There’s a special place in this world, still unclaimed by man and shunned by even beast. Where angels fear to tread, demons make merry and the fools who rush in don’t last long. There is a place where the sun is still a warrior god striking down all in turn, where night freezes pain and even the sky takes on a sickly green hue. At sunset is when the unnaturals rise and the stars spin and strange music floats through the piñon grass just barely out of auditory range. Compasses lock, radio waves distort and terrify, and there is nothing out there, in the desert. There’s a place called the badlands.
The open sky and desert. Everything too bright in a way that reduces one to a perpetual squint. Surprisingly, no heat. A feeling that to hop lightly in the air would result in being flung far off the earth. A herd of horses with no heads kicking up dust; from above like a car commercial, then in the midst of them, but there is no blood. Rolling stones down a hill and jewels floating like butterflies. The darkening wind and the land goes black. Woman’s whisper becomes a shriek in the heavy twilight. A tension in the chest that only increases until agony results in not crying out at the pressure of it. A rising, breathing becomes difficult. Jump up!
Then the desert again, the desert at night. Rex and Roy sitting off to one side and the Archon singing ‘My Way’ in Spanish. A neonate said something and there was laughter, but were they laughing because of the sick body parts growing out of the tall arroyo cactuses? Pulling a bullet out of dead muscle, get your hat, they’re coming again! Ever see something like that, Billie-girl? Rex, I don’t like these horses, I want to go home now. What horses? Dust will get in the brain if proper precaution isn’t taken, isn’t that right, Roy?
The stars spin. All goes fell under the mountains in the sight of the holy Rio Sangria Nègro. Stakes being pushed roughly into ripping chests. Fangs and claws and that horrible laughing and dancing. Fire under the mountain. Daddy, Ah’m gonna be sick, we gotta go home now, please Daddy! Then, the nightmare fades and the bliss of totally unconscious sleep lasts until dusk.
Their auras were a vibrant rainbow of fear, anxiety, and adrenaline thrill. To one who could see such things, the supernatural banners were as easy to track as their silhouettes across the night desert.
“Refugees,” Billie Lee muttered, and beside her, Rex nodded. “Should we move on?”
“No. We’ll follow them a bit longer. Some of the packs use them to replenish themselves or for…games,” he replied.
“Games?”
“You’ll understand soon enough,” Rex said, “actually, if we work north a few miles we should meet up with Roy and the rest. It’d be better to let them know there’s a refugee band moving through then all of us set the ambush, rather than just you and me.”
Billie Lee tightened her grip on the boulder, which they were crouched behind. “Yeah, good plan.”
It was November in the Texas Badlands and Billie Lee had been running with Rex and the Los Campañeros coterie for three months. Brujah Archon Gomez Albados led the ten-member group which patrolled the Texas-Mexico border for errant Sabbat packs making their way north. Among them was Rot Batty, Rex’s sire, who was an actual, honest-to-Moses gunslinging lawman from the old West. Billie Lee was the only woman among them and moreover, the only Toreador; everyone else was Brujah or Gangrel.
The work hadn’t been too hard as most of the packs were neonates and easily dispatched, and there were enough abandoned shacks and mine shafts to shield the non-Gangrel of the coterie from daylight. The only tricky part was protecting the Masquerade from the mortal agents of the INS and DEA who patrolled the area for illegal border-crossings and drug smuggling.
Although Archon Albados was the only one with the powers of Dominate and Obfuscate (Rex told her that older, more powerful Kindred could learn all sorts of Disciplines, provided they had someone to teach them), there hadn’t been too many problems. It was almost as if the agents expected strange and unexplainable things to happed in the badlands at night. Either way, the order was no mortal dies. If it couldn’t be helped and a civilian was killed, that was at least passable, but to kill a government agent, that was unthinkable. Archon Albados made it clear no mercy would be given to any who killed an INS or DEA agent; there would be an investigation, more would come looking for the killer and that was bad news for the Masquerade.
