----------------------------------------
Carpe Noctem Book Three
Never the Twain Chapter One
by Lianne Burwell
April 2001
----------------------------------------

In the middle of winter, January or February, when the skies are 
grey and the winds blow, the people of Toronto think longingly of 
summer, sunny and warm. But come summer, with the heat and 
humidity and the aroma of a city in August, people think fondly 
of cold and snow, forgetting the slush and bitter winds.

That was normal. What was not normal was having an August heat 
wave that lasted most of the month, and tempers were starting to 
fray.

And when tempers frayed, violence was the result. Deaths like the 
one that the police were currently investigating in an alleyway 
not far from one of the many dance clubs that made Toronto's 
nightlife what it was.

As expected, a crowd of curious bystanders had collected, kept to 
the other side of the street by yellow tape and the glares of the 
sweating police officers. It was a large crowd, even though it 
was well after midnight. So large that no one noticed that one 
person at the back of the crowd didn't seem to fit in.

Older and better dressed, wearing a discrete charcoal grey suit 
that was surely tailored just for him. He ignored the excited 
speculation of the crowd surrounding him. Instead, he was craning 
his neck, just like the rest of them, trying to see the covered 
gurney being loaded into the back of an ambulance for the trip to 
the morgue. He also seemed to be trying to hear the discussions 
of the police, even though he should not be able to hear them 
from that distance.

After a bit, the man walked away, heading down the street at a 
measured pace. No one gave him a second glance, even though a 
well-dressed black man leaving the scene of a crime normally 
would. As soon as he was around the corner and out of sight, he 
pulled a cellphone from his pocket and hit a single quick-dial 
button.

"We have another one," he said, then tucked the phone back into 
his pocket.

>>>~~~<<<

Jackie Janczyk, junior Agency operative and Malkavian, made her 
way through the dance club crowd, her ears open for any 
interesting tidbits of information to relay back to her Prince. 
Gossip, both heard and spread, was the purpose of the court's 
Harpies, and while she far too young to be a full Harpy, she 
planned on eventually being the chief Harpy of Toronto. She'd be 
a good one, too; she was sure of it.

Most Harpies devoted themselves to the ins and outs of Kindred 
society, but the Prince of Toronto was also heavily involved in 
human society as the Director of the Agency, so Jackie was using 
that for her personal training. She'd already identified three 
major drug dealers in the last month alone who were moving into 
Toronto to take advantage of the vacuum left by Ramirez's 
takeover and subsequent destruction.
The Director had decided to leave those dealers unopposed for the 
time being until the situation had stabilized. While she -- and 
most of the people who worked for her -- considered drugs to be a 
blight on the so-called civilized world, she wasn't willing to 
allow the chaos caused by addicts without a source.

However, once things *had* stabilized, those dealers would find 
their trade strictly controlled. This was the Director's chance 
to expand her reach, to impose her *own* form of order on the 
city, and she was going to take it.

But gossip wasn't Jackie's only reason for hunting through 
Toronto's nightlife. Neither was the dancing or the chance to 
hunt. No, she was looking for someone. Someone very specific.

LiAnn Tsei.

It had been several months now since she'd caught a glimpse of 
the woman -- or at least one who looked remarkably like her -- at 
a rave. She hadn't mentioned it to the Director or anyone else 
though since it had only been a glimpse, so she couldn't prove 
that it *had* been the oriental.

For one thing, LiAnn was supposed to still be in China. It had 
been nearly six months since the traumatized agent had climbed 
onto a flight to go home to confront the parents who had sold her 
to a brothel as a child, since the Director felt that she needed 
to get some closure on her past. However it had been more than 
five months since anyone had heard from her, and Jackie knew that 
the Director was getting worried, not that the woman would 
willingly let anyone know.

Certainly she wasn't about to let Mac or Vic know. They would 
probably do something boneheaded and macho, like get on a plane 
and rush off to China to rescue her. Assuming she needed rescue.

Unfortunately, Asia was just about the only part of the world 
where the Camarilla's hand couldn't reach, although Jackie didn't 
know why. All she knew was that Kindred -- *any* Kindred -- who 
dared to go to that part of the world never came back, unless it 
was in pieces. Even the Princes respected whatever was there.

So they had a missing agent, out of reach on the other side of 
the world, but Jackie was *sure that she'd seen the woman here in 
Toronto. It was a mystery and she loved mysteries. It was her one 
big weakness and she had the bookcase full of crime novels to 
prove it.

So her spare time was spent haunting the Toronto night scene, 
asking questions and keeping her eyes and ears open. She hadn't 
seen LiAnn again, but showing her picture around had found a few 
leads. Like this one.


