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Carpe Noctem Book Three
Never the Twain Chapter Four
by Lianne Burwell
July 2001
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It was well past midnight by the time Vic pulled up outside the 
main entrance to the Agency headquarters. Anyone passing by might 
have wondered why someone would be visiting one of the city 
reservoirs at that hour of the night. They might even be 
suspicious enough to call the police, which would be a bad thing. 
However, the former reservoir was isolated enough that there was 
little chance of there *being* anyone passing by.

Inside, the place was bright and modern, in contrast to the old-
fashioned exterior. The top-level was usually pretty deserted, 
especially at night. After years of working for the Agency and 
wondering why he rarely saw anyone walking around, Vic had 
finally figured out why. Support staff kept to the lower levels 
so that if some idiot decided to try to break in, there wouldn't 
be much to see. They even had separate entrances all over town, 
connected to the facility by a private mini-subway system that 
didn't appear on any maps. Field agents, who needed to get in and 
out quickly, were the only ones who actually used the ground-
level entrance or the top level.

The leather portfolio tucked under his arm, Vic headed through 
that level to the briefing room that the Director also used as 
her public office, Mac right on his heels. The room was empty, so 
he put the case on the table and sat down to wait. Security would 
let their boss know that they were there, he knew. After a minute 
or two of fidgeting, Mac sat down too.

"So boys, what have you got for me?" the Director asked as she 
descended the steps that led to what was presumably her private 
office.

Vic had to fight the urge to jump to his feet. The Director had 
always been intimidating, but now that she was his Prince, she 
was even more so. As well, even after six months, he could still 
taste her blood, a rich liquor rolling across his tongue. Still, 
the respectful gesture was almost instinct, but he refused to 
give in to instinct. Occasional smirks told him that she knew 
what he was doing and found it... amusing.

Vic opened the portfolio and pulled out the portrait of the LiAnn 
look-alike. He slid it down the table towards her as she sat 
down. She looked down at it and actually seemed disconcerted by 
the image staring up at her for a moment before covering up her 
reaction.

"It's dated only days before Corinne Hamilton died," Mac pointed 
out.

"And it was found in her apartment?"

"Yes. She had a collection of them tucked away. Portraits of her 
conquests, we assume," Vic said.

"Interesting." She picked up the portrait for closer study. "Very 
interesting indeed."

Vic waited, but there was no further comment. "I'd think it was 
LiAnn," he finally said, "except that LiAnn wouldn't be caught 
dead looking like that. So to speak," he added, remembering that 
technically speaking, all three persons in the room *were* dead.

"But?" The Director raised an eyebrow and waited with a small 
smile that said she knew the answer to the question and was 
waiting to see if he would get it correct. He hated tests.

"But... The resemblance *is* uncanny. How many kinds of 
shapeshifters are capable of this, and would any of them have 
reason to want to?"

The Director nodded, so he had obviously come up with the answer 
she wanted. "The obvious one is the Assamite. They are Kindred, 
but outside of the Camarilla and Sabbat. Rather like the Gangrel 
in that. However, they are assassins. As well, one of the clan's 
skills is illusion. And of the two sides, they work most often 
for the Sabbat, since *they* are more inclined towards using 
assassination to further their plans."

Vic winced and carefully did not mention the Cleaners. "Guylaine 
again?" he suggested. Then his nose twitched. Something strange 
was going on. The Director seemed to be only half-involved in the 
conversation. As well, he'd been feeling edgy ever since they'd 
arrived, and it was just getting worse. Something was going on, 
but he wasn't sure what.

For a moment, a flash of plain flickered across his boss's face 
at the mention of her older sister. For centuries they'd been on 
opposite sides of an ongoing battle: One Sabbat and the other 
Camarilla in alliance.

"I don't think so," she said softly. "To her, I would not have 
suffered enough yet. She likes to give me plenty of time to mull 
over our encounters and my failures."

She glanced over to Mac but didn't say anything. She didn't need 
to. Her failure, as she saw it, had allowed Mac to be Embraced by 
a clan on the fringes of Kindred society. Certainly not the clan 
she had planned for him. Mac flinched, no doubt aware of her 
thoughts.

"So why would an Assamite assassin be killing kids in Toronto?" 
Vic asked, making a mental note to do some more research. He 
obviously needed to learn more about the various clans. More than 
the Director was willing to say before she had to, certainly.

The Director lifted her hands in the classic 'who knows?' 
gesture. "Do you have any ideas?" she asked.

