Tess watched the smoke swirl up from her hand, casting the lobby beyond into slight obscurity in her sight. The irony of the vision made her grimace; the metaphor rung true. For the past four months she had felt like the rest of the world was on the other side of a wall of smoke. She could see it if she focused and hear it if she listened, but a very real wall of illusion stood between her and it. Light and shadow, smoke and mirrors; the end result was that Tess was invisible to them and they were no more than shadow box puppets to her.

At one time, she had been a black jack dealer at The Orleans. It wasn't as prestigious as the Stardust, but the pay was good. She reckoned a girl from Topeka who came to Las Vegas to find fame could have done worse. Tess wasn't as pretty as most dealers, but in a place like the Orleans where it was Mardi Gras all year round that didn't matter so much. She had always had a talent for cosmetology, and what she lacked in natural beauty she had been able to make up for in style and flair. She had won regulars at her table with her outrageousness, all wondering what outlandish thing Tess would do with her hair or lipstick tonight. Maybe it wasn't national stardom, but Tess had felt like it was a step in the right direction to being a local celebrity.

The sheer energy that enveloped Las Vegas had made her feel alive like nowhere else had, and from the moment she arrived Tess had diligently worked to make sure that she was right in the middle of it all. Champagne mixers, after-show parties, a million lights per square mile and the constant flow of cash had looked enough like 'the big time' to a small town girl. Now she stood in an out of the way place while even the basest of tourists happily ignored her.

She didn't have to skulk, she supposed. She could draw attention to herself if she wanted to. But what would be the point, really? If the associations had seemed hollow when even she could reasonably hope that they would gain substance if she could just do the right things, why would they seem anything but empty now that she knew with absolute certainty they could never have depth or meaning? They would never be anything but smoke and mirrors, light and shadow.

The slender girl levered up off the wall and dropped the still burning cigarette into the ash can. Next to sequined dresses and the colorful plumage of show girls, Tess's khaki shorts and white tank top made sure that eyes would avoid her. After all, why bother with the mundane when there was so much magic to feast your eyes on?

She wove her way through the crowd, pausing at the baccarat pit to afford the croupier a smile. He was a pretty nice guy in Tess's book, since he had tried to get her job here a while back. He didn't exactly look shabby in that tuxedo, either. He made a quick smile, and that was the most he could do. Baccarat was a demanding game that required that he keep his eyes on it at all times.

Tess briefly entertained the notion of trying to talk him into splitting with her. It'd be nice to have somebody to talk to, somebody to tell all the things she had learned and seen. Besides, as far as somebodies went she could do a lot worse than him.

She was shaken from her reverie by one of the Pit Boss's guard dogs tapping her on the shoulder.

"Can I help you, miss?"

Tess did her best impression of a vapid tourist, smiling sweetly and shaking her head. She laid the midwestern drawl on thicker than usual.

"Not unless you got a manual for that game. It looks so fancy."

The man chuckled.

"It's a real favorite with the money-types. You'd better move along though, before one of them gets the idea you're casing him."

Tess nodded, and did her best to look like she didn't quite understand but intended to obey. She thanked him absently and turned away, leaving the floor man reaffirming for himself that Las Vegas really did attract all kinds.

She passed the craps tables and private poker rooms, taking the long route to Ralph's Diner. She found the dichotomy the little snack shop represented ironic. For most people who stopped in to enjoy the 50's atmosphere and genuine Wurlitzer jukebox, it was a novelty. For Tess, it was a little piece of home in this artificial oasis in the dark desert.

She smiled to the waitress when the middle aged woman met her at the entrance. Tess couldn't remember diners having hostesses, but then nothing was ever quite the same in Las Vegas. The woman's name tag read 'Lil', and Tess wondered if it was the woman's real name. Her own name tag at The Orleans had read 'Scarlet'. Here on the strip, everyone had to be someone else whether they wanted to or not. It was all about show and fantasy. Real people and real things had no place in this glamorous den of aniquities.

"Neither do real vampires," she thought to herself.