"Yeah!" the young man said, nodding vigorously over the 
photograph, still dancing in place. "Saw her a couple of nights 
ago. Maybe last week."

"Where?" He shrugged. "Was she with anyone?"

"Yeah. Jack... something or other."

Jackie rolled her eyes. Still, from the wasted look of the guy, 
she should probably counter herself lucky that he could remember 
his own name, assuming he *could*. "Can you at least tell me what 
he looks like?" She yelled over the heavy beat of the music.

"Sure! He had a wicked new do. Purple with silver tips."

"Do you know where I can find him?"

He shrugged again. "Haven't seen him since then," he hollered, 
obviously not concerned.

She opened her mouth to ask another question, but someone passing 
by snagged the guy's arm and dragged him away. She thought about 
going after him, then decided that she'd probably gotten every 
bit of useful information from him that she was going to.

Instead, she made her way off the dance floor and to the bar 
where she squeezed her way to the front. "Tequila," she yelled to 
the bartender when she had his attention.
Almost as if by magic, a shot glass, saltshaker and lime wedge 
appeared in front of her. She went through the ritual with 
practiced ease before tossing back the liquor and sighing as the 
buzz hit. Not much of one, but a buzz nonetheless.

"Want another?" a voice asked behind her.

Jackie twisted and had to look up to see the man's face. Smug, 
slick and very definitely good-looking. He had black hair, dark 
eyes and dusky skin that suggested India. One eyebrow was quirked 
up in both question and invitation, and that invitation was 
obviously for more than just a drink. Jackie found herself almost 
mesmerized by the glitter of the man's eyes.

"Well?" he said. He wasn't shouting, but she could hear him 
clearly, despite the music and the shouted conversations going on 
around him.

Before she could answer, a vibration at her waist broke the 
spell. She pulled the pager from her belt and checked the tiny 
LCD screen. "Home. Now. D."

"Shit. I'll have to take a rain check on that drink," she yelled 
to the man, more than a little disappointed. He was definitely 
the most interesting thing she'd run across in a while.

He nodded. "No problem. I'll see you later."

She started to ask his name, but he vanished into the crowd 
before she could form the question. Strange, though, how he could 
sound so confident of seeing her again considering she'd never 
seen *him* before.

Still, she didn't have time to wonder about tall, dark and 
mysterious. Shaking off the encounter, she headed for the door. 
Whatever had made the Director call her in on a night off, it had 
to be big.

>>>~~~<<<

Vic shifted his weight, then checked the front of the suburban 
home he was watching, for the umpteenth time, before turning his 
attention back to the book he'd been reading. It had been a long 
night -- the third one in a row for him -- and he'd read half of 
the fat novel since arriving.

He'd hated stakeouts as a cop and he still hated them. The worst 
thing about stakeouts was the boredom, since very little ever 
happened on them. This one seemed especially pointless. They knew 
that the creep had left the country, but for some reason, the 
Director was convinced that he was going to be back. Personally, 
Vic thought he'd have to be pretty damn stupid to come home after 
ripping off the Council *and* the Agency. Again.

On the other hand, Dr. Fry had never been the most intelligent of 
guys. Smart as hell and stupid at the same time. Still, you'd 
think he would have learned his lesson after Desmond Happy and 
Area 52, not to mention what happened to his girlfriend.

Vic shifted again and groaned. All of the pros that came with 
being Kindred, but one thing hadn't changed: Vampire or not, he 
still got numb-butt from sitting in a car all night.

But even that would have been okay if he had Mac to keep him 
company instead of Anne Rice's laughable excuse for vampires and 
a cooler with a couple packs of blood to replace the old thermos 
of coffee. Unfortunately the Director had figured -- probably 
rightly -- that if she put the two of them together in a car for 
long periods of time there wouldn't have been much watching going 
on.

So, with LiAnn still in China and Jackie off doing her own thing, 
he'd been given a choice between Dobrinsky and Nathan. After 
about two seconds' thought, he'd decided to go for that door 
number three that the Director like to go on about and do the 
stakeout solo. However, he was beginning to wonder if even Nathan 
the paranoid ghoul would have been a better choice.

He finished the chapter and tossed the paperback into the 
backseat in disgust. He still wasn't sure how he'd let Mac talk 
him into trying to read that piece of pulp, especially since he 
was now living it, so to speak. Tomorrow night, assuming that 
this useless stakeout was still on, he was bringing something 
easier to digest. A Louis L'Amour, perhaps. Now there was a guy 
who could write.

Vic leaned forward to turn up the radio as the hourly news came 
on. He didn't get to participate much in the daytime world 
anymore, but he still liked to keep up to date.

