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elrhiarhodanTitle: The Blood of Helios - Vampire World Chapter VIII - There Is Meaning In What You Do
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters: Neal Caffrey, Sunlight Agent, Captain Peter Burke, Lt. Lauren Cruz, Lt. Clinton Jones, Lt. Diana Barrigan, Master Reese Hughes
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~ 2400
Summary: Vampire Peter, Shapeshifter El and Neal, who is something more than he ever expected to be. Chapter VIII - Neal learns more about his employers, and Captain Peter Burke has some strange tastes in entertainment, for a four-hundred year old vampire. The Captain’s taste in art; however, is impeccable.
All mistakes are mine. Feedback is adored.
Prologue | Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV | Chapter V | Chapter VI | Chapter VII
____________________
Neal dressed carefully for his first night of work. To humans, the grey Devore, white shirt and narrow black tie screamed “wealthy eccentric who just raided grandpa’s attic,” but to a gang of ancient vampires, Neal thought he’d look fresh and modern.
Gang - that’s not the right word. Kiss - that’s it. Neal liked the word “Kiss” - he imagined Captain Burke giving him bloody kisses, and then he stopped. The Captain would be here soon, and the last thing he wanted was to greet the vampire with a bulging basket.
Shortly after the sun disappeared beyond the horizon and the western sky was a glowing line of gold and red, a rosebud appeared on the dining table, with a note Captain Burke is waiting for you. Neal tucked the flower into his lapel, picked up his hat and went downstairs. He felt himself shaking a little in anticipation.
Burke was waiting for him at the bottom of the staircase. Neal put a little swagger into his step - chin high, shoulders back, and leading with the hips. After all, in the last two encounters with the Captain, Neal wasn’t exactly at his best and he desperately wanted to impress his new boss. He walked into the receiving room, circled Burke and flipped the hat onto his head.
Burke was not impressed. “You look like a cartoon.”
Neal didn’t let the Captain’s repressive tones stifle his good mood. He tilted up his chin and gave Burke a challenging smile. “By cartoon, I presume you mean a life sized drawing created in preparation of a fresco.”
“No, actually I meant that you looked like something out of Looney Tunes. Swooner Crooner, maybe.”
Neal blinked and then struggled to keep a straight face. Of all the things he expected this purported bad ass vampire to say, this reference was not even on the list.
“And you look like something that Agnelo Bronzino may have painted, without the codpiece.” Now it was Burke’s turn to look discomposed.
“Come on, we’ve got to get going.” The Captain gestured for Neal to move closer. As Burke let his power go through them, Neal thought he heard the man say something about how there was nothing wrong with liking Porky Pig.
They re-materialized in what Neal presumed was Burke’s office. Neal looked around the windowless room. It was outfitted with the accoutrements of a modern office - a large desk with computers and telephones. On the corner of the desk was a framed photograph of Elizabeth and Peter, presumably their wedding - given Elizabeth’s long white dress and the Captain’s sumptuous uniform. A sword belt with an empty scabbard hung on a hook next to a spare uniform jacket, and there were small, very valuable antiques tucked in decorative alcoves about the large room. A sardonyx bowl with gilded silver mountings that Neal thought he may have once seen in Venice, a pair of hammered gold cups decorated with enamel and granulation (Neal wondered if the Captain drank blood out of them), and a miniature oil that Neal was certain was an authentic Da Vinci. His fingers actually started to itch.
The Captain perched on the edge of his desk and watched as Neal reached for the painting. “Don’t even think about it, Neal. Just turn it off and ignore it.”
Neal had to laugh. “You are very unfair. You bring me here and you expect me NOT to be intrigued.”
“Be intrigued all you want. I have intimate knowledge of every single piece of art in this room and in this building. If anything is moved by so much as a width of your hair ... ” The rest of the threat went unspoken.
Neal’s laugh turned grim. “I know, I know. It’s back to the cage or worse.” He took a seat and looked up at the Captain expectantly. “Now what?”
“You spoke with Frank?” Burke’s voice was neutral, but Neal could tell that he didn’t care for the Agent.
“Yeah. The guy is long past his retirement date.” The Captain looked at him, but said nothing. Neal thought for a moment about not saying anything about Frank’s instructions about waiting a few years before dipping his hand into the cookie jar. He decided that he owed the man nothing, and he owed Burke everything. “He’s stealing from you.”
