Boston Morning

Lamentations of Renny Part the Last, Maybe: Because it is According to my Nature ––– 03/16/12 04:55 Boston MA

"Hustlers of the world, there is one mark you can never beat; the Mark inside." - William S. Burroughs

I’ve always liked that quote. You could see it as just a cynical examination of reality or take it as a statement about how people who hustle for a living tend to have blind spots that get them blindsided. Or it could be about the Mark of Cain and the fact that we are never free of it. Any of them works.

So, why the pessimistic ‘Part the Last’? And why so far from home? I mean any home, Brooklyn or Natchez, Sacramento or L.A.?

Well, for the first part, I’ve gotta digress a bit.

My study of Vamps so far has brought me to the conclusion that all Vamps are unconsciously suicidal.

To wit: On the one hand, vamps are nearly immortal and their weaknesses are so well known that any vamp with half a brain could easily avoid all the pitfalls and live happily forever (and I do mean forever) after, The End.

On the other, every Vamp I’ve ever met, including yours truly, inevitably pushes those limitations; eventually to the point where they dust themselves, either directly or indirectly.

To put it another way, Vamps' very immortality causes them to seek out creative ways to off themselves. I’m calling it Renny’s Paradox until someone tells me the concept is already taken.

And today, I seem to be putting Renny’s Paradox into personal implementation. It ain’t a death wish or remorse or anything stupid like that, at least not for me, just something I need to do.

So, what’s my particular poison?

Today I plan to see a Society of Leopold Vampire Hunter, in the open, during the day on a public street while a sniper keeps her sights trained on me with a silver-laced kill-shot if anything goes sideways.

That’s the melodramatic version of it. In reality, I am just here seeing an old friend. Well . . . Maybe not so old and maybe not a friend anymore, but that isn’t the point. It really is about the safest version of the events described without it being an actual lie.

Or maybe I’m kidding myself and I am dust by this evening, or worse a wraith for the Gios, or worse yet a ghost trapped for eternity with Uncle JJ. Lonya’s certainly been keen to point out the potential downsides of this little escapade.

None of this really explains the ‘why.’ For that we’ve got to mix into the ‘where.’

See, unbeknownst to most of the locals, the Boston Archdiocese maintains numerous nondescript buildings around town, through a number of fronts including the Opus Dei. One of these, a row of interconnected townhouses, is actually a training center for the Society of Leopold.

And here the ‘where’ mixes with the ‘who’.

The "old friend" mentioned earlier is none other than .38, a.k.a. Ms. Irina DiSanti, last seen speed dialing the Leos on my recommendation. She’d witnessed the destruction of an elder Vamp, one Thaddeus ‘King’ Cotton, by the local Tremere Chantry and she’d just personally rescued his herd, a group of slave descendants still living on his old plantation.

From the Society’s perspective it was all just another example of righteous lay folk calling in the cavalry for reinforcements and cleanup. They live for that sorta stuff.

It wasn’t all of the truth, not by any stretch, but the stated pieces were all true and someone who’d been through a lie detector a few times could string them into a narrative that avoided the less savory bits of the story.

True to form, the Society whisked her (and Cotton’s herd, one less pain in my neck) off to the Vatican (Vamp free since 1759 or so they believe) for a special audience with Monsignor Blanc and the Elder Gnomes of the Society followed by six months of special training at the Monastery of St. Basil of Caesarea on Malta, then returning to the training center in the country of origin, back here in Boston.

That’s the ‘who’ and the ‘where’, I guess the ‘why’ is in order. When I’d sent .38 off to the bosom of the Mother Church it wasn’t entirely for altruistic reasons nor was it without a broader plan. Between an unwillingness to get out of Vamp business and lack of an edge ( a real edge, not just big guns and orneriness), .38 was going to get herself killed if she stayed in Natchez too much longer and I didn’t want that on my conscience. Also, in the long term if she did get trained as a Vamp hunter she would not only have that edge but also potentially be a powerful ally either back in Natchez or elsewhere. Perish the thought that I'd want a mole in the Society.

