----------------------------------------
Carpe Noctem Book Three
Never the Twain Chapter Eleven
by Lianne Burwell
March 2002
----------------------------------------

Jackie peered over his shoulder and whistled. "Wow. I never knew 
you were an artist. That's good."

Mac pursed his lips as he considered the portrait, then added a 
bit more shading to the area under the eyes. "Maybe, but the 
question is, would you recognize Sanji based on it?"

Jackie took the art pad -- not something he'd expected to find in 
supplies, but a welcome surprise, along with the collection of 
art pencils -- from him, looked at it closely for a moment, then 
nodded. "Yep," she said decisively. "De-fi-nite-ly," she added, 
enunciating each syllable carefully. Then she reached over and 
smacked him on the shoulder, not very gently either. "So, since 
when are you Pablo Picasso?"

"Please," Mac said in disgust. "Picasso was overrated. And I took 
art classes as part of my training with the Tangs. Don't want to 
get fooled by a forgery, after all. I enjoyed them," he added 
with a shrug

"Yeah, well you're really good. Totally a second career if you 
get out of the secret agent business."

"Like that's ever going to happen with *her* running the place."

"Oh, you never know."

Something about the way she said that made his eyebrows ride up, 
but her expression said that he shouldn't bother pursuing it: She 
wasn't going to talk. Jackie might have a reputation as a 
blabber-mouth, but the Malkavian knew how to keep a secret. Not 
exactly standard for her clan.

Didn't stop her from making cryptic hints, though.

After giving the portrait one last go over, and making a couple 
final alterations, Mac put the pad face down on a scanner. A 
minute later, he had a high-resolution image on the screen, ready 
to be printed out or faxed electronically. He stared at the 
screen blankly, the eyes of his portrait seeming to glow eerily 
back at him. The image from the vision he'd had flashed through 
his mind, making him break out in a sweat.

Then he shook it off and saved the file. He printed off a bunch 
of copies for the agents who would soon be scouring the town -- 
discretely, of course. Then he entered the command to start 
faxing it, along with Vic's cover letter and a photo of LiAnn, to 
all the police departments with murder cases they thought were 
related.

"All done," he told the blonde bombshell, leaning back with a 
tired sigh. Sketches were one thing. Doing a detailed portrait 
that they both agreed was easily recognizable took time and 
effort, and the muscles in the back and neck were feeling the 
strain. "Think it'll do any good?"

Jackie blew a lock of hair out of her face, the bright smile 
fading. "Doubt it. I mean, several months of searching, off and 
on, and I couldn't find a trace of LiAnn. After the weird stuff 
started, I started asking about Sanji, and couldn't find anyone 
who'd seen him, even the bartender who remembered serving me at 
the bar where I met him. Both of them are turning out to be damn 
good at covering their tracks. Kinda creepy, in fact."

Mac laughed. "Creepy? We drink blood, haunt the night, and you 
call being good at covering your tracks creepy?" He shook his 
head. "When the hell did my life get so weird?" he muttered to 
himself.

"Finally sinking in, is it?" she said sympathetically.

"What?"

"I'm kinda surprised it took so long. Me, I was weirded out about 
a week after I got turned. Vic, him I don't know about. Didn't 
see him much while he was training with the Gangrel, so who knows 
when it hit him. But sooner or later it always does. Some can't 
handle it, and they go for a walk in the sunlight and poof... 
Instant bonfire. Others can't handle the blood thing and starve 
themselves to death. Others just go out of their way to piss off 
an older Kindred and get themselves killed. You've been handling 
this pretty good."

"So what did you do?" Mac asked, honestly curious. "I mean, I 
don't even know how you got Embraced in the first place."

Jackie sat on the edge of the table with her legs stretched out 
in front of her. "Not much to say. You guys took me down and sent 
me to jail, but my lawyer decided to try an insanity plea. I 
mean, as if," she sneered. Mac wisely didn't say anything. He 
didn't think that his opinion that the new head of the Janczyk 
Family had been seriously unhinged would go over well with the 
woman, even after working together for more than a year.

"Anyway," Jackie continued, tossing her long hair over her 
shoulder, "he got them to send me to a nuthouse to be checked 
out. One of the night guards thought I showed potential, and she 
Embraced me. Good thing my rubber room didn't have a window. Two 
nights later, the Director showed up to offer me a job. Not being 
totally stupid, I said yes."

"And your Sire?"