Lil showed her to a seat and took her order for one strawberry malt, then left the redhead alone in the booth. Tess looked at her watch: just after eleven. Unless she was fooling herself, the man with the husky voice would be pulling into the parking lot in a few minutes. He had refused to tell her his name, and so she had told him that she would call him Mister until he informed her otherwise. He seemed to get a kick out of that, but didn't relent on his secrecy.

Lil set the tall, cone-shaped parfait glass down in front of Tess with a false smile, then quickly excused herself. Tess stared out the window at what she guessed must be the only street in America where night was just as bright as day. In fifteen minutes, a man she only knew as 'Mister' would stroll through the diner door looking for a redhead characteristically not enjoying the pink milkshake she had ordered.

"Ridin' down the highway, goin' to a show
Stop in all the byways, playin' rock 'n' roll
Gettin' robbed, gettin' stoned
Gettin' beat up, broken boned
Gettin' had, gettin' took
I tell you folks, it's harder than it looks"

The '69 Camaro sped down the dark highway as AC/DC blared out of the speakers. The music was so loud that the roaring engine could only be heard in between songs, or when the jury-rigged tape deck decided to act it's age and conk out.

One such display caused Axel to bang on the old deck just a little too hard, and it spit his tape out at him before sparking, smoking, and finally shorting out for the last time.

The large man cursed at the archaic piece of machinery, swearing for the hundredth time that he'd get a CD player installed next time he had the chance. He chuckled despite himself. It had taken him until 1984 to get the eight track player replaced. At this rate, he figured he'd be getting a CD player about the time Haley's comet went by again.

He shifted hands on the wheel so he could lift the sleeve of his leather jacket and check his watch. Just after ten; he still had time to stop for something to drink on his way to the strip.

He had driven this road at least a hundred times in the past; he knew where every turn off led, where every gas station was. The next stop should be about ten minutes up the road. The absence of the mind numbing music left him nothing to do but think between there and the rest stop. To Axel, too much thinking was a bad thing. Left alone with your own thoughts long enough, you could talk yourself in or out of anything. You could start to dwell on your own doubts, so much so that given enough time you could start second guessing whether or not you were really born. No, too much thinking was bad. It made you doubt your instincts. It made you doubt yourself.

Still, he had to admit he had plenty of doubts when it came to this girl. She had been introduced through the right channels, knew the right code words, and hadn't tried to act like she knew more than she did, but that didn't mean everything was on the up and up. He had to admit that he appreciated her lack of pretense even over the telephone: it was few and far between that kindred like her didn't make themselves out to be something they probably weren't. He shrugged. Maybe it was a good sign, or maybe it was a sign that the competition was getting smarter. You never could tell from a phone call.

Axel was delivered from his own thoughts by the appearance of a small cropping of lights ahead that, despite it's distance, he knew on sight was the gas station he sought. He pushed his tangled mane of blonde hair back to smooth it, then fished around for his wallet. He paused to look at the little black billfold as he turned it over in his fingers. He had to admit that the male adoption of the wallet had been much to his approval. He had always felt like a bit of a sissy referring to his 'purse'.

He slowed the now dusty car as the rest stop neared and eased into the parking lot. That was the one real complaint he had about these little trips to Vegas: the desert was hell on his paint job. The old attendant eyed him warily as he pulled up to the full service pumps, but when Axel handed him a fifty with instructions to fill it up and make it look presentable any apprehension the man had fell away. With his car being serviced and washed, Axel had a few minutes to wash up and find dinner.

He strode across the lot to the tiny snack shop that connected to the station, guessing that the old woman behind the counter must be the wife of the man who was now filling his gas tank. He flashed her a charming smile before disappearing in to the bathroom, seeming to ignore the table of young ladies who were already giving him the eye.

Ammonia: the smell hit Axel as soon as the door to the restroom closed behind him, eliciting a small sound of disgust. He hated public bathrooms. His sense of smell had become remarkably acute and refined over the years, a trait which was often a benefit and a pleasure. In an enclosed room of toilets in a dirty little gas station, however, it was just a remote form of torture. He quickly set to washing his face and combing some of the tangles out of his hair. The less time he spent in this wretched room, the better. When he stepped out again, clean faced and much neater, he imagined that he heaved a sigh of relief.