Only she wasn't looking at either Vic or Mac as she spoke. 
Instead, she was looking towards the stairs she'd so recently 
descended.

"I don't know. It doesn't exactly fit the Assamite pattern," a 
half-remembered but at the same time very familiar voice said 
from the shadows at the top. The man started down, coming into 
view.

"Cash!" Mac said delightedly, practically bouncing out of his 
seat in a most unMac-like way. The two men met in the middle of 
the room, pounding each other on the back and grinning like 
madmen. Vic tried to conceal his discomfort at the sight. The 
Director was watching him with far too sharp eyes, and he knew he 
hadn't been very successful. He had to fight the urge to growl at 
the sight of *his* lover in another man's arms. Not a good 
reaction, unless he *wanted* to scare Mac off.

Six months as lovers, three months as roommates, and he was still 
worried that Mac was going get commitment-shy and head for the 
hills. He was pitiful.

But then Cash looked over Mac's shoulder at him, and his 
hostility drained away so quickly that it might as well never 
have existed.

"Vic," Cash said with a smile. He held out his hand.

This time it was Vic who was in Cash's arms before he could even 
consider the idea. After a short mental struggle, Vic buried his 
nose in the man's neck, inhaling deeply. The scent that had been 
tugging at the edges of his mind earlier now surrounded him, 
holding him safe. It was like... coming home.

Finally, Cash let go. Vic reluctantly let him step away, a little 
embarrassed at his reaction. He barely *knew* the guy, and here 
he was, clinging to him like...

Like a lover. Or a child. He wasn't sure which.

"This is all very touching, I'm sure," the Director drawled from 
her seat, effectively breaking the mood. "However, we do have 
business to discuss. Cash is *not* here for pleasure," she added 
pointedly.

Vic returned to his seat, followed by a reluctant Mac. "What sort 
of business?" Vic said with a frown, ignoring the dark look Mac 
was giving both him and their boss. "San Francisco is a long way 
to come. Besides, I thought that business between Princes was 
only done during a conclave."

"That isn't exactly true," the Director said as Cash dropped into 
a chair with the fluid grace that the older Kindred all seemed to 
have. Vic wondered just how old the Gangrel was. Cash didn't look 
a day over thirty -- younger than himself -- but in this case, 
looks could be very deceiving.

But that wasn't important right then. With a mental shake of the 
head, he turned his attention back to what his boss was saying.

"While the important business is done at the conclaves, 
information is constantly flowing between cities. *Especially* 
when it affects more than one city."

"So they send messengers?" Mac broke in. "Hello, this is the 
twenty-first century. Hasn't anyone heard of e-mail? Or how about 
the telephone?"

Cash snorted softly. "Technology can be tapped," he pointed out. 
"But no, messengers aren't the norm. I just happened to be 
passing through the area, so I was tapped to deliver the 
information personally."

"Passing through? Where are you going?" Mac said, echoing Vic's 
thoughts.

Cash shrugged. "North," he said simply. "Preferably someplace 
without people. I'll know when I get there."

"What about Julian?"

Cash frowned slightly at Mac. "What about him?" he asked with an 
edge in his voice.

"Focus, people," the Director said, breaking in again. She was 
starting to sound a little pissed. "You can play twenty questions 
to your heart's content. *Later*."

Immediately, all tension disappeared from Cash's expression. He 
exchanged a quick, conspiratorial grin with Vic and Mac, then 
carefully sobered. "As you know," he said, businesslike enough 
for even the Director, "San Francisco has a very large, very old 
Chinatown. Not the oldest in North America, but pretty damn 
close. It's also the only part of the city that the Prince has no 
control of. In fact, if you're Kindred, you don't want to go 
anywhere *near* Chinatown. Strange things happen in Chinatown."

Vic rolled his eyes at the cryptic statement, while Mac snorted. 
Cash ignored both of them. "However, we do have *some* eyes and 
ears there, and the word is that there are parties in China that 
have taken an interest in Toronto."

"Okay, that was a whole lot of nothing," Mac said wryly. "Are we 
talking Triads or any of the other criminal organizations? 'Cause 
if you are, I hate to tell you this, but that isn't exactly 
news." And Mac would certainly know, having spent years as member 
of one of those organizations that straddled east and west, 
operating out of Hong Kong.

