to face them.
“Here’s the deal, kid,” Bonaparte started to say.
“Don’t you people ever get tired of calling me ‘kid?’”
“‘Tiger,’ then. Here’s an education for you. The first step to being an Inquisitor is knowing your enemy. Knowing how he thinks, knowing what he fears. If you want one of these one day…” She raised the stack of bracelets she wore on her right wrist. The jewelry had been cleverly hiding a tattoo: a green double cross with a tree branch and a sword, just like Price’s. “…you’ll pay attention to what Carter has to teach you. But remember you can always come back here and learn from the big boys.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Nico said, “I didn’t sign up to join your crazy party. I just didn’t want to be left behind.”
“Yeah,” Price agreed, unscrewing the top of his flask and taking a sip of something putrid, “and I sure as shit didn’t agree to train him.”
“Sure,” Bonaparte said, “That’s not what’s happening here. Well, I’ve got an army of mourners waiting outside for us to finish chatting, so you’ll forgive me if I cut through the shit. I’m under no illusions about what an individual Inquisitor can accomplish. Carter’s going to give you some cock and bull story about how staying independent is what keeps us strong or some shit, but the truth is that we’ve been doing that for over a hundred years and god damn it, it just doesn’t work.”
“A single Inquisitor working alone or with an apprentice doesn’t endanger the whole organization when he’s captured or killed,” Price said, “Your little plan to unionize, organize, militarize? Put all of our eggs in one stupid basket? That’s going to get us all wiped out at once, Godfather -style.”
Price took a long swig from his flask and passed it to Nico. Nico stared at the inscription on the flask. It read, Exurge domine et judica causum tuam . Something about God judging something. He sniffed the liquid inside. It smelled like rocket fuel, or possibly some kind of bottom shelf bourbon. He pretended to take a drink and handed it back.
“So word slips out that more nightcrawlers are getting killed than the average. They all keep tallies, their little Houses. They always know how many there are, how many there are supposed to be.”
“No nightcrawler is supposed to shit out another nightcrawler without his House patriarch’s consent,” Price added.
Bonaparte nodded.
“So now there’s the legend of a serial killer. First thought is: an Inquisitor. They shook us down. They shook us down bad. But the truth is for all our tricks, for all our training, we’re just not taking out enough of them to really make a difference to their numbers.”
“Then why bother?” Nico asked, instantly regretting it.
“Because every one counts,” Bonaparte and Price replied in near unison before exchanging a glance and then looking away in embarrassment.
“Anyway,” the woman continued, “The next guess would be an oldblood. An ancient, powerful vampire, gone off the reservation for some reason. It’s as good a guess as any. But they can’t find him. And their damn records are too good. No babies without permission, remember? The power differential is right, but it’s highly unlikely there’s an oldblood missing without anyone knowing.”
“One of The Damned would be strong enough,” Price said, “But from what you saw tonight, kid, do you see one of those monstrosities hanging back in the shadows and picking off nightcrawlers now and again?”
Nico shook his head. Bonaparte rose and began to strut down the aisle. Price and Nico followed her until they came to the altar at the head of the chapel.
“So you can see why we’re so confused,” Bonaparte said, “Nothing this powerful should be this patient. Nothing this patient should be this powerful. So we mostly chalked it up to a funny little mystery in the vampire community. Maybe one day it’ll turn out there’s an STD or
“Here’s the deal, kid,” Bonaparte started to say.
“Don’t you people ever get tired of calling me ‘kid?’”
“‘Tiger,’ then. Here’s an education for you. The first step to being an Inquisitor is knowing your enemy. Knowing how he thinks, knowing what he fears. If you want one of these one day…” She raised the stack of bracelets she wore on her right wrist. The jewelry had been cleverly hiding a tattoo: a green double cross with a tree branch and a sword, just like Price’s. “…you’ll pay attention to what Carter has to teach you. But remember you can always come back here and learn from the big boys.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Nico said, “I didn’t sign up to join your crazy party. I just didn’t want to be left behind.”
“Yeah,” Price agreed, unscrewing the top of his flask and taking a sip of something putrid, “and I sure as shit didn’t agree to train him.”
“Sure,” Bonaparte said, “That’s not what’s happening here. Well, I’ve got an army of mourners waiting outside for us to finish chatting, so you’ll forgive me if I cut through the shit. I’m under no illusions about what an individual Inquisitor can accomplish. Carter’s going to give you some cock and bull story about how staying independent is what keeps us strong or some shit, but the truth is that we’ve been doing that for over a hundred years and god damn it, it just doesn’t work.”
“A single Inquisitor working alone or with an apprentice doesn’t endanger the whole organization when he’s captured or killed,” Price said, “Your little plan to unionize, organize, militarize? Put all of our eggs in one stupid basket? That’s going to get us all wiped out at once, Godfather -style.”
Price took a long swig from his flask and passed it to Nico. Nico stared at the inscription on the flask. It read, Exurge domine et judica causum tuam . Something about God judging something. He sniffed the liquid inside. It smelled like rocket fuel, or possibly some kind of bottom shelf bourbon. He pretended to take a drink and handed it back.
“So word slips out that more nightcrawlers are getting killed than the average. They all keep tallies, their little Houses. They always know how many there are, how many there are supposed to be.”
“No nightcrawler is supposed to shit out another nightcrawler without his House patriarch’s consent,” Price added.
Bonaparte nodded.
“So now there’s the legend of a serial killer. First thought is: an Inquisitor. They shook us down. They shook us down bad. But the truth is for all our tricks, for all our training, we’re just not taking out enough of them to really make a difference to their numbers.”
“Then why bother?” Nico asked, instantly regretting it.
“Because every one counts,” Bonaparte and Price replied in near unison before exchanging a glance and then looking away in embarrassment.
“Anyway,” the woman continued, “The next guess would be an oldblood. An ancient, powerful vampire, gone off the reservation for some reason. It’s as good a guess as any. But they can’t find him. And their damn records are too good. No babies without permission, remember? The power differential is right, but it’s highly unlikely there’s an oldblood missing without anyone knowing.”
“One of The Damned would be strong enough,” Price said, “But from what you saw tonight, kid, do you see one of those monstrosities hanging back in the shadows and picking off nightcrawlers now and again?”
Nico shook his head. Bonaparte rose and began to strut down the aisle. Price and Nico followed her until they came to the altar at the head of the chapel.
“So you can see why we’re so confused,” Bonaparte said, “Nothing this powerful should be this patient. Nothing this patient should be this powerful. So we mostly chalked it up to a funny little mystery in the vampire community. Maybe one day it’ll turn out there’s an STD or
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