Jackie shrugged. "Not a clue. Never saw her again. I got the same 
sort of ad-hoc training that you did." They both knew that her 
Sire was probably dead then, but neither said it. Mac knew, after 
San Francisco, that if the older Malkavian hadn't gotten 
permission to Embrace Jackie, her life would have been forfeit. 
Jackie's life could have been also, but obviously their boss had 
seen some potential.

The computer pinged to let them know that it was done. Mac 
retrieved his drawing from the scanner, then shut down the 
machine. "So," he said, balling up the portrait and tossing it at 
the recycle bin in the corner of the room. "What did you do to 
get past the weirded out stage?" 

Jackie shrugged. "Went for a workout at the gym. Went dancing all 
night. Picked up guys and got laid without thinking once of 
feeding. Basically did normal things that I did before, and 
didn't think about the weird stuff. After a few days, the feeling 
went away."

Mac stared at her in disbelief. "That's it? Go out and party 
until the feeling goes away."

"Hey, it works. You just need to remind yourself of all the 
reasons why you want to stick around. Doesn't have to be the same 
sort of thing, as long as you do *something*. Heck, go home with 
Vic and fuck him blind, then tell yourself that if you want to be 
doing the same thing in a year, you have to keep going. It's as 
simple as that. You need a reason to live."

Mac thought about it for a few minutes, then nodded slowly. "It 
makes sense, in a weird sort of way."

"Which brings up back full circle," Jackie said with a laugh. 
Then she sobered up. "But going back to the original question, 
no, I don't think this is going to do any good. We might find a 
little evidence of Sanji and LiAnn in the other cities, but it 
isn't going to do us any good for finding them. If I couldn't 
find them, I don't even think Dobbie's people are going to get 
anywhere."

"That's kind of what I expected," Mac said, resting his chin on 
one fist. The more they investigated this case, the less they 
seemed to have. Or maybe it was more accurate to say that the 
more they learned, the more they had to face the fact that 
traditional investigative techniques weren't going to get them 
anywhere. When one target could fry Agency security systems from 
a distance, and the other could change shapes and make sure that 
no one remembered seeing him, the chances that basic legwork 
would find them... well, Mac didn't put much hope in them, 
although he wasn't going to tell Vic that.

No, their best chances, much as he hated to admit it, was going 
to be trying to attract this Sanji person's attention. That meant 
setting someone up as bait. "So, what you going to do now?" he 
asked casually.

Jackie stood up and stretched, checking the clock as she did so. 
"Too late to do much tonight," she said with a pout. "Besides, 
we've been going non-stop for more than a week now, and I'm 
exhausted. I thought I'd just go home, relax a bit, catch up on 
what's going on in the rest of the world. You know, pretend I 
have a life. Or unlife."

Mac chuckled. "Sounds like an idea to me," he said. Based on the 
pattern, they had a few days before finding their killer became 
urgent again. "But don't forget to pick up your wire and locator 
before you leave," he said, sounding disgustingly adult to his 
ears. Since when did he get to be the responsible one? Since Vic 
wasn't around to say it, he told himself wryly.

The guilty look on Jackie's face told him that it was a good 
thing he had. "Okay, okay. Stop one is the toy shop. *Then* I go 
home. Happy?"

"Delirious," he drawled. "And Jackie?"

She stopped at the doorway, but didn't turn around. "Yeah?"

"Call before you head out tonight."

"Fine," she almost spat out. "Are you through being parental, or 
can I go?"

"Ewwww. That would be gross. And yeah, have fun."

She left, but at least she was laughing as she went. Mac slumped 
back in his seat, staring at the black screen, his mind going 
deliberately blank. It was a trick he'd picked up from years of 
martial arts training. It was intended as a way to find inner 
calm, but right now, it was just a way of avoiding thinking.

His eyes drifted shut as he slipped from trance to light doze. 
Daytime or no daytime, he hadn't slept well at Sofia's place, too 
aware of being in a strange place and not quite willing to trust 
it.

As his mind drifted, images teased him. Cats fighting over him, a 
dream he remembered from the trip to San Francisco nearly a year 
earlier. Then the cats were gone, replaced by Vic and Katya, the 
Ravnos that had brutally Embraced him. A dream that had been 
brought by the draba?

He opened his eyes and pulled the pendant out. He held it up and 
examined it carefully from every angle. It looked the same as it 
always did, a silver color with deep grooves cut into it, dark 
with something that wasn't enamel, and hadn't come out when he'd 
cleaned the piece, making a variety of strange patterns that 
didn't look like anything he'd ever seen. The same thing he 
always saw when he looked at it.