Cash's eyes flashed silver. "This interest is non-human," he 
said. "And while they've been building a presence in North 
America, they've never moved past the west coast before. 
Vancouver and San Francisco has always seemed to be the limit of 
their interest, and they've never actively interfered with the 
Kindred. This is... unusual."

"So what are we talking about?" Mac asked. "Vampires or something 
else?" Cash just shrugged.

"Nobody knows for sure. The mysterious east is just that. We know 
that they have some sort of supernatural population, but we don't 
know what kind. All we know is that any Kindred who tries to 
enter Asia ends up dead. Whatever they are, they don't seem to 
like us much."

Mac snorted softly. "I never noticed anything supernatural when I 
lived on the streets in Hong Kong," he said.

"And how long did it take you to notice it here, hmmm?" the 
Director asked. Mac winced.

"Point taken," he said wryly.

"Actually, there are a few theories about that," she said, taking 
pity on him. "For some reason, normal humans seem to be almost 
incapable of noticing anything related to us. Those that do 
usually end up dead or institutionalized or Embraced. Call it... 
protective coloration." Vic noted that she didn't mention the 
hunters that Moira had warned him about.

Then she sat up a little straighter, the lecturing teacher giving 
way to the Prince and Director. "However, while that is something 
to keep in mind, don't let it make you careless."

"So," Vic broke in, returning to the original topic. "Do you have 
any idea what *sort* of interest these mysterious somethings have 
in our city?"

Cash shrugged again. "That's all we know. The human servant was 
murdered before she could send a more detailed warning."

Vic's eyebrows went up. "That's it? How do you know that she 
wasn't mistaken?" he asked dubiously.

That got him glared at. "A police detective assigned to Narcotics 
and specializing in Chinatown gangs is not exactly the sort of 
person to make mistakes. She had more than twenty years on the 
force, and since she was murdered an hour after sending the 
initial message, I think it's more than a little suspicious. 
Unless, of course, you believe in coincidence."

"How did she die?"

Cash's expression went dark. "She was torn to pieces in the 
middle of a busy street in broad daylight. Strangely enough, no 
one saw a thing," he added sarcastically. Vic just nodded. He 
remembered when the 'I didn't see nothing' phenomenon.

"Torn apart" Mac looked both disgusted and fascinated. "Any 
chance it's related to our case?"

It was a good question too. After all, their victims had been 
killed in a pretty brutal way.

The Director waved a hand at him. "Finding that out is *your* 
job," she pointed out. Cash frowned, obviously confused by the 
turn, and opened him mouth to say something. She shook her head, 
and he stayed silent. "But even if it doesn't, I want the two of 
you to keep your eyes open. Whether it's the Sabbat or some other 
group, I don't like *anyone* showing too much interest in *my* 
territory."

Stronger men than Vic would cringe before this woman's wrath. He 
just froze, like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming 
semi. It wasn't a comfortable feeling.

Then the fire faded, and she was just the tired, overworked 
Director of a shadowy government agency again.

Mac was tapping a finger on the table, though. "What about 
LiAnn?"

The Director frowned. "And what does she have to do with anything 
right now?"

Mac's head came up and he glared at her in a foolhardy way. "You 
said that Asia was off-limits to Kindred. Kindred get killed 
there. But you sent LiAnn to China."

That hadn't occurred to Vic yet, and Cash looked shocked. The 
Director just looked... cold. "LiAnn isn't Kindred," she said in 
a soft, dangerous voice.

"So what?" Mac shot back. "When *is* LiAnn coming back?" The 
Director didn't reply. She just glared at him. Vic was starting 
to feel uncomfortable. "When is the last time you even heard from 
her."

The Director stood. "That is not important right now. There is a 
killer in my city and I want him stopped. Outsiders are 
interested in my city and I want to know why. *That* is what is 
important. Now *go*."

You didn't have to tell them twice. A moment later, the three men 
were standing in the hallway, the door closing behind them with 
an ominous click. Mac slapped the wall, then winced. The bright 
yellow paint covered plaster over concrete. It was hard on the 
hand.

"LiAnn's been looking after herself all her life," Vic said 
softly, trying to reassure Mac. "She'll be fine."

"But, you heard..."

"She isn't Kindred," Cash said. "The Kindred *do* have a presence 
in Hong Kong and a couple of the other large cities. Kindred are 
fair game, but their servants are usually left alone."

"*Usually*?" Mac protested.

"Mac, trust her. I'll bet on LiAnn against just about anything."

