First inclination of panic. To run around screaming, swearing, cursing and making a general fuss about the problem. Me, I was near that stage. If it wasn't for the large amount of guests who I 'd embarrass myself in front of them, I might have panicked. Ralf was also nervously twitching from one foot to the other. Fortunately, my iron self-control kept me from lashing out and having a quick snack. That, and he was a ghoul of Angelina and I didn't want to risk drinking her blood as well.

No, it isn't anything to do with the mistress. I try and keep my blood as clean as possible. No diseases, no drugs, no alcohol, anybody I drink off will usually be observed for a couple of days before, to see if they have any tell-tale signs of illness. My sire has told me about the days of old, during the notorious Black Plague, and recently with the outbreak in AIDS and HIV, blood just isn't the same anymore. It may sound boring to the average mortal, but as all of us Cainites truly know, the kiss and blood is everything and will always be everything.

Looking around at the crowds of kindred mingling with each other, I wondered what to do for the moment while Ralf showed enough nervousness for the both of us. First of all, it wasn't unusual for Angelina to disappear from one of her own parties, though she had been denounced by the various harpies for it quite some time. But a lady of her position could sometimes ignore what they said. But having her disappear from the party would certainly piss off Prince Valentine.

Giving a mental sigh, I strode across the floor to Valentine's side, with a polite cutting remark at Dennis, I firmly took the Prince by the arm, and maneuvered him away from the prying eyes of the Jyhad and up the grand staircase to a side room. There, I quickly informed him of the little disappearing act of Angelina's.

A blistering amount of cursing, swearing and general insults to my intelligence, parentage, and upbringing flew through to air as Mr. up-himself vented his anger the abduction of Angelina. ' You, Patrick, are solely responsible for this action. Now I ' m going to have to clean up your mess, is that what you dragged me off here for ? '

I bristled underneath his accusations. There's a limit every Gangrel has, where he or she can be pushed and no further, and Valentine was rapidly pushing me to that limit. A moment to calm myself down, and I replied. ' No sir, ' laying a slight emphasis on the 'sir ' to make it into a derogatory title, though Valentine was probably so gone in his anger, that he wouldn't notice. ' I was more thinking about you writing a full permissionary warrant, with full powers of a Sheriff, so I can go down and find my mistress. '

' You ? Have that type of backing from me, the Prince of Boston ? ' He remarks incredulously, ' Why in the name of all that is mightys do you think you deserve this type of power ? '

A small twinkle in his eye tells me that I should reassess my opinion of Valentine as the idiot Prince. I carefully look at his body language. Body language is a wonderful thing. No matter how much acting ability a person has, there's always some telltale sign. Despite of the look on the Prince, he is acting the arrogant bastard to a key. Except for his feet. His feet are not placed in a leadership stance, nor that of an insolent lout. More like... like a position of an experienced warrior, one of easy readiness to leap in any direction.

Quickly biting down the easy sarcastic insult which comes to mind, I calmly reply. Okay, not so calmly really, my teeth clenched together. ' Because frankly my lord, Your current sheriff, Hank Bryon, is a booby. His face doesn't show any surprise to my accusations. ' You've probably got some hidden sheriff somewhere, one who is used really subtlely. Hank is an idiot, and would probably rush off to his final death if you told him to do so. Up until, I thought you were a brash idiot, and your ' brother ' Everett was the power-behind-the-throne. Now, I ' m not so sure... ' Whoops. Mistake.

Valentine smiled, his whole position relaxed slightly and he calmly glided across the richly carpeted floor towards the easy-chairs and couches lay. Motioning me to sit, he took out a packet of Lucky Strike cigarettes, my favorites, and lit one up, nearly unnoticeably flinching from the matches ' flame. He offered the packet, and I waved it away. I always believed that smoking was for when one wished to appear more human, not for the hell of the smoke which moved down our petrified lungs.

' Well done Patrick. You ' re quite right about Hank being a booby prize to any observers. Your reputation for being the very observant lad has pulled through again. Now, to the problem of your mistress's disappearance. ' He blew out a hazy smoke ring. ' The Masquerade must be maintained as always... But apart from that... ' He fished out a neat, folded piece of paper from one inner pocket.