Recently, the packs coming over the border were being careful and were a lot more powerful than Los Campañeros had expected. No one had been lost yet, but there’d been a few close scrapes. Something was going on; everyone could tell, the air felt heavy and even the blood could sense it. Bad things were coming.
Twenty minutes north was an old shack, which the coterie called ‘Hideout #5’. A dead rattlesnake in the sandy yard was the sign that Camerilla Kindred occupied Hideout #5, and Rex began whistling ‘My Way’ when they got closer. It was the Archon’s favorite song, which he often sang in Spanish and much to the chagrin of Gonzalez, his grand-childe. A single, tiny bell pealed in response; the all-clear signal.
TO BE FINISHED...
After two years in the badlands of the southwest, sleeping in abandoned mines and spending nights tracking the packs that came up from Mexico, Billie Lee moved to Houston. Rex had acquired a score to settle, and that was just fine, as it was high time she returned to life among those who thought about more than blood and death. Dominic, the Toreador Primogen, was a nice enough gentleman who didn’t seem to mind that much when she wasn’t that involved in the high social life of the city.
It was sheer boredom, in fact, that led to Billie Lee even showing up at the Elysium when he presented his childe; late enough that she didn’t manage to catch the actual presentation, only the reception. A lot of clan from neighboring cities had shown up, and it was wearing on the Reverend. Her style had become somewhat…different in the past few years, and she was beginning to resent the absolute arrogance of those elder. It reminded her a lot of the way things had been in Allyons.
Nonplussed by the tits and tats being winged around the room, she took a seat on a spacious couch, next to a young woman who looked about her age. She also looked bored and a bit anxious to be where she was. Billie Lee concentrated and picked up her pale aura. Good, no risk there.
“Evenin’. I don’t know yer name, but I know I’ve seen you before.”
The woman smiled. “AJ, AJ Sidera, childe of Dominic, childe of…”
“Naw naw, you don’t have to go through all that bullshit,” Billie Lee replied, cutting AJ off, “I know yer name now, an’ that’s enough. I’m Billie Lee Black, the Reverend Billie Lee Black, m’am,” and they shook hands heartily.
“Isn’t this a lovely party?” AJ asked with a tone of voice that suggested she wasn’t really enjoying herself but didn’t want to let on.
Billie Lee raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, riiiiiiiiigh. Reminds me of another party I was at before, ya know, over in France.”
“You’ve been to France?”
She nodded. “Un-huh. S’where my sire’s from. So like, there was this big to-do party right? An’ my sire had this lover, and balls, was she ever a bitch!”
AJ, at a loss for what to say in the pause, shrugged and nodded, conveying that certainly, she must have been a bitch.
“So, like, I wanna get back at her for talkin’ me down all o’ the time. So me an’ one o’ the servants, he was a ghoul now, we got together and thought of a plan. It was a rule that ya hadda stand up when the Prince came into Elysium, so I had the servant fetch a pig’s bladder from the butcher in the village, an’ I filled that sucker up with pig’s blood. So, imagine it like a big ol’ whoopie cushion.
“Then, the Prince comes in, we all stood up, ‘cept I snuck that bladder onto her chair a’fore she sits down. But when she did, haw! You shoulda seen it! There was blood everywhere! An’ then I stand up an’ say, ‘Well now, didn’t know a folk could still have a time o’ the month while bein’ dead!’.”
“No!” AJ grinned in spite of herself. “What happened?”
“Well, let’s just say I lit outta there and learned Celerity real fast.”
They both laughed over that for a minute before Billie Lee stood. “Well, c’mon.”
“Er, where are we going?” AJ asked as she stood as well.
Billie Lee took off her hat to smooth her blonde bangs, then replaced it. “To a bar I know, where else?”
“B-but Miss Black, I can’t leave! This is my presentation party.”