The young ladies were still in their booth, all of which quickly turned away and giggled when he looked back at them. He was not shy and never had been; he studied all three of them carefully. Two of them were knockouts by modern standards: thin, angular features, blond hair, and dressed in the latest fashions that did their best to reveal whatever hidden assets these girls might possess. The third was a brunette, a little overweight with a round face and full figure. She was a little more covered than the other two, and he could tell just by her posture that she was used to standing in the shadow of what he labeled her two ugly stepsisters. He smiled to himself, even though the girls thought it was for them. Yes, Cinderella there would do nicely.

He approached the table smiling still, as whispers of 'omigod' passed between the three. He stopped at the end of their table.

"Evening, ladies."

Another titter of laughter passed between them, and one of the stepsisters took it upon herself to speak first. "So you headed for Vegas?"

He smiled and shrugged. "Yeah... I got business out that way. What about you?"

The girl did her best to seem cool and casual. "We just came from there. We're headed back to the valley."

He wanted to laugh. Despite the fact that there were more than a handful of valleys between this spot and the shore, he knew exactly which valley she meant. If he had more time he would have picked on her about it, listing off the more prestigious valleys around and asking if she meant one of them - then sounding disappointed when he found out which one she did mean. But he didn't have more time - he had an appointment to keep. He just nodded, then moved his smile and his gazed to the rubinesque brunette.

"So what's your name?"

The blondes were only slightly less surprised than the brunette was, and she instantly blushed at the attention.

"A-A-Amanda?"

Her answer came out more like a question, which made Axel chuckle.

"Well, A-Amanda... I've got a meeting to make, so I can't really stay and chat as long as I'd like. Can I call you sometime?"

The cherub faced girl registered as much shock as her cronies had, confirming Axel's suspicions about who was the usual ugly duckling in this brood. Still, she nodded with a small smile. She started to voice her consent, but was cut off by one of her decidedly pointy friends.

"Ohmigod, Manda - get real! He could be a psycho or something! Don't give him your phone number! "

He watched Amanda's pleasant surprise ebb as the possibilities of reality crept back in. Right on cue.

He smiled at her again. "Your friend has a point - better safe than sorry. Maybe I should give you my number instead. Then you can call me if you want to."

He expected the next series of events like he expected the sun to rise every morning. The blondes' feathers were ruffled at the perceived insult, since they just knew they were better looking that their friend. They yammered about needing to go so they could be back home at a reasonable hour. They attempted to suggest that there was something wrong with their friend for talking to him, despite the fact that they'd been flirting with him a few minutes before. Amanda's own desire to be the star for a change took over, allowing her to see that her friends were just jealous. She appreciated that jealousy, too - Axel watched her enjoy the shoe moving to the other foot for a change. Inside of a few minutes Amanda was accompanying Axel back to his car so he could get her a business card while the stepsisters went to their convertible, shouting at their dark haired friend to hurry up.

Once they were at the car, Axel did get her a business card. He wrote another number on the back, explaining that it was his personal number. He told her the number on the front was the day phone, but that he was usually out all day. The number on the back was for evenings, and it was much easier to get him there. From there it went as it always seemed to for him: they talked for a few minutes, laughed a bit and smiled more, and before it was all over with he was holding her up against the car while her friends across the parking lot made exclamations of disbelief that their friend was letting this total stranger slobber all over her.

When he was sure he had Amanda closed up and any sign of blood cleaned away from her throat, he stood back from her and smiled. Of course she was dazed, but he knew she'd be fine. That was always the case with the well-fed. They tasted better, their blood was richer, and they were much more durable. Not like those skinny, sickly friends of hers - those types were always malnourished, and he could taste it in their blood. Amanda had the glazed look all his donors did thanks to the rapture. She was still dazed and smiling when he bid her goodnight and said he hoped to hear from her. She was still standing by the full service pumps when he pulled out of the parking lot. In truth, he did fancy hearing from her. It never hurt to have willing volunteers scattered here and there.