Mac looked like he wanted to protest, but then he slumped. "Fine, 
but if I haven't heard from her by the end of the month, I'm 
going to make a fuss." It wasn't an idle threat either. Mac on a 
rampage was not to be taken lightly.

"Okay," Mac said, suddenly all business. "Now what?"

Vic looked at his watch. "Three hours to sunrise," he said. "Not 
much we can do in the time. Pick up the credentials Dobrinsky 
promised, check to see if the computer geeks got anything useful 
off Hamilton's computer, see if Nathan's come up with anything in 
Records."

"Anything that *doesn't* involve aliens or Alex Trebek," Mac 
added. "What about you, Cash?"

For a moment, Vic had forgotten about the older Gangrel. The man 
was so silent that if you weren't looking directly at him, you 
wouldn't realize he was there.

Cash shook his head. "This place is just... weird," he muttered 
to himself. "No. The Prince gave me permission to stay here for 
the day. As soon as the sun goes down again, I'm back on the 
road. I *really* need to get away from cities for a while."

Mac looked worried, despite the reassurance. "Are you okay, Cash? 
You didn't have a fight with Julian or something, did you?"

Vic wanted to tell him to shut up: Cash was a big boy and could 
take care of himself. Cash just looked amused. "No, we didn't 
fight. I was feeling... restless."

"So you just *left* him?" Mac sounded shocked.

Now Cash was looking peeved. "No, I did not 'just leave him,'" he 
snapped. "I have served him for forty years and been his lover 
for most of that. Sometimes we need to spend some time apart. As 
well, I've been in San Francisco for more than a decade and 
people are starting to comment on how little I've changed in that 
time. I need to leave town. So, I'm taking a vacation. In a few 
years, it will be time for Julian to change identities and I'll 
rejoin him then."

Then he softened a little. "When you've got the chance to be 
together for centuries, a few years apart are nothing. Hell, if 
nothing else it'll give us something new to talk about."

Mac shook his head. "I just don't understand how you can simply 
walk away like that." Neither could Vic, for that matter.

Cash chuckled. "That's because the two of you are so young. You 
haven't learned to see the long run yet. Wait a few decades and 
you'll understand."

Mac still looked dubious. As for Vic, his mind said that it made 
sense, but his gut hated the idea of leaving everyone and heading 
out into the wilderness alone. But like Cash said, he hadn't 
learned to think that far ahead yet. He'd needed to learn to 
think in terms of decades and centuries.

By this time, they'd reached the exit. Cash stopped and looked at 
them for a moment. "Vic, can I talk to you for a moment?" The 
pointed look in Mac's direction added the word 'alone' to the 
request.

Mac didn't look happy about it. "I'll meet you at the car," he 
told Vic flatly, then walked away. The soles of his shoes slapped 
inelegantly against the pavement.

Vic winced, then turned back to Cash. He leaned back against the 
wall, folded his arms over his chest and waited for the man to 
say whatever it was he hadn't wanted to say in front of Mac.

"Come with me," Cash said. Vic waited, but there was no 
elaboration.

"Where?" he finally asked.

"North. Or south. Wherever the road takes us." Cash reached over 
and touched his arm. "My Sire Embraced me, then vanished. I had 
to figure out everything on my own. I always said that I wouldn't 
do the same to any Childe of mine. For the last six months, I've 
regretted letting her take you away. I want to correct that 
mistake. There's so much I can teach you." He sounded... wistful.

"I've had a teacher," Vic pointed out.

Cash shook his head. "It's not the same. How could it be without 
the blood bond? Even after all this time, I'm sure you can still 
feel it."

And he could. It was like an elastic band, pulling him towards 
the other man, no matter how much he fought it. He wasn't even 
sure he *wanted* to fight it.

But there other bonds, just as strong. Two in particular 
restrained him. "She won't let me go," he said. Cash would know 
who he was talking about.

"She said she would if you decided you wanted to go."

For a moment, hope flared. He liked his work and his partners -- 
hell, even his boss most of the time -- but he felt trapped too. 
He hadn't been given a choice about coming to work for the 
Agency, and he'd been told more than once that he couldn't leave 
unless she decided to let him. Now he could. Freedom to travel, 
to see the world, a larger world now that he knew the truth.

But freedom always had a price. "What about Mac?"

Cash wouldn't meet his eyes. "He stays."

And sometimes the price was too high. "Forget it. I'm not going 
to abandon him."

Cash just looked resigned. "I had the feeling you'd say that. I 
did try, but she wasn't willing to let you both go."