“First of all, call me Billie, Second, ya been presented a’eady, right?”
“Yes, but…”
“Well then, why stick around? Hey Dom’nic!” she shouted across the hall while AJ cringed, horrified, “I’m takin’ yer childe out to cause trouble, a’ight?”
The Primogen looked up from his conversation with two men dressed-to-the-nines and nodded his permission before returning his attention to his piers. Billie Lee grinned and tipped her hat before turning to AJ and beginning to walk out.
“The way I see it, yer part was in the beginnin’. This party’s got about another two an’ half hours on it ‘fore it winds down. See, the Prince a’eady left. Now, it’s just yer sire showin’ how boss it is, a party he runs, so he don’t need you here no more tonight. That means we can light outta here.”
Relieved even if it didn’t show, AJ smiled. “So are we really going to a bar?”
“Un-huh. That’s what I said. We can take my truck.”
“But Billie, we ah…we can’t drink.”
Unlocking her Ford pick-up, Billie Lee shook her head. “AJ, I’m from Texas, ain’t no little thing like death gonna stop me from drinkin’. Hell, it’s a trick I hung onto since those days. An’ you,” she reached out and put her hand on the other Toreador’s forehead, “yer fresh, still feel warm an’ breathin’. Bettcha you can drink.”
“Well, in that case,” AJ returned as she climbed into the passenger seat, “Bet you I can drink you under the table.”
“Yer on!” said the Reverend as she gunned the motor.
Three year later found the two in a little town outside Philadelphia, a little town called Swarthmore. AJ had already been in the city for six months when Billie Lee showed up, not even knowing her old friend from Texas had also come east. It was a busy and complicated place, but unlife was good for those of Clan Toreador; Billie Lee became Sheriff, AJ became Toreador Primogen, and a third Toreador, Clint Harris, stood as Prince. Getting there might not have been the easiest thing in the world, however. A crooked Tremere named Zion infiltrated the city. He was an infernalist and created several others among the city population, including Mark Hartman a powerful Nosferatu, Douglas the city’s prince, and many neonate Malkavians.
After a bit of handy spying, Billie Lee discovered that Zion wasn’t the only infernalist (as had been suspected) and told the city, who mobbed Zion’s haven and brutally slaughtered him. Prince Douglas of Ventrue was driven from the city, leaving Clint Harris (who had been Keeper of Elysium) to claim the Princehood. The rest of the infernalists were hunted down and destroyed and Billie Lee made it her mission to personally kill Mark Hartman.
The city was quiet until a new Toreador, a Vincent Lorie, made his way to Swarthmore and after failing in his bid for Harpy, was named Toreador Whip. AJ then suddenly disappeared and though Billie Lee had a gut feeling Vincent was involved, there was no way to prove it. Fortunately, AJ showed up shivering, whimpering, and brain-washed a few weeks later. Knowing the healing of her mind was way beyond the talents of anyone in Swarthmore, Billie Lee sent her friend home to Houston, where Dominic would look after her.
Vincent challenged Billie Lee to a pistol duel, which she gladly accepted, and which never ended up happening, as Clint sent an Archon to forbid it. Vincent and his Tremere friend, Dr. Alexanders, decided that in the face of a seeming invasion of malicious neonates up to no good, peace was the best course of action. That night formed what Billie Lee called the ‘Iron Cross’; Vincent, Billie Lee, Dr. Alexanders, and Capt. Kingsbridge of Clan Ventrue.
The alliance held for a long time, until Capt. Kingsbridge’s clan sent him elsewhere and Vincent went back to Europe. Then things started to get…dark, in Swarthmore. It was apparent to Billie Lee that Clint, whom she’d followed and who relied on her as a trusted advisor, was failing as a prince. Time after time she would warn him about a danger to the city or something not right, and time after time he would do nothing. Billie Lee rationalized letting others come to harm and die; she had to tell herself it was justice she served and justice was never wrong. She had to tell herself that, set herself on such a path, or else risk watching her humanity slowly ebb away.