I blinked in surprise. Carrying one around with him ? Maybe he expected this all... or was this too convenient... no matter, I had what I wanted right in front of me. But before my fingers could even brush against the warrant as I reached for it, it was whisked out of my way with a quick flick of Valetine's wrist.

' Of course, you will destroy this paper as soon as you have found Angelina... ' he left the unspoken ' or else ' dangling in the air for a few threatening moments.

I nodded, and quickly grabbed the warrant from his chubby fingers. ' Naturally. ' I replied as I carefully placed the important note which gave me privileges and powers to beat information out of whoever I thought was responsible for Angelina's disappearance.

He smiled as he eased himself out of the chair, and towards the door and the party still going on. Just before he reached the door, he spoke again ' Don't trust my ' brother ' , whatever you do. ' he blew out another smoke ring. ' And Dennis may be of greater help to you, whole and healthy, rather then having... how do you say it ? Having the living shit beaten out of him. '

I stared at his retreating back for a few brief moments, then quickly opened the piece of paper, scanning the words written down in chunky, bold letters. ' I, Prince Valentine Franchetti of the Region of Boston, give the wielder of this warrant ... ' , yada yada yada, the usual stuff which was found on any permissionary note of authority.

* * *

Well, where off to now ? I wondered, the following night. All the guests had stayed for the usual permissible time at Angelina's mansion. It had been the usual affair of giving the Harpies, their coats, and accepting their meaningless ditties and compliments to Angelina on such a stunning little caper. Pity that she had to leave so... suddenly. ' , their voices dripping with unspoken consequences of her sudden disappearance at the next, and probably soon, gathering of all the local harpies. I've always believed it, and I probably always will believe it. A Good Harpy is a harpy with his/her mouth sown shut, her tongue forcibly removed, and her hands up a donkey's..... Well, you get the drift.

The Ghouls had all been settled down, and I'd had told them to act normal and naturally, no need to give panic amongst the lesser forces than necessary. Ralf was still being his little sweaty pudgy self... I still cannot figure out for the life of me why Angelina still kept him around... his poetry was bland, and often plagiarized stanzas from many a respective artist. So, to keep the panic inside the mansion itself, I quickly banned everybody to stay inside their respective rooms until the matter of Angelina's disappearance could be settled.

Ralf, the pudgy pig hedonist he is complained loudly against this stating, ' Why should I obey a trumped up rancid gutter trash butler like yourself ? I deserve the right to go and find out about my mistress ! ' First and foremost, that would be futile in the chubby guy's case. He's a complete socialite of the ' upper crust of society ' , which is very, very crusty and nothing very upper, apart from them all being completely and utterly up themselves. Second of all, he's completely utter inept with technology. Yeah, unusual to find in a Ghoul, but I cannot figure for the life of me why Angelina has kept him on for such a long time. So I just shoved him into the large pantry, with ease, ignoring his protests about ' being manhandled by such a ruffianous cad. '

You know... As soon as one gets themselves onto the high society, they must have three criteria matched. They must firstly have manners. They must be up themselves, and they must have a thesaurus mouth to match. I really should have done something more drastic, but he's such a favorite of Angelina, that if I did anything permanent to him I'd probably end up with another few years worth of enforced service.

I changed clothing, crumpling up the long coat for a butler, white starched shirt, and all the bloody stuff, and changed into something a real Gangrel would wear, not one of those puncy penguin suits. Jeans with holes tattering them here and there, a gray skivvy to match my eyes, duff brown flight jacket, and a cap finished off the outfit. Then came the equipment. Alright, the average Gangrel would rather not carry too much, it gets a bit cumbersome at times if you're carrying, say, an electric generator. But I carried enough tools to help me.

Flare gun ( you have no idea how many times it's become useful. ), sports watch, money ( you never know who will be susceptible to that stuff, ), a mobile phone to which the ghouls could contact me on, Two Glocks - one shoulder holster, one waist, and a variety of clips. Yeah, the Glock isn't the best weapon in the world, and it's bullets mainly leave a lot to desire. Plus, with it's blocky shape, it's a little hard to hide than your average gun. But, on the major plus side, It's fairly easy to disassemble and clean, then there's the bonus of many cops out there carrying one, so if a major firefight gets out, and you are running low on ammo... well, You should understand where I'm heading.

