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Vi only had to knock once, before David the thin-blood answered the door, and ushered her into his narrow apartment. 

“Sorry about the mess,” he babbled, side-stepping a small mountain of cardboard boxes, “I keep meaning to unpack, but I just find this easier than hanging everything up, you know? It's not like I’ve got flatmates to worry about.” 

Violetta caught a brief glimpse of Dave’s fluffy cat -[i]Micat Schumacpurr[/i] - darting in and out of the shadows, before they went scampering back behind a mound of the thin-blood’s unpacked clothes. 

“Are you ready to head out?” the ventrue asked her sidekick, not-so-subtly trying to prompt him into action. 

“I’ll be with you in a flash!” He promised, scooping his wallet up off of the battered old coffee table. 

There was a collection of garish hats, hanging from pegs, on David’s towering coat stand. Vi’ found herself examining a particularly battered-looking trilby, with an enormous scorch mark seared into it, which seemed to have reduced the bulk of the hat to a blackened, goopy ruin. 

“How the hell did you manage that?” Violetta asked, in mild disbelief. 

“Oh, a cigar burn,” Dave spluttered out, uneasily, “I d-dropped one.” 

Vi snorted loudly. 

“You should probably chuck that one out,” she nodded at the hat, “looks beyond saving.” 

“It was my dad’s!” the thin-blood protested, “I’m gonna see if I can get it fixed!” 

“Okay,” Violetta laughed dryly, “let's just get a move on.”

[hr]

[i]”Cammie fucks.”[/i] 

The dreadlocked, heavily tattooed woman made no attempt to keep her voice low, or her tone civil, as Violetta, David, and Sheriff Teach approached. 

Some might have described Teach as “big”, but that was a woefully inadequate label. The Brujah was a giant of a man, bulging with mountains of finely-toned muscle, who stood a solid six inches above Vi, even in her raised platform boots. 


Teach looked every bit like the brutish titan he was, and he knew it. 

 “Surprised you lot showed up,” the dreadlocked woman sneered, once the camarilla party had made their way down the alleyway, and stood infront of her, “killer always returns to the scene of the crime, I guess.” 

“Where's Abrams?” Violetta asked, ignoring the anarch’s bravado.

“Through there.” she stuck one thumb behind her, gesturing to a large metal door, which blended into the grimey brickwork of the alleyway. 

Not looking to exchange any more biting words with the sardonic poser, Vi, David, and Teach made their way into the back-alley hideout, and found a small, cramped room, which boasted a fairly modest work set up, with a old laptop, and rows of old metal shelves. 


The dusty corpse of Isaac Abrams was slumped over his desk, like a baggy puppet. Withered flesh and clumps of ash clung to the remains of a frail skeleton, dressed in a suit which drooped off of its decaying bones. 

“How the mighty have fallen.” Vi chuckled, lighting herself a cigarette, and taking a long drag, whilst she gazed down at the cadaverous ruins of her bitter enemy. 

“It's weird being this close to him.” David the thin-blood muttered, peeking out from over Violetta’s shoulder. 

The ventrue took a step closer, blowing twin jets of smoke out through her nostrils. 

A pair of deep black caves stared back at her. 

“How did shacking up with the “[i]unbound[/i]” work out for you, you pretentious Hollywood prick?” Vi sneered, a knife-like grin hooked at one end of her lips. 

“I don’t think he can answer you, Vi.” David murmured. 

“There’s no telling how long he was like this, before we got word of his final death,” Sheriff Teach grunted, in his deep, gruff voice, “the Anarchs have probably already scrubbed the scene clean, a dozen times over.” 

Violetta knelt down, so that her eyes were level with the necrotic pits of Abrams’ skull. She gave his body a quick look over, resting on the bizarre-looking gun which rested loosely in the dead man’s grip. 

The pistol had an almost science fiction-quality to it, what with its glowing neon sights, stocky in-built suppressor, and slickly chiseled grip. The cylinder on the handgun was disproportionately large, when compared to the rest of the pistol, granting the weapon the characteristics of some kind of near future gizmo, which wouldn’t look out-of-place in the hands of Robo Cob, or Rick Deckard. 

Vi pried the gun out of Abrams’ clutches, and gave it a look over. 

“What's that?” Dave asked, shifting uneasily. 

“Probably stolen [i]SI[/i] tech,” Violetta replied, admiring the state-of-the-art hand gun, “looks like Abrams knew someone was after him, and tried to defend himself.” 

Ever since the attack of Vienna, the [i]Second Inquisition[/i] had been an agonizing thorn in the side of all kindred, hounding the undead at every corner, and dealing blow after blow to their vampiric prey.

It was the Second Inquisition’s ruinous attack on London which had shattered Queen Anne’s court, and forced Vi to flee to LA. 

With a sharp click, Violetta opened the hand gun’s cylinder, and stared at the unusual cases inside. The pistol was crammed with silver shells, engraved with stocky crimson writing. One shell was missing from the cylinder. 

Vi slipped one of the bullets out of the gun, and examined it-between her long fingers. 

[i]”INCENDIARY”[/i] was printed on the gleaming shell,in bright red. 

“Bullets for killing vampires.” Vi muttered to herself. 

Then she remembered the searing crater in David’s trilby. 

Violetta sighed, grimacing, as she slid the bullet back into the pistol’s cylinder. 

“What's up?” the thin-blood prompted. 

The ventrue slammed the mechanism shut, and pointed the handgun squarely at David. 

“Dave, you dense motherfucker,” she snarled, baring her fangs, “you can’t do anything right.” 

The thin-blood raised his hands in shock, letting out a shrill yelp.Teach took a step backwards, stunned. 

“What's going on, Vi?” the enormous figure growled. 

“You wanna tell me the real story behind that “cigar burn” in your hat, David?” Violetta hissed, “why not just throw the damn thing away?!” 

The venture wasn’t one for sentimental attachments, or budding friendships, but she was still unusually fond of her naive sidekick. She prayed there was some kind of explanation, but could already feel the swell of doubt festering in her gut, like a putrid tumour.  

David’s mouth bobbed open, like a goldfish, and only a nervous splutter oozed out. 

“Do you have any idea how much of a shitstorm you’ve started?!” Vi snarled, “you really think the prince is gonna-” 

Something sharp burst through Violetta’ back. 

Blood pooled from her mouth, and hot pain exploded inside of her, but she found herself frozen in place, and unable to move. 

Her body hit the ground, with a hard thud, her skull bouncing off of the solid floor. She tried to speak, but found herself unable to. 

“Nice going, [i]Daaaave[/i],” Teach grumbled, whipping a dark smear of blood onto his trouser leg, “so much for the element of surprise.” 

“I didn’t -!” the thin-blood began to protest, but Sheriff Teach shot him a burning glare, which quickly shut him up. 

“I’ll take care of the anarch bitch,” the sheriff instructed his underling, “you throw Vi in the trunk.” 

“What are we gonna do next?” David asked, nervously. 

“What else?” Teach let out a dull chuckle, “frame her for Abrams’ murder.”