Vic laughed, a bitter sound. "Of course not. She knows I wouldn't 
leave him, so she gives me the illusion of a choice that is 
really no choice at all."

"I'm going to be at the Hockley Valley nature reserve for a week 
or so. If you change your mind..."

Vic nodded. "I won't, but I appreciate the offer."

"Take care of yourself then, Vic."

Giving in to impulse, Vic hugged the man tightly, then kissed 
him. Lips were closed and there was no tongue involved, but it 
wasn't a simple peck on the cheek either.

Then he pulled away, turned and walked out the door. He didn't 
look back.

Mac was waiting for him in the car. The engine was running and 
something with a heavy beat was blaring from the speakers. Vic 
opened the passenger side door and slid in.

"What did he want?"

Vic looked at Mac, but the younger man stared straight ahead, his 
fingers drumming against the steering wheel.

"He wanted me to go with him. The Director said yes."

There was no visible reaction. "When do you leave?"

"I don't. I'm staying."

There was a long moment of silence. Then all the tension drained 
away. "You are?"

"Of course I am," Vic snapped, a little annoyed that Mac thought 
he would just leave like that. "Idiot. Now, are we going home, or 
are we just going to sit here until the sun comes up?"

"I thought we needed to talk to Dobrinsky, Nathan and the techs?" 
Mac said, teasing now. Despite the words, he'd already put the 
car into drive and was headed for the road.

"They can wait until tonight. I just want to go home."

"Good," Mac said cryptically.

The drive was silent, as was the ride up in the elevator to their 
floor. Vic was getting a little worried. Mac was *never* silent, 
unless he was upset or up to something. 

The door shut behind them, and Vic opened his mouth to ask Mac 
what was up and to try to reassure him again that he wasn't going 
anywhere. Before he could say anything, though, Mac had slammed 
him up against the door and was doing his best to suck his tongue 
out of his head.

Mac tore at his clothes with hungry hands as Vic tried to steer 
them towards the bedroom. He still wasn't sure what had gotten 
into his partner, but he had the feeling that he was going to 
want something soft under him for whatever was going to happen 
next.

Not that he was objecting, of course. His hands were just as busy 
at the task of stripping Mac. He knew that they were leaving a 
trail of clothing behind them, but his usual neatnik instincts 
didn't mind. Hell, considering the number of things in their path 
they'd knocked over, the place probably looked like a hurricane 
had swept through.

They hit the bed still clawing at each other, but there was 
nothing left to remove except skin. Fingernails were leaving 
bloody trials, but the sting of the scrapes just added to the 
heat of the moment.

As soon as his back hit the mattress, Vic was flipped over onto 
his stomach. He could have fought back, but by now he was so hot 
that he didn't care what Mac did to him as long as he fucked him 
*now*.

And he got his wish faster than he'd expected. Mac pulled him up 
onto his knees and spread his ass cheeks as wide as they would 
go. Then there was a hawking sound and something cool and slimy 
hit his asshole with amazing accuracy. Then his ass was pulled a 
little higher and Mac thrust home in one quick thrust without any 
preparation.

Vic bit into the bedspread as pain and pleasure merged. Mac was 
thrusting hard and fast, his fingers digging into Vic's hips to 
hold him in place. Vic was hard enough to break boards, but he 
couldn't reach back to take care of himself. He needed both hands 
to brace himself against the force of Mac's fucking. He tried to 
push back against Mac's thrusts, but the grip on his hips kept 
him from moving. All he could do was stay where he was and take 
it.

The pressure was building now, and a keeping sound vibrated in 
the back of his throat. He was shaking with the force of the 
approaching explosion. He threw his head back, then howled as 
Mac's fangs buried in his shoulder. His semen pulsed out of his 
cock in the same rhythm as the blood from the wound.

Completely limp now, he collapsed. Mac followed him down, 
continuing to pound into him, uncaring of anything by his own 
need. Thankfully he didn't take long before he froze, pulsing 
inside of Vic.

Mac pulled out of Vic's throbbing ass and collapsed next to him. 
Vic knew that they were going to stink come nightfall if they 
didn't get cleaned up, but nothing on earth was going to get him 
to move, not even food.

Mac didn't seem interested in leaving the bed either. Instead, he 
wrapped himself tightly around Vic, already mostly asleep. "Don't 
go," was the last thing he mumbled.

"I won't," Vic promised, hugging him even tighter.

END CHAPTER FOUR