Any thought of Amanda faded with the lights of the gas station in the rearview mirror, though. He had business to attend to, and the stretch from here to Las Vegas was a short one. His thoughts turned back to the man-made oasis, a velvet voiced contact, and the opportunity to repay a slight that despite its age, still pissed him off.

The aide backed out of the room with his head bowed, trying to plan for what he would do if the man he had just reported to decided to validate the cliché and shoot the messenger. He was in luck this night, however, as all that traveled across to him was a voice.

"Shut the door behind you, Andrew."

Langley watched his nervous servant depart, then slumped into his chair. It had been a trying night already, and it wasn't even eleven thirty yet. He briefly wondered if the other Ventrue of his city knew what a task it was to occupy his position.

He noticed a shadow on a far wall shift slightly, and he stood full upright.

"What do you have to tell me, Brutus?"

The shadow shifted again before birthing a twisted little figure, who's pallid green complexion and misshapen head clashed horribly with the pristine decor of the suite. The thing's voice was only slightly more unpleasant than its appearance.

"Honorable Langley Wilcott, I have little in the way of good news to deliver. We have been to the girl's home, and my people report it ransacked. We have made contact with her usual haunts, and none have reported seeing her for the past two nights. I have searched the Elysiums and the rack personally. I am much saddened to say I have not located your protégé."

The Ventrue sunk back into his seat with a gesture of frustration.

"One girl, Brutus. One skinny, sour faced girl. You're telling me you can't find her anywhere on this little mound of dirt? I thought finding things out was what your kind did best."

Brutus seemed to smile. "Alas, Honorable Wilcott, perhaps our inability to find her is testament to how well you have instructed her."

Langley waved his hand as if to dismiss the challenge that had begun. "Perhaps, or perhaps she is simply not here to find. Ransacked, did you say?"

The Nosferatu nodded. "Yes, Honorable Wilcott. It did not appear that anything had been stolen, but the place was in shambles. Broken furniture, a good deal of shattered glass, books and paraphernalia tossed about the room. I believe it was too upset to suspect that a struggle was the cause of the destruction. It looks far more like a thorough but messy search."

Langley pinched the bridge of his nose. "Will you keep looking, Brutus?"

The Nosferatu grinned. "Of course, Honorable Wilcott. We are always happy to lend our services." Brutus paused for effect, then took a step backwards. "The best of luck to both us, Honorable Wilcott." With that, the Nosferatu disappeared into the shadow that had first produced him.

Langley waited until enough time had passed for the sewer rat to exit through his private passage, then slumped in his chair again. Tess's latest escapade had already cost him plenty. He was endebting himself to Brutus, and slowly the news that a rank neonate was making a mockery of his resources, influence, and authority was seeping in to the whispers of gossip. He made a mental note to punish his protégé severely when he found her, and to make certain that she understood just how much difficulty she had caused him. There would then be the matter of repaying his perceived losses, but he had time to decide what form that restitution would take.

"For your sake, Miss Williams, I hope that you are not to blame for this incident," the Ventrue mused aloud. He didn't enjoy the thought of her punishment, but it would be necessary if she was at fault. No matter what he thought of her, he couldn't allow her fits of drama to damage his standing. He would have to rebuild his reputation with her suffering. He consoled himself with the knowledge that he would not have to go to extremes to make an example of her. It was well known that he favored her, and the knowledge that harsh punishment awaited even his favorites would make ample impact.

He turned on the television set on in the hopes that the eleven o'clock news would take his mind off the matter at hand briefly, but quickly found himself reminiscing.

Tess was not his child, but the childe of his Prince. The exact details of her embrace had been kept from him, but Langley had a reasonable suspicion of what had transpired. He knew that Prince Elias frequented The Orleans, and he had heard more than one rumor concerning the Prince's compulsions. As gossip would have it, Elias had quite a taste for black jack dealers. Even quieter whispers suggested that some of these lucky contestants found themselves Kindred after their encounters with the Prince of Las Vegas. Langley imagined that Tess was one of these, that for some reason the Prince had deigned not to destroy the next night.