So, a big part of why I’m here is to find out if that’s still a possibility.

That’s not the whole reason though. Since my unfortunate fallout with Miss Witchypants, the Tremere have been nibbling around Natchez like a black cat trying to figure the best way to jump on the dinner table. And anyone willing to help out that ain’t one of Balto’s pack is welcome. If .38 can swing an assignment back in Natchez that might help a lot.

There’s also the Stasi situation. If you’ve read my earlier stuff, you know the details. Probably best to keep the sisters apart until the younger one is more herself, or her new self or whatever.

Not that either one of them agrees to that.

Stasi always was a clever avaricious sort, perfect for a Ventrue, but even before becoming a vamp she has the impulse control of a ferret after a triple espresso.

If Eliza is to be believed Stasi’s appetite is so out of control, she would probably kill her sister if they got into the same room and she'd probably not even notice it until days later. She’s that far gone. I don’t doubt it, but I can’t help it either. I practically begged the two of them to wait, but neither was hearing any of it. Eliza wanted a Childe with the Sight and Stasi couldn’t stand the thought that someone might consider her a second class citizen. So Stasi is self-actualizing into the monster she always wanted to be and Lonya and I are off on a month-long holiday in the town of beans and lobster.

It wasn’t exactly easy. I had to take a few side deals to ensure we got here safely and without the Gios knowing: greasy, soul draining work of the sort I’d like to avoid making a habit of, but I must admit generally up my alley and certainly distracting.

Not that it’s all doom and gloom. I was able to get up with Saint Marcus (one of my pals from the Brooklyn days) and he was able to connect Lonya up with someone who knew a lot more about her particular style of Mojo than yours truly. Vivia’s a bit New Agey for me and a little more interested in the curve Lonya’s neck than I’d like, but she apparently knows her stuff and avoided asking the obvious questions. Lonya liked her anyway and at this point any human contact would be a plus for her, even if with a lesbian with a neck fetish.

And that gentle reader is the current state of the Renny. If I don’t make it I am not sure what Lonya plans to do with these files. I hope she makes a copy of them and stashes them in some random attic steamer trunk to be found by some enterprising Occult researcher.

If you are, in fact, such an occult researcher I would say ‘Avenge me!’ but there ain’t anything to avenge really, just my own stupidity. I would say ‘Don’t do anything stupid’ but just by reading this I suspect that ship has already sailed. I will say instead ‘Good luck’ and if perchance we should meet me by the side of the road, well, just pretend I am the Buddha because I may be hungry.

Excerpt from Irina DiSanti's personal journal

Friday, 16 Mar 2012
Boylston Ave, Boston
0622hrs, Eastern

I survived my Initiate training and had only just arrived in Boston to continue my Novitiate when Renny found me. I'd been in my apartment for less than a week. His voice rang clear as a bell inside my head as I tried to sleep.

How's it goin'? You still up for a meet and greet? So, ah, yeah. There's some tables out in front of this place called Abe and Louie's on Boylston. 6:45 on the next cloudy morning.

I silently answered back: Understood. Give me a week.

It had been seven months since I'd last seen him. Seven more days wouldn't make a difference. Had the matter been urgent, he would have said so. I was grateful he hadn't. I needed that week to set my routine, establish my cover, and lull my watchers into a false sense of security. Luckily Abe and Louie's was on my morning jog, as was the Starbucks a few doors down. It wouldn't be out of character to grab a coffee after my run and take a table on Abe and Louie's terrace. If someone else happened to be doing the same, it wouldn't look odd. Renny had apparently done his homework.

Good. I didn't want my first kill to be a vamp I actually considered my friend. Renny and I had been through a lot together and like any friendship formed under enemy fire, it would not be easy to dissolve. Nor would I want to.

