At the risk of sounding cliche, dear reader, our story begins on a cold winter day. I promise you, however - this is where the banalities end.
Let me set the stage: Porto, Portugal. February 2007.
Out of the city’s entire population, only 32 were vampires - and they were none of them very close. In fact, they weren't even friends on facebook.
They had no usual hangout spots, no annual meetups in the city park - they couldn't meet there anyways, what with the rampant werewolf infestation that started all the way back in the 16th century and was yet to be dealt with.
What they did have was a mutual understanding: You stay out of my business, I stay out of yours.
Of course there were two exceptions, emergencies - and tradition.
“How many times must I repeat myself? The fork goes on the right side of the plate!”
Baron Shpilkerman was normally quite the mild-mannered fellow, but there was nothing like dealing with Cammies to sour his mood.
He could already see it. The expression on Manuel's face.
It didn't matter that there would be no dessert served tonight - or that the lot of them had as much use for a butter knife as a monk had for a condom. The dreadful man would still manage to find something to comment about. Something his obnoxious coterie would undoubtedly find hilarious.
Cammies called a kindred governing one of their cities a ‘Prince’. Manuel was no prince - in fact - he was a former king.
The Baron liked to think of it as a demotion of sorts.
He held on to that thought as he ordered his ghouls to bring out his best tablecloths. Everything had to be perfect.
Meanwhile, across town, Manuel and the rest of his entourage were stuck in traffic.
“Dr. Would you kindly drive faster?”
“Human or not, mein Prinz, one must obey ze traffic laws.” Came Dr. Adelstein's leveled reply from the front seat.
Between you and I, dear reader - Manuel did not much like the man.
It started off as a general distaste for the Malkavian Clan and all their eccentricities, but after about fifty years of putting up with the guy - he could confidently say that it was personal.
“If we're late I will be reminded of that for all of eternity. Drive faster. Now.”
The doctor muttered something in German but stepped on the gas.
“Are we there yet? Are we, Doctor? Are we there yet?” The Childe he had sired recently screeched from the back seat.
She was even worse than he was. Apparently, she’d lost her marbles long before the blood of the Malkavian clan corrupted her, making her twice as mad.
Also - she smelled of onions.
Being a vampire, Manuel could choose not to breathe it in, but there was just something about knowing that his car stank that would’ve made his blood boil if it was capable of it.
Vampires didn't sweat, so he really was quite lost on how she managed to smell so bad in the first place.
“Quiet, Mädchen. We will be there soon. Be a good girl and stop sticking your head out ze window,”
The Childe ignored him. Manuel let her be, solely because he hoped a speeding car might take her head clean off her shoulders.
When the castle came into view he relaxed somewhat. ‘Fashionably late’ was one of those terms that should’ve never been invented - along with ‘Good enough’ and ‘Rules are meant to be broken’.
The fortress, as usual, failed to impress. Its only notable feature was its name - 'The Castle of Cheese' - supposedly owing to the fact that the rock underneath resembled a cheese wedge. In my humble opinion, dear reader, it was constructed in 1661 - perhaps people were simply hungry.
Dr. Adelstein parked the car where tourists typically did during the day, just as an automatic street light flickered on.
Manuel knew the Baron was watching them from one of the windows - so he made sure to flick an imaginary grain of dust off the old wooden sign at the entrance. It was just the sort of thing he knew would piss him off - especially since it was still pouring outside.
“Well,” He said, turning to face the six other kindred he’d brought with him.
“Let me say this one more time - so that we can all avoid embarrassing, misunderstandings, shall we say, in the near future,”
A sickly-sweet smile spread across his lips as he spoke, which made everyone but the Doctor and his charity-case tense up.
“Be polite, present yourselves in accordance with our traditions,” He continued, then skewered the Doctor’s Childe with what he hoped was a blood-curdling look.
“and don’t. Fuck. This. Up.”
To her credit, she took a step back, though the Doctor caught her with a steady hand at her back.
The rest hurriedly nodded and Manuel turned back, grasped the thick brass knocker and struck the door three times.
Within seconds one of the Baron’s ghouls appeared before them. He was a twenty-something year old who’s name Manuel never bothered to memorize.
“Please, come in, uh,” He looked downright petrified and kept glancing over his shoulder. “The master is expecting you in the dining room,”
He gestured for them to follow, and Manuel gleefully noted that he had forgotten to offer to take their coats.
