96

Your more bestial needs attended to, you decide to head toward Corliss's offices. It's still fairly early in the night and you're feeling confident that your sire won't hold your little hunting trip against you.

The elevator hums its usual wordless tune as it ascends into the upper stratosphere of corporate finance, its doors opening into the familiar hubbub of mortals caught up in their last-minute wheeling and dealing before returning home to rest. When the sun rises again, they'll be back bright and early, enthusiastically devoting more of their depressingly finite lives to the generation of wealth your sire uses to keep the hamster-wheel of free enterprise ever-turning.

Normally, you wouldn't visit Corliss's office while she's entertaining mortal petitioners, but she called and you answered. While your sire is able to mimic the appearance of a severe businesswoman without a hint of her Nosferatu deformities, the only method you're able to employ is slightly more crude. For a limited time, you're able to appear as an unremarkable stranger, passing through crowds of mortals without attracting any undue attention. The guise can hold up under simple social interactions, but you don't often push your luck.

The double doors to Corliss's inner office are closed, and a small queue of besuited worker-bees waits impatiently outside, checking their watches and phones every few seconds like a nervous tick they can't control. You slowly edge in around them, knocking on the door to announce yourself before pulling it open, practically diving in before closing it again behind you.

Next

"They're still out there," an unfamiliar voice says from a chair in front of Corliss's desk. Its occupant has her back to you, legs crossed. She's surprisingly short given the deep, commanding nature of her voice. "You'll have to dismiss them, Eden." She cranes her head backward to look at you. "And this is your youngest childe? Come here, Mekuztli. I don't have all evening to wait while you fidget." Corliss waves you forward and you follow her direction.

The woman in the chair folds her black-gloved hands together as she looks you over, eyes narrowed, committing every detail to memory. Her arms are thick, and you can tell that they're corded with muscle even through the formal attire. Despite her intimidating presence, she looks distinctly uncomfortable, though you have little doubt that she could spring to action in an instant regardless of circumstance. Her gaze lingers for a moment along the side of your jacket where you have your weapon concealed.

"You wished to see me?" you ask Corliss.

"Not her," the seated woman says flatly. "Me. I am Archon Adeline Durand, and it is my intention to finish any business in this frozen wasteland as soon as possible. Your sire informs me that you were recently attacked by the Anarch Robert Ward. Is that correct?"

Straight to business, then. This is clearly not a woman to be trifled with. If you're going to hide any information from her, you'd better be convincing.