Fifteen years of service to a Toreador... that's a long enough time. Even longer when you're serving a Toreador who is a perfectionist. Sheesh, I really should have learned how to keep my mouth shut. But still, out of the penguin butler suit, and into clothing, as Angelina would say ' More befitting to your status ' , and a target to hunt for.... yeah, makes you understand why so many of us Gangrel live for the hunt.

Shedding the whole mantle of a educated, cultured butler and dropping back into the whole attitude of a predator with a hunt, is rather quite hard to do after fifteen years. Probably getting out of practice, I reckon. Still, I made a mental note to myself to get out of town and do some serious redneck hunting as soon as my time of servitude wore off.

I was cruising down to the uglier side of Boston, the Dorchester streets. Well... not exactly ' cruising ' ... more along the lines of flying. Galen, my sire, he was a great help when it came to discipline teaching. Bit of a slob, and a mean fighter, he always stressed how important it was that our supernatural powers be kept at their peak performance, and constantly improving. Transformation into an animal form was the last teaching he did ever gave me. Well, to more precise, that little bit, and always obey the shotgun placed against your forehead.

I landed in an alleyway, typical of all alleyways with a fire escape here, a bit of unidentifiable gunk there, and transformed swiftly back into a more human form. Bats aren't all too common around the street slums, well at least in this time of history, though a century ago, that would be a totally different story, and after all, I had the Masquerade to uphold. Settling down against a large rubbish bin, I waited for my usual Nosferatu contact to show up, Sir Gerald Buntingly.

Sure enough, half an hour and two rats later, my ears pricked up as they heard tiny scratching of Gerald's talons tapping their way down the alleyway. From what I've heard on the street, Gerald came to Boston in the early 1800's, then quickly became a local reckoning force by masterfully gathering details on the local Sabbat Bishop, who was then summarily killed by an anonymous Assamite.

Ever since then, the Sabbat have slaughtered every Camarilla Nosferatu they could get their hands on, in the vain hope that it might pull Gerald out of his sewer networks. Naturally, it didn't work, and every time a Nosferatu is killed... last one happening, oh, about 8 years ago, the people involved start turning up in very strange places. Usually in bits and pieces, until their head is placed in a prominent Sabbat haven. His best effort, as grape vine says, was when he somehow placed the recently decapitated head of the Ductus of the last pack which hunted down one of his childe in the middle of the Chapel of the Sabbat Headquarters. Of course, this didn't really make the local Sabbat Bishop very happy with Gerald.

Gerald was always immaculately dressed. Snappy enough to be a Toreador, tonight he wore a pinstriped suit and fedora, reminiscent of highlight Capone's days. I stood up and walked towards him, holding out my hand in greeting. He smiled cordially, the boils and pustules of his face moving aside for his fanged maw as it stretched itself over his hideous visage. Still, underneath all the ugliness and neatness was a really great guy, and who could move through the politics and muck with the same ease. That you gotta respect.

' Hello Patrick. ' he said ' I'd say it is nice to see you, but we both know what you are here for. Come, come, let's go somewhere a trifle more comfortable. ' He gestured at an open sewer grate, and we both ambled down along to it. Gerard is one of THE most talkative Nosferatu I know around. Okay, so I'm a little chatty too, but if you want to keep those fingers on those hands of yours, you won't say a damned thing about it.

' How's ... ' I searched my memory to recall the name of the last childe he embraced as I clambered down into the open sewers. ' Clarissa adapting ? ' Valentino was rather lee-way with Gerald's creation allowance as he had definitely cleaned up a large portion of the local Sabbat through his vengeance acts. That, and who usually cares how many Nossies are around the place ?

' Ohhh... She's doing as well as can be. ' his manner was rather like a grandparent talking about a rebellious grandchild, as he dropped through after me. ' Though she still has to adapt to the sewers a little better. Why do the females of this time insist on such insidious odors being sprayed on themselves ? It doesn't make the caverns down here smell any nicer, let me tell you. And that ghastly noise... ' Gerald's sensitivities probably came off his highly trained use of the Auspex discipline.