Then he paused as a figure came down the street, heading for the 
house. A very recognizable figure. "I don't believe it. I don't 
*fucking* believe it," Vic muttered to himself. He checked his 
gun, then got out of the car.

The plump little man was making a big production of looking in 
all directions as he sneaked towards the house, but still managed 
to completely miss seeing Vic until the agent was practically on 
top of him.

"Hello, Dr. Fry," Vic said, reaching out to grab the man's arm. 
Fry nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Ack! Mansfield! Don't *do* that."

Vic just snorted and started tugging him towards the car.

"Where are we going? I've got things to do, you know. *Important* 
things."

"Sure you do," Vic said, holstering his gun so that he could pull 
out his handcuffs without letting go of the little weasel. Fry 
was too out of shape to get far before Vic caught him again, but 
he really didn't want to have to go to that effort.

He handcuffed the renegade scientist quickly, then opened the 
door of the car and tossed him face down in the back seat.

"Hey! You don't have to be so rough," the man protested.

"Yes, I do," Vic replied, shoving him in a little further so that 
he could close and lock the door. He headed around to the 
driver's side and slip in behind the wheel.

He had just started the engine when his cellphone beeped him. He 
picked it up with a grimace. "Mansfield," he said. "What? Well he 
just showed up, so I'm on my way in already. Tell her I'll be 
there in twenty minutes. Fine, fifteen. Yeah, right. Bye."

He disconnected and tossed the cell into the passenger seat with 
a groan.

"Listen, this isn't a good time for you either. I can tell. So 
how about you just leave me here and we'll do this some other 
time, okay?"

"Shut up, Fry," Vic said, putting the car into gear. He still 
missed his beloved pickup truck, but he had to admit that the 
sedan had some benefits, the back seat being a big one. Mac had 
gleefully reintroduced him to the joys of making out in a back 
seat, and now it gave him someplace to stick Fry where he didn't 
have to actually look at the pudgy little weasel.

"Oooooh, Anne Rice. Isn't she a fantastic writer? Have you 
read--"

"Shut *up*," Vic snapped, taking a corner a little faster than he 
should have. There was a loud thump in the back as Fry went 
rolling and he couldn't help smirking. It had been a long night 
and it looked like it was going to get even longer. He had to 
grab what little entertainment he could when he could.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac glanced down at the address written on the slip of paper, 
then looked back up at the building that matched that address. 
The house was a tiny, semi-detached home, probably from early in 
the century. From the outside it looked nothing like what he'd 
expected. It looked... normal.

For a moment, he was tempted to just turn around and head home. 
Or maybe join Vic on his stakeout and see if he could distract 
the older man. Then he shoved his nervousness aside, squared his 
shoulders and marched up the short walk to the front door. It had 
taken more than a month to get this point and he wasn't going to 
chicken out now.

He almost hesitated again at the door, but quickly knocked before 
he could stop to think about it. A moment later, the door cracked 
open, the chain keeping it from opening too far.

"Hi," he said awkwardly, unable to see who was on the other side 
of the door. "I was told to ask for... Sofia?" He winced. He 
sounded like a complete idiot.

"Mac Ramsey?" The voice was female and firm.

"Um... yeah?"

The door shut in his face. Before he could react, he heard the 
chain slide out of the way. Then the door opened again. "Come 
in."

Mac moved cautiously into the dark, narrow hallway, then turned 
as the door shut behind him. The woman turned around and he 
blinked in surprise again. Like the house, the woman wasn't 
exactly what he'd expected from a gypsy. She was dressed in 
pressed linen slacks with a dark green blouse made of silk which 
set off her olive skin-tones. Her hair was cut very short, making 
a dark cap. She wore no jewelry and what little make-up she had 
on was very tastefully applied. She also couldn't be much older 
than himself.

"Follow me," she said, passing him close enough for him to smell 
her very subtle perfume. She led him to the door at the end of 
the hallway which turned out to open into the kitchen. In 
contrast to the dark space he'd come through, the kitchen was 
light and airy, even though it was dark outside. The walls were 
painted a cheery yellow and the wood cabinets were covered with a 
light, pickled finish. The linoleum floor looked new. The back 
door was open, letting in the chirping of night insects.

"Would you like some tea?" the young woman asked, already putting 
the kettle on to boil. There was only a faint hint of an accent 
in her voice. Too faint to be identified.

"Um... thanks," Mac said, feeling a little off-balance. He 
glanced around, then sat when she waved him to the table. "I was 
supposed to see--"

"Sofia. And here I am."

Mac blinked. "Oh. Sorry."

"Quite alright. Let me guess. You were expecting someone at least 
ninety, dressed in colorful patchwork skirts with large gold hoop 
earrings. Am I right?"