“Wow,” The Doctor’s Childe said in wonder as she stepped over the threshold.
Her wide, bulging green eyes roamed over the walls with an almost ravenous intensity. Manuel was reminded of that one reality show that followed humans who married cars or fell in love with famous buildings.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
‘At least have some class’, he thought, watching as she traced the stone wall with a black-polished fingernail. If one must sexually harass a building - let it be Buckingham Palace or the Milan Cathedral.
They followed her into the castle’s modest dining room, a space Manuel knew all too well. A long wooden table was lit by several candles, and at the far end of it stood the Baron, his hands clasped behind his back
He wore one of those leather jackets that had patches on the elbows, opened to reveal a well-ironed shirt, and his dress shoes were so polished that they gleamed in the candlelight.
“Welcome,” he said with all the warmth of a blizzard. “It’s always a pleasure to host you and your company,”
He was smiling, but it looked like it was physically hurting him. Manuel reveled in it.
"Baron Shpilkerman," he greeted in turn.
His gaze lingered on random things around the room. "I trust you’ve done your best, as always."
If looks could kill, our Prince would’ve died a second time - perhaps even a third. The Baron’s smile stayed in place, but it was fraying at the edges as Dr. Adelstein and the rest of the entourage made their introductions.
When it was time for the young Malkavian Childe, she marched over with a determined look on her face.
“Baron, I am Marinara, loyal servant of the Camarilla, at your service.”
She grabbed the edges of her oversized hoodie and gave a clumsy curtsey, her short black hair falling over her eyes. After a moment, she straightened and flashed the Baron a manic smile.
“I thank you for welcoming us into this castle of cheese. It’s truly marvelous!”
The Baron nodded, somewhat confused. “Ah, of course.”
“What a brilliant form of fortification! Is that because of the Inquisition?”
“Pardon?”
The Doctor shifted behind her, looking like he wanted to intervene. She continued rambling before he could, however.
“The walls! Because humans are lactose intolerant, right?”
“Ah,” said the Baron, sudden understanding flashing across his face.
If you weren’t paying attention, you would’ve missed it - but for a heartbeat the Baron and the Prince’s eyes met. You see, their dislike of the Malkavian clan was one of the few things they had in common. Perhaps the only thing.
“Right. Lactose intolerant. Sure. Anyways, please,” the Baron said, gesturing towards the table. “Take a seat. I’ll inform Cláudia and Ricardo that you’ve arrived.”
Manuel nodded and took a seat at the head of the table, pretending to inspect the silverware as he did so.
“Josiah,” the Baron snapped, his gaze zeroing in on the ghoul still standing awkwardly in the doorway.
“My name is Joey, but, uh, I guess that’s-”
“Stop dawdling and fetch our esteemed guests!”
The ghoul paled and bolted out the room.
Manuel shook his head, then made a show of removing his coat.
Xxx
With all eleven Kindred seated around the table, Manuel cleared his throat, leaning forward slightly.
“The Giovanni family is on the verge of breaking the Promise of 1528,” he announced gravely.
Silence followed - and not the kind he expected. Instead of shock or horror, confusion settled over most of their faces.
“I forget, you’re all practically babies.” Manuel muttered under his breath “Sleazy Italian merchants turned vampires? Kind of genocidal?”
The Baron seemed bored, and the rest still seemed puzzled.
“Big into necromancy?”
Nothing. He sighed. “Incestous blood orgies?”
A collective hum of recognition reverberated around the room.
“Right. Well we had an agreement - they promised to keep their necromancy in check in exchange for us not wiping them off the face of the earth. They seem to think we weren’t serious,”
Marinara jumped up from her seat, rattling the table as she did. “Ohh, but we sooo are!”
“Mädchen, sit down this instant!” the Doctor snapped.
Marinara flinched, immediately shrinking under the weight of his disapproving glare.
“Needless to say, the dead roaming the streets would break the Masquerade.” He sighed, rubbing his temples.
“I hear some humans possess phones with cameras somehow built into them nowadays.”
With a distant look in his eyes, he added, “You know, back in my day-”
I apologize for interrupting, dear reader, but I feel now is the perfect time to introduce a few more key characters into our little plot. I promise you, you wouldn’t have missed much.
Let’s get into it - see the woman sitting to the right of Marinara? The one who’s currently eyeing her manicured nails? That’s Cláudia.
Before she was turned, Claudia became famous for covering herself in plastic wrap and having her rich, jobless friends squirt red paint on her in front of a meat processing plant.
