69

"Is name Kindred, yes," Uuntezazk says impatiently. You're glad you sent Uuntezazk to get to know most of the powerful Kindred in the city, watching from afar. He may not be able to understand spoken language, but identifying individuals you've already named and pointed out is easy enough. "Lang. Bad-smelling warlock. Same thing. Cheese?"

You procure a few cheese curds from a small bag in your pocket and Uuntezazk takes them greedily. "Now what, exactly, were they doing together?"

"Bad-smelling Warlock had many words. Sire Corliss less angry then and Warlock seemed afraid after. He pointed to the ground and his eyes got all big!"

You pause to think for a moment. "What did Large-hat do?"

Uuntezazk finishes up his cheese and begins to clean his face, knocking crumbs from long, delicate whiskers. "Large-hat very quiet. Don't think Sire Corliss likes him much."

"Anything else?" you ask.

"No. I left before they found me."

"You did good work, Uuntezazk."

Out To The Street

You exit Elysium out onto the cold and surprisingly crowded streets, your face wrapped up tight in a scarf lest anyone give you an odd look. The long nights of winter make going about concealed significantly easier—sometimes it's better to keep a low profile when surrounded by unknown mortals. The air tingles against your nose, that undefinable smell that heralds the coming of snow.

Not long after your Embrace, the prestigious club used for Elysium had burned to the ground during a raid of attacking Cainites from Montreal. The club had since been relocated here, to the fifteenth floor of a massive plate-glass building on Bank Street, a hive of activity for Kindred and kine alike.

It doesn't take long for you to notice the tail. Each turn you make, they follow you. When you slow down, they keep your pace, always slightly less than a block behind. You don't recognize the individual as an attendee from the council and you have no desire to lead a mortal to your haven or any other Kindred stronghold.