And yet, at the same time, it seemed to sparkle a little brighter 
in the fluorescent lights. The dark spaces deep in the grooves 
seemed to absorb the light, while the silver...

Mac shook his head, suddenly realizing that he was well on his 
way to hypnotizing himself. On the other hand, that gave him an 
idea. If he could have a vision while standing on the street 
without trying, what if he tried deliberately? A light meditative 
trance, while deliberately trying to provoke a vision, maybe even 
a vision of where they could find their killer. It was a crazy 
idea, but at this point, anything was better than what they had. 
Maybe he should call Sofia and ask her for advice.

"Mac?"

The unexpected voice jolted him upright in his seat, and he 
quickly hung the pendant back in place around his neck. For a 
moment it was warm against his skin, and even felt like it was 
vibrating ever so slightly. Then it was cool and inert, the same 
as ever.

Vic was staring at him from the doorway with a puzzled frown on 
his face. "Yeah?" Mac said, standing up and straightening his 
clothes.

"You okay?"

"Just peachy. Why?"

Vic's frown deepened. "Well, for one thing, I stood here for five 
minutes and you never even noticed. You were just staring into 
space with a blank expression. And you've been acting strange all 
night."

It looked like it was finally time to face the music. "Wanna go 
for a drive?"

Vic's eyebrows scrunched up, then he nodded. Mac took a deep 
breath and stood up.

>>>~~~<<<

Mac stayed silent through the drive. Vic was starting to get 
really worried: Mac was *never* silent. Vic was starting to get 
really worried. Mac was really weird. Had been ever since this 
case had started. Or maybe it was more accurate to say, he'd been 
acting strange since Cash had shown up, which was pretty close to 
the same thing. Vic hoped it was just that he was brooding over 
that, or maybe about LiAnn, but he had a feeling that there was 
more to it.

Mac obviously didn't want to talk anywhere where the Agency might 
have ears, and Vic didn't really blame him. Sure, they worked for 
the Agency, but that didn't mean that he trusted them. Sure, the 
Director seemed to honestly like them, and she treated them 
better than most Agency employees, but that didn't mean that she 
would hesitate for a moment to sacrifice them if it was in the 
best interests of the Agency or her city. And aside from that, 
she seemed to delight in spying on them, so it was difficult to 
keep secrets.

There was a small park that Vic knew, not too far from downtown. 
It was too small for most Gangrel, not that there were a lot of 
them in town. While training Vic for the Director, Moira'd been 
talking about leaving town with her people. She hadn't liked 
having the Prince of the city order her around. Having four of 
her top supporters chased out of town for trying to kill Mac had 
been the final straw. Two days later, the number of Gangrel in 
town could practically be counted on one hand, and they tended to 
stick to the larger green spaces, the ones with wild growth 
still.

Vic parked in the tiny parking lot attached to the park and 
headed over to the play structure. At three in the morning, the 
place was empty of course. He sat down on one of the swings and 
waited for Mac to catch up with him.

Mac took the other swing and started pushing back and forth. For 
a while, the just hung out, silent. A comfortable silence, the 
sort you could only have with a brother, a partner, the right 
kind of lover.

"I nearly killed someone last night," Mac said softly, breaking 
through the creak of the chains holding up the swings. It wasn't 
what Vic had expected to hear.

"Who?"

Mac shrugged. "I don't know. A mugger who decided that a guy on 
foot in the wrong area of town was fair game. I don't really 
remember much. I was kind of in a haze. Then I came to with him 
looking nearly dead, and..." he stopped, and when Vic looked 
over, he thought the younger man was going to be ill. "And blood 
in my mouth," Mac finally choked out.

Vic shuddered sympathetically. "That's what you were hiding when 
called last night?"

"Yeah." Mac snorted. "Hell, I almost didn't call 'cause I knew 
you'd know something was up."

"Then why did you?" Vic asked, curious.

Mac still wasn't looking at him. "I promised." Then he glanced 
over briefly, a small smile flickering across his face. "By the 
time I got to Sofia's, though, I just wanted to go home, tell you 
everything."

Mac wasn't looking at him again. His shoulders were hunched, like 
he was waiting for a blow. A blow from Vic, physical or 
otherwise.

Vic chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. "What happened to the 
moron?" he asked.

Mac twitched slightly. "I don't know. I was trying to figure out 
what to do when Dobrinsky called me on my cell-phone and told me 
to leave, that they'd take care of things. I don't know what they 
did with him after that. He was moving, but his leg was broken, 
and he was pretty battered."