Captain Burke smiled; oddly - this seemed to be the answer he was hoping to hear. “Frank’s a venal pig. We’ve known he’s been skimming money for decades, but not enough to matter. Up until the past year or so, he was dependable. Lately we’ve begun to question his loyalty.”
Burke let that statement hang, and Neal realized that Frank would have little opportunity to enjoy a long retirement solely amongst humans. He also realized he couldn’t care less.
“He gave me this”
Neal handed Captain Burke the small notebook that Frank had given him. Burke flipped through it and tossed it in the trash. “That’s about as useful to me as iron supplements.” Neal grinned at the analogy. “I want you to start fresh, and there are some projects that will require your particular expertise.”
Neal was intrigued. “What sort of expertise? Forgery, racketeering, or breaking and entering?” He was so delighted that his wouldn’t be just a glorified rent collector, he was practically shameless.
Burke chuckled at Neal’s exuberance. “None of those, my cadre is fairly well experienced in handling criminal matters.”
“I wasn’t speaking of preventing crime - more along the lines of perpetrating.” Neal’s grin was big and sunny and happiness radiated from him.
Burke grinned right back. “I wasn’t speaking of crime prevention either.”
Neal’s eyes widened. This job was getting better by the second.
“I need your artistic talents.”
Neal’s joy evaporated in an instant. “Captain - I haven’t painted anything in a decade.” Although he had been eager at first to take advantage of the light filled apartment and the vintage art supplies that June’s former guest had left behind, once the canvas had been set up on its easel, Neal had found himself empty of inspiration. Neal dropped his eyes, suddenly depressed that he’d disappointed the vampire at the very first opportunity. “I’m sorry.”
“Let’s start small. Literally. What do you know about Nicholas Hilliard?”
Neal didn’t hesitate with his answer. “Hilliard was one of the first great miniaturists - from England, 16th century. He was known for capturing the character of his subjects. “
“And Jean Petitot?”
“Also a miniaturist, but from France - not quite a contemporary of Hilliard. He worked with enamels, not paints.
“Jean-Baptiste Jacques Augustin?”
“Also French - he was most famous for his miniature portraits of Napoleon Bonaparte and the restored Bourbon Louis XVIII. He worked with watercolors on ivory.” Captain Burke nodded and Neal was once again filled with happiness. “Do you want me to forge - excuse me - replicate a miniature for you?”
“Can you?” The question was casual and Neal couldn’t be sure what the Captain’s intentions were.
“I’ve worked in all of those mediums. Enamels would be the most challenging, since leaded glass enamels are no longer made, reproducing the colors could be difficult. I don’t particularly like using ivory - even fossil ivory. Hilliard is probably the easiest to replicate - he worked with oil paints on cardboard.
“Actually, I don’t want you to replicate anything. I’d like you to create two miniatures from this.” Burke picked up his wedding photograph and handed it to Neal. “Elizabeth and I will be celebrating our fiftieth anniversary in three weeks, and I was hoping you’d do a pair of portraits from this photograph.” Burke looked at Neal expectantly.
Neal thought this was as good a time as any to bring up yesterday afternoon’s unnerving events. “Captain, about what happened. I didn’t do anything, your wife - or at least the tiger that was your wife - she jumped on me. I didn’t ... I - um. I ... ” Neal trailed off awkwardly and dropped his eyes against Burke’s unblinking stare. “I hope she’s all right.”
The Captain sighed. “Elizabeth is mostly fine - she’s suffering the after-effects of a really bad hangover. And she’s a bit unnerved at the loss of control - I suspect she’s going to want to talk to you again. I’d be very careful with what you say to her.”
Neal swallowed nervously and nodded his agreement. He looked at the photograph and thought about how he could turn it into artwork.
“So, what do you think?” Burke’s question was surprisingly hesitant. “Can you do it in enamels?”
“Captain ... ”
Burke shook his head. “Peter - no need to stand on ceremony anymore.”
“Peter. Okay, yes, I’d like to do this. But how did you know that I could?” Delicate and detailed miniature portraits were a long-forgotten form in a world that wrapped dirty laundry in bailing wire and called it “art.”
Peter walked over to the credenza and gestured for Neal to join him. He opened a cabinet and pulled out a glass covered display drawer. It was filled with small object d’art, miniature enamel portraits and two small Faberge eggs. “Recognize any of them.”