Tess's embrace had come following a crackdown on progeny, where Prince Elias had announced that no new Kindred would be made in his city. Langley supposed that Elias would have destroyed Tess as well, save that she was spotted by the local Nosferatu before he could do the deed. He remembered the phone call he had received with a smile. The Prince himself had phoned and asked Langley to attend him on 'a matter most imperative'. It was the sort of phone call that Ventrue waited for: the Prince was in a spot and needed the aid of someone he could trust. It was the sort of phone call that marked an important change in your career, the point when you could be reasonably sure that you were being granted a locker at the boys' club.

Langley had, of course, agreed and met with Elias immediately. Once the Prince had made him aware of the situation, the two concocted a mutually beneficial plan. Elias would announce that Tess's embrace had been the work of the Ventrue primogen and a clear violation of the Third Tradition. Tess would be convinced of this fact as well, with the aid of a local Malkavian to illustrate to her how easy it was to look like someone else. Elias would use the opportunity to eliminate the greatest threat to his Princehood, and Langley would assume the vacant seat at the Primogen's table. It was decided that Tess would be allowed to live as a testament to the Prince's capacity for mercy when he so chose, and Langley would take her as protégé out of respect for his predecessor. Of course, the actual reason that Tess was allowed to live was to be evidence, proof of the truth of the lie that would be perpetrated. Extinguishing her along with her 'errant sire' would leave too much room for suspicion. The charade had been tricky, but in the end they had been successful. The Prince had one less enemy in his city, Langley had the position of Primogen, and a very bewildered Tess was welcomed into clan Ventrue under the tutelage of the new clan representative.

Langley remembered loathing the girl in the beginning: she was sullen, difficult, and seemed purposely dense. She passively refused the more austere garments he acquired for her and insisted on speaking like the small town girl she was despite the tutors he provided her with. She would refuse to hunt, and he was forced to provide her with a herd at his own expense. Slowly he began to see that there was a method to all her seemingly erratic behavior, and eventually he realized that there was very little Tess did that wasn't calculated. Once he had come to this conclusion, he understood that he had been manipulated by this neonate: tricked into buying her the clothes she wanted, roped into learning to understand her speech, bullied into feeding her. It was this realization that made him decide that Tess had infinite promise, and with the right education and guidance she could grow to be quite a credit to his name.

Now he wondered what Tess was playing for this time; what his calculated response was supposed to be. He doubted that she bid for his loss of reputation, for he knew she was aware it would reflect on her as well. He also knew she would not be unaware of her potential punishment, as she had some experience with his brand of discipline already. He briefly entertained the notion that some other member of the local enclave had put her up to it. The possibility existed that another Kindred had offered her compensation for weakening his position, perhaps even compensation enough to make up for whatever she would suffer in the way of justice for her insubordination. He doubted this was the case since he had gone to great lengths to separate and alienate her from the general populace, but the possibility existed. He made a mental note to remain vigilant of any kindred who capitalized on his misfortune with too much ease or evidence of foreknowledge.

Langley's silent pontificating was interrupted as the aid that had slunk away earlier burst back in to the room, his earlier humility now replaced with a look of triumph and relief. Langley considered reprimanding the aid for his clear lack of etiquette and respect, but the news Andrew brought dispelled any ideas of that nature.

"We have her, sir. She's been spotted at the Stardust."