I spent the next seven days nailing my route from the Prudential Center to the Public Gardens and back again. Buying crappy coffee. Sitting at an outdoor table to drink it. All the while familiarizing myself with the neighborhood: the people, the ebb and flow of their rhythms. Keeping an eye out for tails. Since I'd already had a history of mixing it up on my run while abroad, I did the same here and prayed it sufficiently disguised my methods to detect surveillance. Whoever the Society had watching me was either better than I was at tailing or was in no shape to keep up. Either way, when I went meet Renny a week later I was reasonably certain that I hadn't been followed. Given the prevalence of high rises in the neighborhood, however, anyone with good binoculars could track me if I stuck to the main thoroughfares, which Boylston was. And wherever binoculars could travel, so could a sniper bullet.

Jesus, woman. Paranoid much? It's just a morning jog. Nothing to see here. Move along.

I got my coffee and settled at one of the tables. Abe and Louie's was closed. I had the terrace to myself. March in Boston was bitterly cold and the coffee felt good going down. Stretching my legs under the table, I drank my coffee and watched the people go by. I resisted checking my watch. I never did it on my normal jog and this jog had to be no different. My Starbucks receipt said 06:18. I judged still had a half an hour. If Renny didn't show up by then, I'd leave and try again in the morning. Thanks to the groundwork I'd laid over the past week, it wouldn't raise any eyebrows.

Ten minutes went by and still no Renny. It struck me that he might show up Astrally instead of physically. The more I considered it, the more I liked it. He need not be present to speak to me. He could avoid the sunlight. It wouldn't require him to establish a cover. It would be a damned secure method of communication. There'd be no way a watcher could overhear or read our lips because Renny could lift my response right out of my head.

It didn't take long before logic asserted itself.

If that had been the plan all along, why drag my ass out here to meet him? Why not talk to me like he did when he set this up? Any number of reasons, really. He could be tossing my apartment as I sat here waiting for him. He could be taking out a surveillance detail I'd managed to miss. Or he could be watching me and snickering at how easily he'd duped me into coming. Renny was a friend but he was also an accomplished con man and had been for years before I'd met him. I wasn't so naïve to think he'd stop being one just for paranoid little me. In fact, I counted on him not to. It perversely made the Masquerade easier. In my case, I was running a con of my own. A long one, not likely to end anytime soon except with me dead at the end of it. It was irrelevant. I was Unbondable and being a Hunter was my best bet to survive inside the Masquerade. As such, Renny was a part of it. Sooner or later, I'd see him and find out what all the cloak and dagger shit was about. So I resisted checking my watch, sipped my cooling coffee, and waited.

Mandarin Oriental Hotel Boylston Street
Boston, Massachusetts
Friday, March 16, 2012
06:27 am'

Renny opened his eyes slowly as he left Astral space. He didn’t like to admit it, even to Lonya, who likely already knew, but getting to any kind moving state this time of day was like moving with lead weights tied all over him and the heaviest ones were tied to his eyelids.

As Renny forced his limbs into action, he pondered the fact that according to some, the very fact that he was still able to move during the daytime was an indication that he was close to Golconda, the mythic state of vampiric grace. He mentally scoffed. Anyone who claims you are but one step from enlightenment is either a fool or playing you for one.

His eyes opened to see Alona’s ruddy face awash with a mixture of anger and concern. "Why are you going through with this? It’s stupid and dangerous."

Renny began to slowly lever himself to his feet using various bits of expensive hotel furniture. "Good to see you, too. I’ve checked the area. No wraiths or ghouls around the area and no presences, living or otherwise, following .38. They might’ve lo-jacked her, but if they did they don’t have any people directly following. Looks like they let the chick leave the nest for the morning, after all."

She helped him to his feet, but then let go. "You did not answer my question."

Renny listened to her voice as he looked for his jacket. The past year had diminished her accent somewhat, less bond villain more Natasha Fatale, still no hiding the emotion behind it. "It’s gotta be today," Renny replied. We lose the room after today and trust me, you don’t want to be in Boston on St. Patrick’s Day. With all the Central Americans that have moved into the neighborhood, the annual battle with the snake ghosts is not something I want to be around for. Also, the hotel’s going to be a bit upset after they run my credit card."