Neal froze. “What is this, Captain Burke.” There was a hardness in his voice, reflecting something cold and angry. “Why do you have these?”
“I said, call me Peter.” Burke’s tone was pleasant, but the tenor of voice was implacable. “I have these because I like to collect beautiful things. They are all nearly perfect - I should say, they are perfect except for the signature.” Burke opened the vitrine and picked up one of the Faberge eggs. “Yours is buried in the guilloche under the enamel. It’s there, if you know where to look.” He handed the egg and a magnifying glass to Neal, who refused to take them.
“I don’t need to see my own work.” Neal bristled.
Burke - Peter - smiled. It was genuine and oddly sweet. “Your work - yes. This is your work.”
“It’s all my work. I think you have every enamel I’ve ever made in that case.” Neal backed away. “I don’t understand.”
“What’s there to understand? I already told you - I collect beautiful things. These are beautiful. I have a few of your paintings and several sculptures in my collection as well. Why you are upset?”
“It feels like you were stalking me.”
Peter laughed. “I was.” He clapped Neal on the shoulder. “Come on, I want to introduce you to the cadre.”
Neal balked. The issue with Peter and his artwork and his forgeries was put aside. This was the moment he was most concerned about - no - afraid of.
Peter looked at him, with an exasperated expression on his face. “What now?”
“Captain - Peter - I think you should know something.” Neal wasn’t sure how to tell Peter about his little problem with vampires.
“What, Caffrey?”
“Vampires make me sick.” Neal blurted out.
Peter just stared at him, like he was speaking an unknown language.
“You’re the first vampire I’ve met that doesn’t make me want to hurl.”
“What. Do. You. Mean?” For the first time since they met, Peter actually seemed angry.
Neal realized that his phrasing was extremely insulting. He wondered if he’d ever recover his wit and charm. First Elizabeth, now her husband.
He tried to explain in a less offensive way. “I get physically sick around vampires - you are the exception. I get nauseous, really nauseous. To me, vampires smell like rotting garbage and fresh shit. The last vampire I met, before you captured me, I puked all over him. It wasn’t the first time. It’s sort of how I know that a vampire is nearby.”
Peter was now more curious than angry. “Hmmm - that could be useful.” He picked up a wastebasket and handed it to Neal. “Come on, if you need to vomit - try to use that.”
Neal followed Peter into a large conference room with a round wooden table. Like Peter’s office, and Neal suspected the entire facility, there were no windows. A large tapestry decorated one wall - a Burne-Jones, and Neal hoped he have time to examine it. He always adored the Pre-Raphs. He gripped the wastebasket and swallowed - a preventive measure against the impending nausea, as Peter’s cadre trooped in from the door on the opposite side of the room. Three young-looking vampires, two women and one man, took up positions next to Peter and several other older-looking vampires arrayed themselves around the table.
Peter looked at Neal expectantly - the question obvious in his eyes. Was he going to disgrace himself? Neal breathed through his nose - there was none of the unpleasant odor of decay he’d come to associate with vampires. Neal let himself relax. So far, so good. He let the wastebasket dangle from his left hand. It would look very strange to cling to it.
Peter introduced his lieutenants first. The man to his immediate right was his senior aide, Clinton Jones. Neal tried not to flinch when the vampire held out his hand, and it took a warning squeeze on Neal’s shoulder to make him take the handshake. The skin to skin contact felt no different than when he had touched Peter's hand. Diana Barrigan was next. She gave him a cheeky smile. The third lieutenant, with bruises under both eyes and an expression of disdain on her face was first introduced by Peter simply as Cruz. Lieutenant Jones prompted him with her first name - Lauren Cruz. She refused to shake Neal’s hand and he gripped the wastebasket a little tighter. She didn’t smell bad exactly, just different. Peter went down the line and after the fifth introduction, Neal unobtrusively dropped the wastebasket on the floor and Peter kicked it aside. He was going to be fine - something seemed to have cured him of his “allergy” to vampires.
The cadre sat down and Neal was going to take the empty seat next to Peter, when the door opened again and all of the vampires stood up. Another vampire entered the room and Neal could feel the age and power roll off of him. This must be the Master.
