52

"An astute observation, Mekuztli." The response comes not from Lang, but from Kashif, the Banu Haqim vizier you received for Corliss two nights prior. "Lang would have us forget that it was not only the Brujah who left this city with souls harboring disdain for Arundel. The Tremere were furious when the Prince extended his hospitality to my clan, and now only one of the warlocks remains here—a token of anger, a festering boil who wants to see the Broken Clan regain their lost honor. It is easy to look upon the outsiders with hate in our hearts, but it is injustice to punish them without determining proof of their guilt." He shifts toward Qui. "Is that not so, Sheriff?"

Qui chooses his words carefully, taking his time. "There is little benefit to punishing a guiltless party; we all have an interest in prolonging our own existence. Vivian Maier was found not only staked, but bound to a crucifix with barbed wire. Her servants were poisoned and her butler was cut open with ruthless precision. I would like to believe that if I were to find any of you in such a position, that you would want me to leave no stone unturned during the investigation. Everyone will be answering questions regarding their whereabouts. No exceptions."

"We could do no less, Sheriff," a voice rises with crisp clarity above the din of muttered bickering. "Any loyal Kindred should be prepared to answer your questions and aid the investigation." It's Ophelia, a Primogen of clan Malkavian. "As you say, Vivian was the last of us to speak with Arundel. The sooner we can resolve this little dilemma, the faster we can move on and put a rest to these boorish rumors about our Prince." She inclines her head in Qui's direction. "I'll speak with you as soon as the meeting is adjourned."

"Perhaps it is for the best," Kashif says in agreement from his seat beside Ophelia. "The Sheriff is only doing what he needs to do."

"That's strange," Jordan whispers. "Why would she volunteer herself? Answering questions about their comings and goings is usually the last thing any of the council wants to do. Everything's a secret to these people—she's got to be playing an angle…"

Qui returns Ophelia's nod respectfully. "We'll discuss the particulars in a moment. For now I'd like to speak with Vivian while we have everyone assembled."

All Eyes to Vivian

Vivian Maier walks hesitantly to the front of the room at the Sheriff's request. Her shoulders are wrapped tightly in a white lace shawl and she carries herself with cold self-assurance. It's hardly the level of composure you'd expect from a woman so recently crucified, but it is quintessential Vivian.

"Ms. Maier," Qui says. "Tell us—"

Corliss waves him aside. "You're looking well, Vivian," she says, examining the recently assaulted Kindred up and down with a disapproving frown. "That legendary composure we know and admire. It's hardly indicative of forgetting oneself."

"The fog has mostly faded from my mind," Vivian replies with stony calm. "Even as Kindred, there is a certain degree of…dismay incurred by having one's home invaded, being overpowered and staked through the heart. I lost almost enough blood to sink into torpor, Eden. One might think you'd show a degree of understanding." She smiles, emphasizing her words to make her sarcasm more obvious—she expects no sympathy, nor does she require it.

"Wallowing in our own empathy won't apprehend your attacker," Corliss says. "Tell us what happened."

Vivian's eyes go vacant for a moment and it seems like she's looking inward, searching for a lost truth. "I…there was a crash from the front door. My butler, Robert, was yelling. I left my study and walked to the top of the stairs intending to make an example of whoever dared to interrupt me. Then…someone came from behind. Powerful…"

Corliss leans forward. "Who was it? A name, a sense, a smell? Anything?"

The Primogen shakes her head, her normally placid face wrinkled with sudden anxiety. "Nothing," she says. "Just a feeling of helplessness I haven't experienced since I was a neonate. The next thing I can remember is coming out of a haze, feeding on the Sheriff's mortal."

Jordan nudges you. "She hasn't mentioned how I found her," she whispers. "Her memory loss from before the assault. Do you think I should say something?"