' Humans don't change. Only fashions do. ' I quoted briefly as I circumnavigated an overhanging pipe of indiscernible nature. Damn, it's the stink which gets to most of us. Me, not really no, I lived in some pretty smelly places as an Orphan. For me, it's the slime... Strangely enough Gerald's clothing seems to almost repel the slime. Just drops down on me, but he never seems to be in the same spot as the slime when it drops down where he should be. Probably all that experience living here, I guess.

' Yes, that's quite apt. ' he replied, a hint of a smile lingering in the rancid air ' still, I do so wish that it would hurry up and change again soon. Ah, Hello Billy ' He greeted a large bulky childe of his. Most Nosferatu are slim, disjointed in unusual manner, creatures. Billy was a bouncer at one of the Nightclubs of Boston, ' The Brass ' , quite a few years ago, before I came to Boston. He was a full 6'4" tall Negro, who had prided himself on never scarring his face. I personally think that type of narcissism was what attracted Gerald to him, that and the fact that he never lost a fight against any mortal when he was still ' alive ' .

I nodded briefly at Billy, which he coldly replied in turn. We treated each other with wary respect. Billy could probably rip off both my arms in a fight, and I could probably rake some more hideous scars onto the Nosferatu face of his, so we tended to keep our distances and respects to each other.

We moved on deeper into the caverns, passing a childe here, a hideously deformed shape there, until we reached Gerald's own private Cavern. Just a simple wooden varnished door. I sometimes wondered how he actually kept the rot from setting on the door, but Gerald was the ultimate businessman, and information supplied always meant that something in turn was to be demanded.

He pushed the door open and invited me in. Dark shadows lurked around the edges of the large room, but he walked over to the setting of a bottle-laden coffee table and a pair of easy chairs on top of a richly woven Persian carpet. As I sat, I examined the carpet which hadn't been there last time I was down this deep.

' Arabian... fourteen hundreds ? ' I guessed at the age of the carpet.

' Close, but no cigar. ' he replied, pouring from a large crystal decanter ' The province now known as Iraq, sixteen hundreds. ' He turned around and handed me one large glass tumbler. then placed a long, wrinkled hand over the bottle's label.

I sipped gently from the glass, mulling over the bloodwine in my mouth. ' Okay now... I ' d have to say O+ blood, young.... around twenty years of age. The wine... rather heady, but easily identifiable as Chardenay, Southern France Province.... somewhere near the Alps... '

He nodded his head slightly at my estimation and removed his hand from the label. ' You always seem to have the upper hand in wines, my friend. One of these days, I shall find a concoction which you cannot identify. '

I smiled goodnaturedly. ' And that will be the same day you are sitting on a carpet which I can identify. '

He sat down, all games and etiquette aside. Straight to business now. He opened up a briefcase resting just underneath the coffee table. ' I'm afraid that under the circumstances, I haven't been able to gather much information regarding to your boss's disappearance. But regarding Everett ? The oily bastard has been duping a lot of us lately. ' he removed out a thin manila folder from the briefcase, tapping it with one thick talon. ' Associating with many the known Sabbat... I ' m surprised that Valentine didn't know about it all. Though I do wish I had
been able to gather this all sooner... '

' Well.... there was that little scandal with Angelina and the Sabbat impostor... ' I said halfheartedly, eyeing the folder.

' Of course... He really does care about that catty lady, doesn't he ? ' he rhetorically asked, after all, my mistress and Valentine's regular flings being rather public knowledge. ' But as usual, there must be a trade. ' Tapping the folder against the coffee table's edge.

I spread my hands wide. ' Naturally, but I don't have anything to trade this time, Gerald. ' And I didn't. Last time I resorted to pumping information from Gerald, I had traded away a Klaive I picked off a dead Lupine on a battlefield. Rather valuable one at that, served me well for five years. Though, I really did want to get rid of it. Holding onto a Klaive while traveling in Garou territory is nearly like having a pink neon flashing sign saying ' I did something to a Werewolf. I am suicidal ' . And for some reason, it made me very nervous... but then Werewolves do that to me anyway.

