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"Your enthusiasm is most invigorating," Bouchard says. "I could almost say that you remind me of a younger me not long after the Embrace. Sans a few boils and pock-marks, that is. Now remember not to be seen. Any mortal that witnesses you in the levels below the exhibit must be silenced, so if you'd rather keep the killing to a minimum, you'd do best to be quick and quiet." He hands you a photo of a tall Asian man with long black hair and an angry-looking scar on his right cheek. His right hand rests on the hilt of a sheathed sword.

"He looks dangerous," you say. "The way he holds himself. Safe bet he knows how to use that blade."

"Make sure he doesn't see you coming," Bouchard says, as if it weren't the most obvious advice in the world. "I've seen him slice the head right off more than one fledgling that got on Ms. Grey's bad side." He notes your reaction with a bemused smile. "Oh, you didn't know that Alisha's road to fame and fortune was paved with the blood and bones of your kin as well as mortals?"

"She never struck me as the type."

"Let that be a lesson to you, then. All Kindred kill. None of us last long without getting our hands dirty. None of us. Now get going. You're running out of night—don't be chasing the sun to your haven. It would be disappointing to know I wasted my time on a pile of ashes."

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