Reverend Billie Lee Black let another wave sweep over her, the sand swirling around her boots and settling in her pants’ cuffs. Her car was parked on the dune above; the headlights shone out to sea at the crazy angle she’d left it. The night was so dark and the fogged mist so thick that one could only see out as far as the third row of white-capped waves. With the unearthly glow of the headlights, the whole scene was bizarre, some kind of disturbed child’s diorama. The world ended after the whitecaps and dissolved to the left and right. The ceiling closed in oppressively.
Billie Lee’s guns were lying a few feet away on the wet sand, because after she’d blown the left side of her head off, and it hadn’t killed her, she’d emptied both clips at the unfeeling waves. That had been hours ago. The fact that she was sprawled drunkenly on some deserted wilderness beach in New Jersey no longer existed. It was the edge of nothingness and the hiss and roll of the tide was a chorus of agonized souls. Billie Lee Black felt she was lying between the worlds.
Nev was dead now, and diablorized. Her soul was a part of Vance; in death they were finally together. Death? Oh yes, he was dead too, slaughtered beyond reproach the moment he walked through the door. It had been worth it to Billie Lee to shoot first, put a solid shot into that bastard’s chest before the others finished him off. Just one bullet, just one shot. Honor had demanded no less.
They’d been friends, she and Nev, just like she and AJ. Another friend lost, another promise broken. Billie Lee had tried though, she’d warned them about Zion, warned them about Vincent, and warned them about Vance. No one ever listened until it was too late. Now she was warning them, Alexanders and Kingsbridge, about their neonates and they were not listening. Soon, she reflected absently, she’d have their blood on her hands too.
If anyone had believed her about Zion, maybe there’s have been less to ‘go Infernalist’. So, that was six souls lost because of her. AJ was cowering, will-less, in her sire’s haven due to Billie Lee’s failure. And Nev, the compassionate, the insane, the lucky, Nev who’d won her soul back from the demon, even Nev she could not protect. God only knew where Cassidy was or how long the Tremere and Ventrue Primogen had until their clans overthrew and killed them. Billie Lee was some sorry Sheriff.
Anarchs, Infernalists, Ku-jin, even those damn neonates! Everyone was a potential hidden enemy, a possible threat, and while Billie Lee had never been a very paranoid person, it was now becoming a habit of survival. The neonates were saying that she wasn’t doing her job, but then, they’d been squalling like stuck pigs ever since they’d arrived in the city. At the slightest word from the Prince she’d kill them all, but until them she’d be forced to wait while their machinations matured. She was sick of urging action, nothing ever came about.
Clint knew about mostly everything, thanks to her and the Primogen, but he never actually did anything about it. He claimed there was no proof, nothing he could do, Camerilla etiquette forbade it. Several times, Billie Lee reminded him that he was the Prince, and he could do whatever he wanted to, for he answered to no one in the city. Still, he was too cautious and that had now cost another life. He would ignore her about the neonates too, claim his hands were tied even as they drove the stake into his chest. But to take him down, they’d need to go through her first, a fact that Billie Lee was all too aware of.
Then, her head burned with the shame of thinking poorly of her Prince. Surely, he and the city officials had done all they could. If hardship occurred, it was because she had failed. For this failure, she reasoned, her punishment seemed to be that none believed her or took her seriously. Although she’d suspected Gavin had Sabbat leanings, no one listened until Larcen also discovered the treachery of Clan Tremere. Only then did they kill him, even if it was after a preposterous half-trial and the assassination of the Regent.
Billie Lee knew they saw her as Prudence saw all Americans; an over-exaggerated caricature. Her accent, her guns, her hat, all condemned her. They thought she was a stupid hick, an ignorant redneck with splinters still in her ass from the outhouse. None of them bothered to find out that she’d gotten a combined 1380 on her SAT’s, or that she graduated cum. laude with a degree in Sociology and an associate degree in Women’s Studies. All they saw was what they wanted to see, and while she’d played it up in the beginning because it’d worked to her advantage, now it was getting old.
