silence as she waited for the request. “If I offer you something, will you find Cavendish and Kariwase?”

“Ever the humble servant to the sireless, thou speak sooth. I can find these damned souls for thee,” the spirit responded with a teasing expression. At least she hoped that was teasing. “Alas thou have nothing to offer me. Thou art not a practitioner nor steeped in suffering enough to sate my appetites. This pitiful pantomime thou call a summoning is passing foolhardy.”

Lucy sighed, shoulders slumping as her brow creased and lips tightened. Another bloody impasse. Another elder wantonly denying her peace. She swayed in place, thinking over her options before snarling to herself. The spectre waited voyeuristically, a mild amusement playing across her unnaturally dark lips. The purplish contusions along her cheeks that marked their unnatural extension. She looked as cruel as she was, in the Brit’s view. Though she did wonder whether the cruelty came before or after her death.

“If you’ll do me a favour then?” Lucy asked with a pleading expression. She knew the answer wouldn’t be to her liking but felt in her bones that it had to be heard. The creator of vampires seemed to agree, looking surprisingly patient. “Why do th…. Why do we look different?”

“The power of the beyond is drawn into thy very being, infusing thy soul with chains strong enough to mantle thy flesh no matter what horrors be done upon it. It is well and proper that these bindings manifest in the flesh it fetters,” Tallas said with unusual tact. Lucy braced herself, knowing it was coming. “When thy elders sought companionship as all flawed creatures do, I was compelled by our bargain to infuse thy blood with the curse. In so doing, it was changed. But for seven others, thou art alone upon this plane Lucy. And thou shalt remain apart from those thou art content to call thy kind.” There was the devilish smile, the wicked tongue of the Tallas they all knew and loved. Had complicated feelings about at the very least. But she wasn’t about to let her swan off with a dark revelation and a cackle. She fixed her face with a challenging smile.

“I suppose we’re the same then” she observed with a malicious gleam. One that took Tallas by surprise. “Alone in the world except for the victims of a little curse.”

“Do not seek companionship in me, child,” Tallas advised with a dire expression. Lucy’s curiosity was piqued to say the least, fixing the spirit with a patient look. “The last dregs of my humanity were spent upon my dying breaths. The woman who sought utopia through her craft now rests at the bottom of the sea,” she expanded before turning to fade once more into the wall. Lucy allowed her expression to fall, lying back to sleep before Tallas’ voice sounded once more. “Ply Ansa with thy pleas. If her craft be as potent as touted, she will know the required spell.”