"You know what I mean. Why meet up with her at all and why in the daytime?"

"We’ve been through this." Renny tried not to sound petulant as he slowly suited up for the morning chill; coat, driving gloves, and a trilby hat. He grinned grimly as he looked at himself in the mirror. These days, hats were somewhat rare, even in the city, but they were common enough to get away with. It wouldn’t provide a lot of protection if the sun came out, but that was unlikely on a day like today. "The Leos guard is mostly down during the daytime. It’s the only time a Novitiate is going to get to go out alone."

Alona was determined. "But why meet up with her at all? She hunts vampires for a living now."

"Look, I gotta know," Renny said without looking at her.

"Know what?" Alona grabbed his shoulders and looked at him desperately. "Whether she will kill you on sight?"

Renny sighed, visibly calmed himself. "That’s not going to happen because you’re going to be on the balcony keeping an eye on things, right?" He put a hand on his ghoul’s shoulder. "You’ve got the gun, right? And the bullets?"

She nodded, near tears, and Renny’s non-beating heart ached more than a little as he resisted the obvious next thing to do. At times like this he could not look at her without hearing Eliza's tittering laugh. From Eliza’s perspective, Alona had been the booby prize of the pair; a chew toy to keep him on the leash long enough for Stasi to develop powers. She’d known that Renny would inevitably fall for the lost puppy and now, even as he reached out to Alona, it irked him that he had been read so deftly, played so easily. Walked right into it.

"Это была не твоя вина, She whispered without looking up. "Вы не должны заставить всех тебя люблю."

You do not have to give me all your love.

He pulled her closer and for a long moment they enjoyed the presence and substance of each other before he stepped back and headed for the door.

Once he was in the hallway, he checked his lips to make sure there was no blood. He didn’t do that frequently since she’d acquired magic. It was worth the risk, though; it would provide her focus and scramble his aura to anyone looking.

As he waited at the elevator, Renny saw Alona leave the room headed in the other direction with the gun case. He had made sure that she only had half a dozen bullets. If things go bad I don’t want her going Charles Whitman on the morning commuters.

Friday, March 16, 2012
Patio in front of Abe and Louie’s
Boylston Street, Boston
0648 hrs Eastern Time

There is a subtle difference in a person's stance when walking up to meet someone. The man in the tan trench coat and hat looked like everyone else on the street but Irina knew it was Renny the second he stepped off the curb. No one else had given her more than a passing glance, only enough to verify she was there before going back to their own business. The glance from the man across the street lingered a split-second too long and that was how she'd spotted him. He held a steaming to-go cup and a folded Boston Herald tucked under his arm. Irina smiled behind a sip of her coffee, thinking the cup was a nice touch. Protective coloring was important when trying to blend in and Renny was nothing if not attentive to detail. As to the details … Drawing on what she knew of him, she reckoned the cup and the newspaper were probably complimentary items he'd snagged on his way out of whatever hotel he'd managed to finagle a room in. Renny never spent coin on something he could just as easily lift for free.

For herself, Irina kept her posture relaxed, her cup in hand, and her eyes moving, watching her environment. Traffic was picking up, vehicular and pedestrian alike. Boylston was a few lucky degrees off due east and the upper stories caught a significant amount of sun in the morning. Normally that would make spotting watchers on high difficult but the day was heavily overcast and cut the shine off the windows. A quick scan of the ones across the way showed a mix of curtains drawn and pulled. Nothing she could see that screamed sniper. That doesn't mean they aren't there. It only means you can't see them. Even odds who they're gunning for.

Irina sipped her coffee again and allowed herself a glance at Renny as he drew near, the same sort that others had given her as they'd passed: Someone's there. No one I know. Moving on … The next move was up to him.

Renny sat down nonchalantly at a nearby table, placed his drink down and began pulling the newspaper apart. "You seem a headline sort," he said, handing Irina the rest of the paper. "I’ve always found the Obituaries and Legal Notices to contain more of the gestalt of the area."

