61

Kashif slips you a small piece of paper and motions for you to open it. The letters are perfectly scribed, as though someone has taken great pains to disguise personal handwriting flaws: Requested: Proof that C is working with the Tremere against the will of the Prince. Paper trail, recording, confession. You look up at the Banu Haqim with shock as he takes the note back.

"No need for a reply," he says. "Simply consider it. I have powerful allies and we do not forget favors owed."

.Kashif smiles. "That's all I could ask for."

Ophelia puts her hand gently on the vizier's arm and looks up at you. "Would you excuse us for a moment, Mekuztli? I need to have a private conversation."

"Of course," you reply. There's no point in offending them at this point, although the abruptness of the dismissal stings. "The two of you have a good evening."

"We should speak again," the Banu Haqim offers. "Good evening, Ms. .."

Noticing that you're finally alone, Alisha Grey sashays in your direction—the Diva's eyes meet your own and for a moment you're lost in her radiance. The spell, however, is rather diminished when she nearly trips over Lang's briefcase. She recovers with her usual grace, pushing her perfect hair out of her eyes with an elegant sweep of the wrist while summarily ignoring the Warlock's baleful glower as he snatches the case closer to his person.

"Clumsy of me," she says with a melodious laugh that reminds you of a light wind brushing against wind chimes. "You've been quite the social butterfly tonight, Mekuztli. Angling for a more prominent position?"