He smiled, much like a shark circling in for the kill. ' Alright. Just one piece of information which I have had a rather frustrating time trying to get, and nobody seems to know anything about it except for Miss Trepair, Prince Franchetti, and your indeemable self. '

I had some idea of where he was heading. ' And that information... would it pertain to the details of why a Gangrel like myself is serving Angelina ? '

He nodded calmly. ' It's just a trifle, but well worth all the years of ... communication between ourselves. '

I leaned back in the comfortable chair, fighting to keep any emotion of triumph from my face or body language, and nodded my acquiescence at the trade. He lifted his right hand and casually spat a bloody mess onto the taloned mess of a hand. I did the same in return to my own hand and we shook the deal.

Placing my hand back down on the chair's armrests, I resisted the temptation to wipe off the grimy mess, and began a small bit of history account. 'So, remember that time, about fifteen years ago, when Angelina, in one of her... less lucid moments, held a grand soiree for all of the Camarilla ? Y ' know, the one where everybody and anybody was invited along ? If I recall correctly, several of your own clanmates were in attendance there. '

He nodded an affirmative. ' Rather so, but do continue. ' He waved a hand for me to continue.

' Yes... well, that was about the second week I was here in Boston, and frankly ? I was rather bored. So I went along to the party, and while introducing myself to Prince Franchetti... well I made a small mistake. You know how Ms. Trepair had that elaborate hairdo ? ' He smiled in memory's embrace. ' yeah... well, I said quote unquote ' Is that your hair, or an rearrangement of a condor's birds nest which has allowed rats to play around in it, then a crow came along and shat in it ? ' ' His barked out laughter echoed through the sewers, as I also smiled at what I had done.

'So basically, in retribution to my insult which drove Angelina into a frenzy, such a regrettable lack of self control ' , and Valentino holding her back on my part, I was forced into a service of twenty years to her, to serve her in my full capacity. What surprises me all, is that you actually didn't know about it. '

Gerard gave out a small grimace, which ran throughout his entire wreck of a body. ' We didn't. We were more concentrating on a little incident with the Brujah Primo and that Toreador booby... John Carpenter... the one who does all that makeup business and so on ? ' I smiled briefly at that. John and the Brujah Primo nearly went at arms, when John made a cutting remark of all the makeup in the world wouldn't be able to make a Brujah any prettier.

' Hasn't Carpenter moved onto other ' artistic ' business ' ? ' I queried.

' Rather so, ' Gerald threw the tidbit of information carelessly away ' Apparently he's gained a foothold in a Latex mask business of some sort. '

He handed the folder over to me. ' Don't think that you'll be able to get a bargain like this every time. '

I nodded and opened it up, furiously reading through the various notes, surveillance photos and other tidbits of information about Everett gathered by Gerard and his sources. Not surprisingly, I discovered that, Everett did indeed own controlling percentage of shares in a multitude of media companies, including a few which turned up at her party last night. That was definitely interesting news. Furthermore, he was the one who set up the Sabbat Girl's inquisition into the whole fiery relationship of Valentine and Angelina. Very interesting news. There was plenty of memos, notes and recorded phone calls which verified all of this information. Everett was one dirty bastard.

I looked up at Gerard questioningly. ' If there's all this information about him lying around, how come you never came to this conclusion before now ? '

Gerard had a strange look of being slightly ashamed. ' There has been problems in gathering up this information. Everett, has been playing very dirty with us Nosferatu, and until recently we haven't discovered why. You see, he has an abnormal fear of us, almost like a phobia... and has placed many the precaution against information like this, ' he nodded at the folder. ' From falling into our ' dirty grasping claws ' , as he so delicately put it, if I recall correctly. '

And at that, a little beeping noise emitted from my waist. I looked down at the mobile phone protesting to the world that it had to be used. What disturbed me was that only two people I know of had that number. Angelina, and Gerard. I gave a quick look and shrug of helplessness to Gerard who smiled at me and nodded his acceptance of the situation. carefully balancing the spine of the folder in my left hand, and pressing the ' call accept ' button on the small black box, keeping it a careful few inches from my sensitive ears.

' Greetings Pat. ' Everett's oily voice oozed over the microwaves which transported the sound emanating to my ears.

(To Be Continued Soon)