"More profit in them for you, I'm sure. All those grieving widows," Irina said from behind another sip of coffee. She pulled the paper over the way a person uninterested in it would tidy up after a stranger. She kept her eye on the street as she asked, "Were you followed?"

Renny didn't look up from the paper. "No, neither were you that I can tell. I wouldn't put it past them to lo-jack you though."

"Touché," Irina said around another sip of coffee before pulling the front pages open on the table. She spoke to them instead of the vampire, her tone warmer than her body language would betray. "It's good to see you, Renny. I've got maybe ten minutes before I have to go. If they've lo-jacked me, I have to stick to the pattern. That's why I asked for a week." She made a note to read the paper with her coffee on occasion, especially if Renny intended on making this sort of meeting a regular thing.

"Ten minutes is probably good. More than that and Lonya may go postal." He peeked over the top of the paper. "And she's a very good shot as you know." He grabbed his cup of hot water and pretended to drink, talking apparently to no one in particular. Thank goodness for Bluetooth. Can't tell the schizophrenics from the spies anymore. "So, not to get all Yenta on you, but how've yeh been?" he said in an exaggerated Brooklyn accent.

"Doing well, actually. Long story short: training was a stone bitch, I've passed their purity tests, and they've lengthened the leash. Sleep is still an issue but they've techniques that actually work on the migraines. If I get nothing else out of this, I'll have that." She cut a look at him then went back to her paper. "Knowing all that, Renny, why are you talking to me now and not back in Natchez? What's wrong?" After all, the Society HQ was only a few blocks away. Give Renny this: he's got a great big pair of brass ones to call a meet this close, she thought as she turned the page.

Renny's face broke into a slight smile. "Well, there could be any number of reasons for that. Not the least of which is that you just came back to the states and maybe I just wanted to say 'hello' to an old friend. Anything wrong with that?" He harmumpfed, ever so slightly, "But to be truthful, at least to the extent I can, Let's just say that events have progressed a bit in Natchez and I thought a brief sabbatical was in order."

Irina turned another page, faked a sip of coffee. Maybe I just wanted to say hello to an old friend. The words warmed her more than she'd thought possible. "Sounds rough. You okay?"

She hoped he was. She disliked the abrupt manner of her departure. She hated leaving loose ends behind her, tasks undone. Renny had given her the lead on the Society and she owed him for it—it saved her life and offered her a powerful bargaining chip for her return to Natchez ... But still, I hated leaving him to clean up the mess.

"Well, if you know nothing else about me, you know I always land on my feet one way or another." He pretended to read the paper some more. "Lonya though . . . The last couple of months've been rough on her. Eliza made her move on Stasi, just like she always planned … and … let’s just say that for Lonya, magic hasn't been the shiny world of infinite wonder the brochure claimed it would be."

"No doubt. I don't know if I should be grateful to Eliza for taking Stasi in or to pity her. Stasi always struck me as a handful and a half. As for Lonya ..." Irina looked up from the paper and said to the street, "I'm sorry. She loves you, Renny. I know why you can't love her back but does she? Leave a love like that unanswered too long, it'll turn bitter and bite you in the ass." Irina took another empty sip, her coffee long gone. "Just sayin'."

For a brief instant, a complex series of emotions flickered across Renny’s face before he shook his paper and continued without looking up. "You do realize that worrying about a ghoul’s faithfulness is like worrying whether you’re going to get lucky at a whorehouse?"

Touched a nerve, have I? Her lips twitched as she acknowledged the dodge but she didn’t press the issue. She hadn’t pegged Renny as cruel but knew necessity might require him to be. "I get the point. Continue?"

"OK, well. Just so you know, Evil Ed, Bad Santa, Madame, Miss Witchypants, and the rest of their happy crew didn't take our last escapade so well so don't expect a real friendly reception from that quarter if you go back.

"Also, we've got Sabbat coming up from New Orleans and a couple of months ago I found a dragon sleeping in a salt dome nearby."