____________________
Go To Chapter IX - A Power To Make The World Tremble
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters: Neal Caffrey, Sunlight Agent, Captain Peter Burke, Lt. Lauren Cruz, Lt. Clinton Jones, Lt. Diana Barrigan, Master Reese Hughes
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~ 2400
Summary: Vampire Peter, Shapeshifter El and Neal, who is something more than he ever expected to be. Chapter VIII - Neal learns more about his employers, and Captain Peter Burke has some strange tastes in entertainment, for a four-hundred year old vampire. The Captain’s taste in art; however, is impeccable.
All mistakes are mine. Feedback is adored.
Prologue | Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV | Chapter V | Chapter VI | Chapter VII
The Blood of Helios - Vampire World Chapter VIII - There Is Meaning In What You Do
Neal dressed carefully for his first night of work. To humans, the grey Devore, white shirt and narrow black tie screamed “wealthy eccentric who just raided grandpa’s attic,” but to a gang of ancient vampires, Neal thought he’d look fresh and modern.
Gang - that’s not the right word. Kiss - that’s it. Neal liked the word “Kiss” - he imagined Captain Burke giving him bloody kisses, and then he stopped. The Captain would be here soon, and the last thing he wanted was to greet the vampire with a bulging basket.
Shortly after the sun disappeared beyond the horizon and the western sky was a glowing line of gold and red, a rosebud appeared on the dining table, with a note Captain Burke is waiting for you. Neal tucked the flower into his lapel, picked up his hat and went downstairs. He felt himself shaking a little in anticipation.
Burke was waiting for him at the bottom of the staircase. Neal put a little swagger into his step - chin high, shoulders back, and leading with the hips. After all, in the last two encounters with the Captain, Neal wasn’t exactly at his best and he desperately wanted to impress his new boss. He walked into the receiving room, circled Burke and flipped the hat onto his head.
Burke was not impressed. “You look like a cartoon.”
Neal didn’t let the Captain’s repressive tones stifle his good mood. He tilted up his chin and gave Burke a challenging smile. “By cartoon, I presume you mean a life sized drawing created in preparation of a fresco.”
“No, actually I meant that you looked like something out of Looney Tunes. Swooner Crooner, maybe.”
Neal blinked and then struggled to keep a straight face. Of all the things he expected this purported bad ass vampire to say, this reference was not even on the list.
“And you look like something that Agnelo Bronzino may have painted, without the codpiece.” Now it was Burke’s turn to look discomposed.
“Come on, we’ve got to get going.” The Captain gestured for Neal to move closer. As Burke let his power go through them, Neal thought he heard the man say something about how there was nothing wrong with liking Porky Pig.
They re-materialized in what Neal presumed was Burke’s office. Neal looked around the windowless room. It was outfitted with the accoutrements of a modern office - a large desk with computers and telephones. On the corner of the desk was a framed photograph of Elizabeth and Peter, presumably their wedding - given Elizabeth’s long white dress and the Captain’s sumptuous uniform. A sword belt with an empty scabbard hung on a hook next to a spare uniform jacket, and there were small, very valuable antiques tucked in decorative alcoves about the large room. A sardonyx bowl with gilded silver mountings that Neal thought he may have once seen in Venice, a pair of hammered gold cups decorated with enamel and granulation (Neal wondered if the Captain drank blood out of them), and a miniature oil that Neal was certain was an authentic Da Vinci. His fingers actually started to itch.
The Captain perched on the edge of his desk and watched as Neal reached for the painting. “Don’t even think about it, Neal. Just turn it off and ignore it.”
Neal had to laugh. “You are very unfair. You bring me here and you expect me NOT to be intrigued.”
“Be intrigued all you want. I have intimate knowledge of every single piece of art in this room and in this building. If anything is moved by so much as a width of your hair ... ” The rest of the threat went unspoken.
Neal’s laugh turned grim. “I know, I know. It’s back to the cage or worse.” He took a seat and looked up at the Captain expectantly. “Now what?”
“You spoke with Frank?” Burke’s voice was neutral, but Neal could tell that he didn’t care for the Agent.
“Yeah. The guy is long past his retirement date.” The Captain looked at him, but said nothing. Neal thought for a moment about not saying anything about Frank’s instructions about waiting a few years before dipping his hand into the cookie jar. He decided that he owed the man nothing, and he owed Burke everything. “He’s stealing from you.”