The surf pounded insistently. Parker, he’d arrived a few minutes before, dug her legs out of the sand and begged her to stand; dawn was an hour away, and chasing night to the horizon. She’d ghouled him finally, it’d just been too much trouble trying to explain everything. He cried, pulled at her sodden jacket, and even threatened her with her own empty guns. Silly boy, Billie Lee thought absently, you don’t kill a vampire like that.
Standing, the gaping head-wound unhealed, she let Parker half-drag her to one of the rusting WWII-era bunkers that dotted the Jersey coast. He broke the fifty year-old chains with his hands, ah, the strength of the servants!
Just one more, Billie Lee thought suddenly, not sure if she’d actually spoken or not. One more person I care about or am protecting, and after that, I don’t owe anyone anything, and I’ll do whatever’s got to be done. One more, Clint, and I will kill you. You see, AJ, I’m no monster, I’m human, just like you and Parker, just like Nev was. I’m human and I will save you all, or at least as many as I can.
The sun crested, and the Sheriff slept.
With Maria finally resting on one of the small pews in the sacristy, Billie Lee opened the laptop up again. She’d ‘gone underground’ at Donovan’s nearly a month previous, mostly to allow Larcen and Prudence time to settle down from being all up on their indignance, but also because ‘Kira West’ was working on another book, and that took up a considerable amount of Billie Lee’s time. It’d all been fine, until Maria showed up two nights before.
At first, the Sheriff had wanted to charge right into Chinatown to get the girl back. She’d derailed Larcen’s righteous railings by telling him the truth about the Caitiff; for some reason it sickened her to see idealism just for the chance to claim the clan insult and shout the loudest with the highest bitching rights. Then, though, she was caught. Prudence was right in Caitiff being hardly Kindred and worthy of no concern, but the Malkavian was also right that letting her be taken and doing nothing was inhumane. Was the law right, or was her heart?
In the end, Billie Lee did what she’d always done, just did what Clint said and questioned nothing. He was the law, after all, and she would have to accept that maybe she truly had become a monster and such behavior was fine. That, however, had been before June 27th, before Maria escaped and came to the church where she knew she’d be safe. Donovan extended the sanctuary of both God and his domain, and so Billie Lee had also said nothing to anyone. Things were becoming critical however, because now Maria was ill and in pain, and whether or not the Toreador believed that a vampire could birth, she feared that she might soon find out.
Donovan had gone out on his own business, leaving the two in his haven. There was little electricity in the sacristy, only the outlet where Billie Lee had plugged in a small desk lamp and her laptop, so the place was lit with thick, old candles, which filled the air with an oily, heady reek. It was disorienting and nearly magic, like some scene disconnected with reality and lost to the dark ages. Maria’s fervent prayers were a constant background; the Spanish close enough to mimic high Latin of a Mass. The Baptist reverend shivered involuntarily. Something here was old and sacred.
“You ok in there?”
“In nomine Patre, Fillis, et Spirito Sancto, amen…”
“Maria? You all right?”
“Si, bueno.”
The screen-saver kicked in, and she abandoned any hope of writing anything further that night. It was a new novel inspired by the aura of a boy she’d read at a dance club in the city. The Inner Jungle, by Kira West; the story of a young gay man who befriends a lonely straight girl, but when she falls in love with him he’s forced to break her heart, facing the revenge and hatred of her homophobic older brother, who shoots him dead in the dance club.
A thin stream of incense danced through the air, mixing with the candles and making Billie Lee’s head tingle. As Maria intoned the saints by name, the Sheriff’s head drooped, and she slept deeply and instantly. Suddenly Donovan was shaking her and speaking rapidly in his soft, intense voice. Something was wrong, Maria was bleeding; he thought it was time.