Irina narrowed her eyes at the paper and pulled up what she remembered of Natchez. "Does the Oxford Chantry have anything to do with the Sabbat coming up from New Orleans? Are they having the Sabbat soften the Domain up so they can come in later and take what they want? More to the point, does Eliza know the fight that's coming?"

"Well … Let’s see. In order – Not likely, No, and Yes, but as usual local politics, baser instincts and general stupidity seem to be trumping the smarter plays. Eliza and her sister always have a trick or two up their sleeves though, so it’s hard to tell."

Irina didn't much like Eliza but she respected her. Eliza understood the current era far better than the previous Prince and as such, Irina knew that Eliza was better suited to rule. Even so, everyone had their blind spots. Even before they'd pulled it off, Irina knew the coup would be seen by Eliza's adversaries as an opportunity to test her, watching the city and waiting for her to fatally slip. Irina had planned to offer her services as an investigator to find out who wished the Domain ill. She didn’t get the chance before she had to leave. Going on the lam tends to throw a spanner in the works. I need to get back. Get the city ready. I need more time. How many people are going to die because of it? Knowing Renny could read her thoughts, Irina said aloud, "And the dragon? Is it relevant to Natchez?"

I suppose we could just think this conversation, but I’d prefer to talk. "Not really, no. Probably been around since before Catfish came on the scene. As to the other stuff, I’m working on it. What’s the point in obsessing if you can’t make a plan or two?"

We could, but a clandestine meeting should have some clandestine talking. Besides a decent parabolic mike or a lip reader with binoculars is all it takes for someone to listen in. And that’s just the mortal arsenal. I don’t even want to imagine the magical one. "To that other stuff, should I be working on it from my end? Or is there something else you need me to focus on?"

Why do you think I am talking into my paper? Renny sighed mentally. You do realize that part of being in the ‘real world’ is pretending that you’re in it? "I don’t know that there’s anything in particular you should worry about, other than maybe not going back." Renny turned his head toward her, looking thoughtfully for a moment. "How’s your French? If I end up extending this sabbatical, Lonya and I may be off to the land of escargot and brie shortly."

"Pas aussi bon que mon Russe ou Italien." Not as good as my Italian or Russian. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Would you get to the point? Do you need me in Natchez or not? I have people down there I can’t leave in the lurch and six months is too long already. I gave Cecilia my word. "I understand the Côte d’Azur is lovely this time of year. Send me a postcard when you get there?" Irina kept her tone light but knew that he’d pick up on her irritation anyway.

Cool your jets, Maverick. The world does not weigh upon your shoulders alone. A reliable friend might be useful, but I wouldn't want to put you out. It really is a potentially dangerous mess. "Languedoc, actually, home of the Cathars and the Albigensian Crusade. Some of JJ’s unfinished business."

How dangerous a mess? "So, you're going to indulge yourself in a little history?" Irina flicked a glance at him and turned back to her paper. "Europe's got a lot of it."

Renny shook the paper and harrumpfed again, doing a remarkable impression of a man considerably older than his appearance. You mean dangerous beyond angry Tremere, rampaging Sabbat, and semi-psychotic neo-nates? Did I mention the dragon? The last one of those to stir in its sleep was at a place called New Madrid back in the early 1800's. The Mississippi flowed backwards after that. "Well as you know, my uncle JJ can be quite insistent. I've done a little 'data mining', I believe is the term, and come up with a possibility or two that no one has thought up yet. It looks like the Abbey and Corbenic may be the same place and that may be why no one has found either of them."

So those are the negatives. Got any positives? "It's possible there's nothing left after centuries of wars and invasions."

At the mention of 'positives' Renny's mind briefly drifted to thoughts of Alona before he shut that down. He hoped that didn't bleed over into the conversation. Hrm . . . I hear the barbeque at Junior's is still excellent, though it's not my cup of tea as you can imagine. Eliza does seem better about running things than Cotton, but that may just be my own opinion. . . . and Natchez hasn't been invaded by supernatural beings in at least a month, though it's only a matter of time. "I disagree. If it had been destroyed we would have seen more evidence. Instead I found a pattern of people not searching in a couple of places that random investigations should have caught. Something's hiding . . . and hiding in a place that seems match up with Corbenic, or at least the Gorze Abbey version of it.