Captain Burke smiled; oddly - this seemed to be the answer he was hoping to hear. “Frank’s a venal pig. We’ve known he’s been skimming money for decades, but not enough to matter. Up until the past year or so, he was dependable. Lately we’ve begun to question his loyalty.”
Burke let that statement hang, and Neal realized that Frank would have little opportunity to enjoy a long retirement solely amongst humans. He also realized he couldn’t care less.
“He gave me this”
Neal handed Captain Burke the small notebook that Frank had given him. Burke flipped through it and tossed it in the trash. “That’s about as useful to me as iron supplements.” Neal grinned at the analogy. “I want you to start fresh, and there are some projects that will require your particular expertise.”
Neal was intrigued. “What sort of expertise? Forgery, racketeering, or breaking and entering?” He was so delighted that his wouldn’t be just a glorified rent collector, he was practically shameless.
Burke chuckled at Neal’s exuberance. “None of those, my cadre is fairly well experienced in handling criminal matters.”
“I wasn’t speaking of preventing crime - more along the lines of perpetrating.” Neal’s grin was big and sunny and happiness radiated from him.
Burke grinned right back. “I wasn’t speaking of crime prevention either.”
Neal’s eyes widened. This job was getting better by the second.
“I need your artistic talents.”
Neal’s joy evaporated in an instant. “Captain - I haven’t painted anything in a decade.” Although he had been eager at first to take advantage of the light filled apartment and the vintage art supplies that June’s former guest had left behind, once the canvas had been set up on its easel, Neal had found himself empty of inspiration. Neal dropped his eyes, suddenly depressed that he’d disappointed the vampire at the very first opportunity. “I’m sorry.”
“Let’s start small. Literally. What do you know about Nicholas Hilliard?”
Neal didn’t hesitate with his answer. “Hilliard was one of the first great miniaturists - from England, 16th century. He was known for capturing the character of his subjects. “
“And Jean Petitot?”
“Also a miniaturist, but from France - not quite a contemporary of Hilliard. He worked with enamels, not paints.
“Jean-Baptiste Jacques Augustin?”
“Also French - he was most famous for his miniature portraits of Napoleon Bonaparte and the restored Bourbon Louis XVIII. He worked with watercolors on ivory.” Captain Burke nodded and Neal was once again filled with happiness. “Do you want me to forge - excuse me - replicate a miniature for you?”
“Can you?” The question was casual and Neal couldn’t be sure what the Captain’s intentions were.
“I’ve worked in all of those mediums. Enamels would be the most challenging, since leaded glass enamels are no longer made, reproducing the colors could be difficult. I don’t particularly like using ivory - even fossil ivory. Hilliard is probably the easiest to replicate - he worked with oil paints on cardboard.
“Actually, I don’t want you to replicate anything. I’d like you to create two miniatures from this.” Burke picked up his wedding photograph and handed it to Neal. “Elizabeth and I will be celebrating our fiftieth anniversary in three weeks, and I was hoping you’d do a pair of portraits from this photograph.” Burke looked at Neal expectantly.
Neal thought this was as good a time as any to bring up yesterday afternoon’s unnerving events. “Captain, about what happened. I didn’t do anything, your wife - or at least the tiger that was your wife - she jumped on me. I didn’t ... I - um. I ... ” Neal trailed off awkwardly and dropped his eyes against Burke’s unblinking stare. “I hope she’s all right.”
The Captain sighed. “Elizabeth is mostly fine - she’s suffering the after-effects of a really bad hangover. And she’s a bit unnerved at the loss of control - I suspect she’s going to want to talk to you again. I’d be very careful with what you say to her.”
Neal swallowed nervously and nodded his agreement. He looked at the photograph and thought about how he could turn it into artwork.
“So, what do you think?” Burke’s question was surprisingly hesitant. “Can you do it in enamels?”
“Captain ... ”
Burke shook his head. “Peter - no need to stand on ceremony anymore.”
“Peter. Okay, yes, I’d like to do this. But how did you know that I could?” Delicate and detailed miniature portraits were a long-forgotten form in a world that wrapped dirty laundry in bailing wire and called it “art.”
Peter walked over to the credenza and gestured for Neal to join him. He opened a cabinet and pulled out a glass covered display drawer. It was filled with small object d’art, miniature enamel portraits and two small Faberge eggs. “Recognize any of them.”