The spectacle drew media attention, and some Kindred found the idea of turning her downright hilarious. They petitioned Manuel - who was rather bored that day, and approved it without much thought.
And so, in a twist of fate, a snobby vegan activist became a bloodthirsty vampire - the first Kindred in decades that Manuel could actually tolerate. He didn't know exactly why he liked her, but I think the answer is simple - she was wealthy, pretty, and blonde.
The same couldn’t be said for our next person of interest.
Ricardo was many things, but pretty wasn’t one of them. In fact - his face resembled a modern artist’s take on a prehistoric skull. If he had the money, he would’ve probably fixed that with plastic surgery when he was still human. Unfortunately, he wasn’t rich either.
What he was, however - was freakishly strong. It was the only reason Manuel allowed him to stay in Porto when his sire fucked off to Cuba to pursue an underground boxing career. Without his permission, of course.
And that brings us to the last key figure in this story - a twitchy, gaunt-looking vampire by the name of Francisco. I’ve already taken enough of your time, so for now all you need to know is that he also happens to be the most accomplished blood mage in all of Portugal.
“-His name was Julio, and he was the best courier pigeon a child could ever wish for,” Manuel finished his tangent with a sad, faraway look in his eye.
“Not to be rude, my Prince - but weren’t you going to say something about the Giovanni family?” Francisco asked.
“Ah, yes! Yes, of course. So as I started saying,”
Manuel leaned back in his chair, gesturing vaguely with one hand.
“They’ve been trying to tear down the veil between the dead and the living. Truth be told, I’m not entirely sure what that even means, but I think we can all agree it doesn’t sound good.”
Everyone around the table nodded in agreement. Even the Baron seemed to be on the same page now.
“How exactly are they planning on doing that?” He asked.
“Well, supposedly they’ve been collecting millions of souls down in their basements for some kind of ritual,”
“My Prince, if I may interrupt, for a second?”
Manuel turned to look at Claudia. When she didn’t immediately start talking he made a ‘go ahead gesture’ with his hand.
“Did we know about the millions of souls?”
“Yes.”
“And we didn’t think to… do something about it? You know, before it got this bad?”
Manuel let out an amused laugh.
“Well, where do we draw the line, Cláudia? They’re not the only ones dabbling in necromancy. It’s a perfectly respectable talent. We wouldn’t want to make anyone feel like they aren’t allowed to have hobbies, now would we?”
Claudia leaned back in her chair, mulling it over. Eventually she shrugged.
“Yeah alright - I suppose that makes sense,”
“Of course it does, now where were we? Ah yes - the Camarilla has a plan.”
“Of course you do,” The Baron said bitterly. “You guys are just full of brilliant ideas, aren’t you? Just like last time,”
Manuel crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking defensive.
“That’s of no import now. Might I remind you we have a massive breach of the masquerade to worry about?”
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about - you people screwing it up! I think you should listen to us for a change,”
For a moment the Prince looked like he was going to argue back - but diplomacy was part of the role. He composed himself and lifted his glass, swirling the blood within.
“Alright, what’s your plan?”
“Well, I don’t have one,”
Manuel threw his hands up in frustration.
“You only just filled me in on everything! Tell me yours and I’ll point out the obvious flaws,”
“I SEE IT!”
The prince nearly choked on the blood he’d just sipped from his glass.
The entire room turned towards Marinara. She was holding her head in her hands and her eyes were screwed shut.
“I SEE IT, GENERATIONS OF MALCONTENTS ROAMING THE STREETS. FATHER, MOTHER, COUSIN, BRIDE - YOU SHOULD’VE VISITED THEIR GRAVES WHEN YOU HAD THE CHANCE-”
Manuel exchanged worried glances with his companions as Marinara’s voice rose to a fever pitch.
“E VOI, CON SANGUE SPESSO COME SALSA MARINARA, PAGHERETE!”
Dr. Adelstein rose from his seat and rushed over to her side. She was mumbling something incoherent and pulling at her hair.
“Shh, Childe, return to us,” he said soothingly, stilling her hands with his own.
It worked. Within a short moment she was glancing around, fully lucid and confused as to why the doctor was holding her hands above her head.
“Doctor?” She asked, blinking up at him.
Ricardo leaned over to Francisco.
“Ok, what in the actual fuck is wrong with her?”
“Malkavians.” Francisco whispered back.