Renny, chortled to himself. "Then again it might just be a secret CIA detention facility.

Good. That's better than I hoped. As for France, I wish you all the best. My business might not allow me to join you. Aloud, Irina said, "For all I know, it might be. Or maybe there's a glamour on the place to coerce people to look elsewhere. Magic exists. Why not use it to hide under everyone's radar?" She had good reason to know it might be possible, being gifted (or cursed) by the Wizard of Vidalia with some of that magically delicious sparkly crap.

If that's a step up, boy, do you have a depressing worldview. "Or maybe I missed an investigation or two, or maybe I missed something obvious to 18th century explorers that I ain't aware of. Who knows?" Yeah, something else. The Gios are still out for you. I catch 'em sniffing around Natchez with their wraiths every now and then. They don't get too close because of that Assamite ghost that Miss Witchypants ate, but they keep coming 'round.

If the wraiths are still after me, then I'd say my worldview's justified, Irina thought back. "True enough. It could also be something like Petra. The western world lost it for 1500 years but the Bedouins who lived there knew where it was all along. It could be you just haven't talked to the right people." Irina turned the page on her paper and continued mentally. As much as I would love to talk archaeology and ancient lore with you, I have to get moving. They'll expect me to turn back home in another minute. Is there anything else you need to pass on to me?

"There are no right people for this sort of thing, only the right sort of wrong people." Renny flashed her a boyish smile. "And I think that's me." He stood up and began folding his section of the paper. I wouldn't fret too much. They are still looking for the wrong thing in the wrong place. Also, your Aura's gone through a bit of a makeover since our little encounter with Murkel. Renny didn't look back as he turned and began walking south on Boylston, away from the hotel and the Society offices. You may want to take it up with the Leos. It's old business and wouldn't involve Natchez folks. Just claim you had a vivid dream. Lonya's been having a ton of those lately. Speaking of which, be sure to wave to her before you leave. 5th floor balcony nearest.

"I think you're right," Irina said, with a twitch of a smile. Thanks. I just might do that. "Take care, Renny." Irina lingered with the paper until he was half a block away before moving. She pulled the paper together and folded it under her arm, then stepped off for home. She flicked a glance up at the hotel across the way and spotted the Russian and her rifle. Knowing Alona could see it, Irina winked with the tiniest of nods and pushed on. As she walked the three blocks west and two south, she mulled over the conversation and found herself relieved that Renny had remained pretty much the same as she'd remembered him. Odd how of all the people she currently knew and trusted, it was a vampire who proved a touchstone to reality in a life gone increasingly surreal.

Case in point: what would Renny make of your current address, DiSanti? 17 St. Germain Street? The incongruity of a vampire hunter's address matching the name of a vampire character in a long-running series of novels tickled her sense of humor, even as she wondered if the Society knew of it. Maybe it's better if they didn't, she decided as she entered the building and took the stairs up to her door. Saint Germain walked the daylight hours in those novels, hardly something the Leos would appreciate as a good thing. Irina locked up and stripped her way to the shower, there to think of what she'd tell her putative bosses about the wraiths.

HOW TO SPEAK RUSSIAN

Это была не твоя вина. Вы не должны заставить всех тебя люблю. = Eto byla ne tvoya vina. Vy ne dolzhny zastavitʹ vsekh tebya lyublyu. = Eh-tah bool-yah neh tvoh-yah vih-nah. Vih nee dulzh-nooh zah-stahv-yit vsihk teeb-yah lyoo-blyoo. Sound clip

HOW TO SPEAK FRENCH

Pas aussi bon que mon Russe ou Italien = Puhz ah-zee bohn kuh mohn ryoos oooh ih-tah-lee-ehn = Not as good as my Russian or Italian. Sound clip.

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