The really embarrassing thing was she was right. "Sorry," he said 
with a sheepish grin.

"Don't sweat it. I get that a lot."

The kettle on the stove started to whistle, and she poured the 
boiling water into a teapot after throwing in a handful of loose 
tea leaves. She set a couple of mugs and a pitcher of cream on 
the table. "The tea just needs to steep for a bit," she said, 
carrying the pot over. "Now, what seems to be your problem?"

Mac hesitated. "What makes you think I have a problem?" he 
hedged.

She smirked. "It's what usually brings people to me. If you just 
wanted a tarot reading or a love spell, you could have found that 
in a dozen different shops in town. To be passed on to me, your 
problem must be bigger. So come on. Tell Sofia all about it."

While she waited, she poured the tea into the mugs and pushed one 
in front of Mac. She added a dollop of honey and a touch of cream 
to her own and sipped at it carefully.

Mac wrapped his hands around his own mug and lifted it to take a 
long sniff. It smelled wonderful, but he knew from experience 
that if he were to drink it, it would taste like nothing more 
than hot water. One of the trade-offs of becoming Kindred was 
enhanced sense of smell for a weakened sense of taste except for 
blood it seemed. Now he knew why Vic still liked to cook, even 
though he didn't eat.

Finally, he decided to go with the easier question. "I recently 
had a run-in with someone who claimed I was Gypsy. I'm looking to 
find some sort of confirmation."

"Do you have any information I can go with?"

Mac pulled the printout from his pocket. He'd combined his meager 
childhood memories with what he'd been able to coax out of the 
Agency computers and the result had been a single page with a 
depressingly small amount of information.

Sofia scanned the print, then put the page aside. "You do realize 
that we don't exactly keep records," she said. He nodded, knowing 
that probably this would be a dead end, like his other attempts 
over the years to learn more about his family, either on his 
mother's side or his father's. One died when he was young, and 
the other... Well, you couldn't exactly trust anything his dad 
said.

"Still," she added, "I'll put out the word and see if anyone 
knows anything. I'll let you know if anything comes of it," she 
said, tapping the bottom of the page where he'd added his 
personal cellphone number.

"So, now that we've dealt with that, is there anything else you 
wanted?"

Mac licked his lips, but stayed silent. He was trying to figure 
out how to say anything without sounding like a lunatic.

Sofia looked amused. "What, no more questions? I would have 
thought you'd want to ask about the Ravnos or the Draba hanging 
around your neck."

Mac gaped at her, his hand coming up to touch his pendant. 
"Draba?" he asked in confusion. Yes, he wanted to know about the 
Ravnos, but what the hell was a Draba?

"The pendant. Has anything strange happened while you're wearing 
it?"

He shook his head. "Some weird dreams, maybe," he said slowly, 
although he wasn't sure why that had popped out.

"Hmm... I might have expected more. Who gave it to you?"

Mac smiled. He was probably blushing. "My... lover," he said.

"Is she Gypsy?"

He laughed. "No, Vic is definitely not Gypsy. He found it in a 
shop in San Francisco and bought it for me."

The woman actually looked floored by that, but he didn't think it 
was because he'd named a man as his lover. She reached across the 
table and gently touched the pendant, closing her eyes. A moment 
later, she opened them again. "Impressive," she said. "It's 
nearly drained, which is why it can only work through dreams, but 
for it to have retained potency this long, especially if it ended 
up in a *shop*, its maker must have been pretty powerful."

"What *is* it?" Mac asked, a little peeved at the obscure 
pronouncements.

"A draba. Um... think of it as a magic object. A tool someone has 
made."

"What does it do?"

"That depends on what its maker *wanted* it to do. And before you 
ask, I can't tell what this one was. You'll just have to figure 
that out for yourself."
Mac really hated it when people pulled this sort of cryptic crap 
on him, but before he could say anything, demand better answers, 
his pager went off.

Cursing softly, he pulled out the techie toy and checked the tiny 
screen. The message was short and to the point: Get your ass to 
the Agency. Now.

"I've got to go," he said with a sigh, getting to his feet. The 
mug of cooling tea was left on the table, still un-sipped.

He wasn't sure whether he was relieved or disappointed that they 
hadn't made it to the subject of the Ravnos clan before the 
interruption. He still didn't know just how she knew about them 
and how much she knew about the Kindred in general.

Sofia escorted him to the door and opened it for him. "Come by 
any time, if you want to talk," she said. "About anything. And 
I'll let you know if I find out anything about your family."

"Thanks. I guess I'll see you," he said. Still a little dazed by 
the conversation and the unanswered questions it had left, he 
barely heard her reply as he headed for his car to answer the 
Director's summons.

"Oh, you certainly will."

END CHAPTER ONE