"I'll ask Dobrinsky," Vic said, although to be honest, he didn't 
really care what happened to the creep. He should be shocked, and 
a year ago he might have been, but right now, all he cared was 
that the man had attacked his lover, so he got what he deserved. 
Mac seemed a little more upset about it than him.

"You aren't disgusted?" Mac asked, sounding surprised.

"Hell no! He attacked you, not the other way around. He just 
picked the wrong person in the wrong mood. Besides, if you hadn't 
pounded him into the ground, he might have gone after someone 
else, someone who wouldn't do as good a job defending 
themselves."

"But I fed off him," Mac protested, although he was finally 
meeting Vic's eyes fully.

Vic shrugged. "Mac, what do you think I did during my training?"

"I thought... I mean, the Director supplies all those bags..."

That made Vic laugh, a little bitterly. "Do you really think 
Moira would let me get away with that? Gangrels are hunters, she 
said. I had to hunt down and kill a meal." Now it was his turn to 
wait for a reaction.

Mac's eyes went wide. "What did you do?"

Vic grinned, and he knew the expression was nasty. "Let's just 
say that there's a couple less rapists in the city."

"Wow."

He was relieved to see that Mac didn't look disgusted. In fact, 
he looked almost awed. "So, if I killed a rapist, I'm certainly 
not going to get upset about a mugger. We okay?"

Mac shook his head, openly grinning now. "Yeah. I feel like an 
idiot, though, worrying all night about what you were going to 
think."

"Well, next time, don't worry until *after* you talk to me. 
Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Well, now that we're all okay, what the hell was going on 
earlier? Since when do you have visions?"

Mac took a deep breath, then started to explain.

>>>~~~<<<

Jackie was in a pissy mood as she left the Agency. She hated 
wearing a wire; she swore she could feel the damned thing buzzing 
against her skin. And no matter how many times she'd worn one, 
the surveillance department insisted on treating her like an 
idiot who didn't have a clue how to look after the tiny 
electronic devices. Besides, they ruined the line of her blouse.

But she'd promised both Vic and Mac, and she was on thin enough 
ice with Vic at least that she wasn't going to risk not following 
orders.

Thing were definitely getting weirder, though. For one thing, Mac 
was nearly the last person she would have expected to start 
having mystic visions -- Vic would have been the last person. But 
Mac... Mac was just so... Mac. Of course, she'd never thought of 
him as the artist type either, but he was damned good. The 
portrait he'd done was almost like a photograph of Sanji. Too bad 
it probably wasn't going to do them any good.

And that was why she felt so damned frustrated. They'd been 
working every night for a couple weeks now, and they weren't much 
further along than they'd been at the start. Sure, they had a 
suspect, but he was impossible to find, and probably impossible 
to stop, the way things were going.

Jackie stopped at her car and briefly banged her forehead against 
the barely cool metal of the roof. It wasn't as good as a brick 
wall, but it was the best she could come up with at the moment.

Then the smell caught her attention. Liquid and metal and the 
slight odor of rotting flesh. Jackie opened her eyes and looked 
down, through the car window. "Ewwww!"

She didn't have a clue who the guy sitting behind the wheel of 
*her* car was, but he was definitely dead. Of course, that was a 
no-brainer, since he was missing his throat. She looked a little 
lower, and her nose wrinkled. Okay, he was missing a lot more 
than just his throat. It was going to take a *lot* of cleaning to 
get the blood out of the upholstery.

The question, however, was, who was he and what was he doing in 
her car?

Jackie pulled out her cell and dialed Vic's number. She could 
hear it ringing, and she tapped the toe of her shoe against the 
pavement impatiently. "Come on, boss man. Answer the damned 
phone," she muttered to herself.

"It won't make a difference if he does," a voice said from right 
behind her.

Jackie whirled around, but before she could react, her cell hit 
the ground, and she followed it.

"What's the matter, lovely lady?" she heard as she blacked out. 
"Don't you like my present?"

The last thing she heard before she completely lost consciousness 
was Vic's voice calling her from the cell before it was cut off 
with a crunch.

>>>~~~<<<

"Jackie? Jackie!" Vic pulled the cell away from his ear and 
double-checked the display. It did say that it was Jackie's cell 
that had called him, and the line was open. But he didn't hear 
anything from the other end. Nothing, that is, except for a faint 
noise that sounded like... something being dragged?

"Shit. I've got a bad feeling about this," he told Mac, heading 
for the car at a run.

END CHAPTER ELEVEN