Tess slouched in the seat in exactly the fashion that would have driven her benefactor to a fit of rage. In truth she had no particular affection for slouching, but it had been one more way to drive him to distraction. It had been one more way to make him think he had come to expect and understand all she was capable of. This part of the game she had learned early - he would ask questions and she would answer, thinking them honest inquiries. She had conversed and cajoled and confided those first nights, unaware of the arsenal of information her well-disgiused opponent gathered in her comfortable state. But Tess wasn't oblivious to the relationship those conversations had to the events of the following nights. The things she had discussed appreciating were made into a system of rewards, withheld when she didn't perform to her teacher's expectation and parceled out sparingly when she did. The things she had mused at being afraid of had been set in her path methodically and in ascending order, transparently tests of her resolve and wit. At first she had suffered the onslaught no doubt as she had been expected to: a mass of exposed nerves by the time the morning approached, willing to do whatever her benefactor asked of her to achieve a few hours of peace in an existence he would have her believe was 'just the way things were'. She imagined that he had not expected her to figure the stakes of the game so soon, and though she had no way of knowing for certain she had guessed correctly. Being a small town girl, Tess was no stranger to the plots of those who employed emotional warfare as a primary weapon. She had deduced the rules of the challenge far sooner than her makeshift sire could have imagined.

Those early days had forced Tess to take honest stock of herself from every angle. It hadn't been easy. The surgical removal of pretension and self image, the savage stripping of hopes and dreams that no longer applied no matter how much she wished they did. More than once, as she lay in her bed awaiting the sun's rise, she had equated the process to placing your lower extremities into a meat grinder and turning the handle yourself. Making hamburger of all the parts she considered weaknesses to be played on or carrots to be dangled was the greatest challenge Tess ever had ever faced, but one she knew she could not fail to meet. The realization that she was being manipulated every minute of every waking hour, herded like cattle to a pen that Langley lorded over, brought with it a choice. She could accept that which was being thrust upon her, trusting that no faculty she currently possessed could be enough to ensure her continued survival - or she could trust in herself and beat him at his own game. No matter how many lenses she viewed the decision through - wisdom, instinct, faith - in the end it was pride that decided for her. Whatever the consequences of her actions, she'd be damned if she would lie down for the rest of the world - vampiric or otherwise - to trample over her.

So many times that same pride had nearly foiled her own plans. It had taken every ounce of discipline she could muster - sometimes more than she thought herself capable of -to resist shows of defiance that would reveal her true power to circumvent Langley's machinations. Much to her dismay, she found her pride was not a quality she could relieve herself of - a revelation that had slowed her plans considerably. It took better than a week to come to the conclusion that she must stroke her ego in private, assuring it that the final blow would be made all the sweeter by the patience it would exercise. It had taken several more weeks to learn to apply this knowledge reflexively, but Tess found the lesson infinitely useful. No sooner than she learned to apply this patience did she realize it brought her that much closer to being able to play on the same field with her oppressors.

Tess absently batted at the straw in her melting milkshake as she straightened in her chair, since there was no real need to slouch now. Langley was not here to see it, and she was past the point of needing such paltry displays to camouflage herself. The habit had outlived its usefulness, and she made a mental note to eliminate it. The simple thought process made her smile. Six months ago she wouldn't have thought of her posture. Four months ago she would have gotten a strange sort of satisfaction from the act even if Langley wasn't here to see it. Now she recognized it as a valueless trait and discarded it accordingly. She silently mused at how much of the past four months had been that way.

She had begun by remembering every painful detail of her rigorous testing, every reaction from emotional outbursts to facial expressions. She had continued to project these behaviors even once they were no longer in earnest. The occasional display of petty rebellion or pouty compliance, a few well placed victories and failures, the outward appearance of slowly but reluctantly understanding and implementing the things Langley taught her: all of it had served to convince him that he had taken her measure, mapped every contour, and was slowly but surely planting his flag on every square inch of landscape. He grew complacent in his opinion of her, and hence became predictable - allowing Tess the peace of mind she required to view her position objectively. It was a slow process to divorce herself from her personal feelings about the treatment she received, but once completed she found the strength to discern her situation and decide what she wanted out of it. The realization of the simplicity of her desires had been a bit surprising: she wanted to be free of her megalomaniacal benefactor, she wanted revenge on those who had rent such an unwelcome change on her life, and she wanted to walk away from the entire affair in a better position than she was now.

Tess smiled again as she checked her watch, then turned her eyes to the rumbling automobile that crept into the brightly lit parking lot. In four minutes, she would have what she wanted.

(to be continued...)