Neal froze. “What is this, Captain Burke.” There was a hardness in his voice, reflecting something cold and angry. “Why do you have these?”
“I said, call me Peter.” Burke’s tone was pleasant, but the tenor of voice was implacable. “I have these because I like to collect beautiful things. They are all nearly perfect - I should say, they are perfect except for the signature.” Burke opened the vitrine and picked up one of the Faberge eggs. “Yours is buried in the guilloche under the enamel. It’s there, if you know where to look.” He handed the egg and a magnifying glass to Neal, who refused to take them.
“I don’t need to see my own work.” Neal bristled.
Burke - Peter - smiled. It was genuine and oddly sweet. “Your work - yes. This is your work.”
“It’s all my work. I think you have every enamel I’ve ever made in that case.” Neal backed away. “I don’t understand.”
“What’s there to understand? I already told you - I collect beautiful things. These are beautiful. I have a few of your paintings and several sculptures in my collection as well. Why you are upset?”
“It feels like you were stalking me.”
Peter laughed. “I was.” He clapped Neal on the shoulder. “Come on, I want to introduce you to the cadre.”
Neal balked. The issue with Peter and his artwork and his forgeries was put aside. This was the moment he was most concerned about - no - afraid of.
Peter looked at him, with an exasperated expression on his face. “What now?”
“Captain - Peter - I think you should know something.” Neal wasn’t sure how to tell Peter about his little problem with vampires.
“What, Caffrey?”
“Vampires make me sick.” Neal blurted out.
Peter just stared at him, like he was speaking an unknown language.
“You’re the first vampire I’ve met that doesn’t make me want to hurl.”
“What. Do. You. Mean?” For the first time since they met, Peter actually seemed angry.
Neal realized that his phrasing was extremely insulting. He wondered if he’d ever recover his wit and charm. First Elizabeth, now her husband.
He tried to explain in a less offensive way. “I get physically sick around vampires - you are the exception. I get nauseous, really nauseous. To me, vampires smell like rotting garbage and fresh shit. The last vampire I met, before you captured me, I puked all over him. It wasn’t the first time. It’s sort of how I know that a vampire is nearby.”
Peter was now more curious than angry. “Hmmm - that could be useful.” He picked up a wastebasket and handed it to Neal. “Come on, if you need to vomit - try to use that.”
Neal followed Peter into a large conference room with a round wooden table. Like Peter’s office, and Neal suspected the entire facility, there were no windows. A large tapestry decorated one wall - a Burne-Jones, and Neal hoped he have time to examine it. He always adored the Pre-Raphs. He gripped the wastebasket and swallowed - a preventive measure against the impending nausea, as Peter’s cadre trooped in from the door on the opposite side of the room. Three young-looking vampires, two women and one man, took up positions next to Peter and several other older-looking vampires arrayed themselves around the table.
Peter looked at Neal expectantly - the question obvious in his eyes. Was he going to disgrace himself? Neal breathed through his nose - there was none of the unpleasant odor of decay he’d come to associate with vampires. Neal let himself relax. So far, so good. He let the wastebasket dangle from his left hand. It would look very strange to cling to it.
Peter introduced his lieutenants first. The man to his immediate right was his senior aide, Clinton Jones. Neal tried not to flinch when the vampire held out his hand, and it took a warning squeeze on Neal’s shoulder to make him take the handshake. The skin to skin contact felt no different than when he had touched Peter's hand. Diana Barrigan was next. She gave him a cheeky smile. The third lieutenant, with bruises under both eyes and an expression of disdain on her face was first introduced by Peter simply as Cruz. Lieutenant Jones prompted him with her first name - Lauren Cruz. She refused to shake Neal’s hand and he gripped the wastebasket a little tighter. She didn’t smell bad exactly, just different. Peter went down the line and after the fifth introduction, Neal unobtrusively dropped the wastebasket on the floor and Peter kicked it aside. He was going to be fine - something seemed to have cured him of his “allergy” to vampires.
The cadre sat down and Neal was going to take the empty seat next to Peter, when the door opened again and all of the vampires stood up. Another vampire entered the room and Neal could feel the age and power roll off of him. This must be the Master.
Go To Chapter IX - A Power To Make The World Tremble