The young caitiff was lying in the front-most pew before an aged statue of the Blessed Virgin. Blood covered the floor beneath her and she groaned and writhed in agony. Donovan placed a pillow under Maria’s head and brought more candles over, bringing at least a little more light to the scene. Billie Lee found herself frozen in place. The sacristy of an old church was a world away from a cramped bathroom on a private jet, but for a moment, both women felt the same pain burn in their womb. Again, Donovan’s soft voice broke the spell, and Billie Lee walked behind the pew. She held Maria’s hand while the girl screamed again, murmuring comforting words, but vowing to Heaven that she would see this child born.
A crash echoed from the front of the church and before Donovan could stop them, Larcen and Gabriel raced into the room, shotguns aimed at Maria’s belly. Kyle and Dr. Alexanders ran in on their heels but Gabriel forced them aside.
“What’s the meaning of this? What are you doing invading my haven?” Donovan demanded.
Gabriel looked away and Larcen held up his cellphone. “Why don’t you tell them, my lord.”
“This decision was not thought out! We’re being too rash!” Alexanders shouted above the Brujah.
Larcen’s cellphone crackled and Clint’s voice issued forth. “Fuck the Tremere, kill, kill, kill!”
In that instant, time stood still for all but Larcen and Billie Lee. He fired, she tried to vault the pew to take the shot, but only succeeded in pulling Maria away from the blast. The caitiff howled in pain as Gabriel and Larcen kept firing. Kyle stabbed at Gabriel, who broke off attack to deal with him as Alexanders and Donovan crouched on the floor, delivering a small form. A shotgun shell hit Maria and she slumped to the floor as Billie Lee felt one rip through her chest.
Working his way behind them, Larcen ceased fire and pushed over the huge statue of Mary. Billie Lee pulled Maria out of harm’s way, but the floor was littered with shards of marble which almost seemed to be…bleeding?
“You idiot! Why did you do that? Now we’ll never know!” Alexanders shouted.
Gabriel shoved Kyle backwards towards his master. “Hey, Billie, nothing personal, you know?”
Larcen shouldered his gun. “Mission accomplished. Let’s get out of here.”
Kyle spat at the two as they left, but he was too worn out to use his eldritch powers. Alexanders stood over Donovan, who cradled an inert thing.
“The child is dead,” he said regretfully.
There was a profound silence in the ruined sacristy, broken only by Maria’s weak sobbing. She was lying on the floor in Billie Lee’s arms, lying in a near-sea of blood. A strange calm came over the Texan as she turned Maria’s face towards her own. Her hands were already covered in blood, but she reached down and dipped a few fingers in the fresh pool.
“Te absolvo, Maria,” and she made the sign of the cross on the girl’s forehead, “go, and sin no more.”
The caitiff didn’t say anything, but looked Billie Lee square in the face, her eyes thanking the reverend. She sobbed again, but the older woman knew she would be all right.
Billie Lee stood, feeling again that calm and directness. Alexanders and Kyle walked over to her and the three were silent for a moment.
“I have to leave here, ya know,” she finally said.
“Billie, no! What are you talking about? You’ve been the best Sheriff this city’s every had,” Kyle countered.
“No choice. I went ‘gainst the prince and I made a vow to myself, but to carry out that vow will take time an’ power. ‘Sides, once Larcen an’ Prudence go skippin’ to Elysium with word of what I’ve done, that’s gonna be it fer me.”
Alexanders nodded and held out his hand. “It’s been a pleasure knowing you, Miss Black, and should you ever need it, the services of myself and my chantry are at your disposal. Please, if situations change…” he left the rest unsaid.
Billie Lee shook his hand, and Kyle’s in turn. “If’n you need me here again to serve as Sheriff, you know what needs be done. You can reach me by way of Dominic, Toreador Primogen of Houston, should you need to.”
Then Billie Lee Black left Swarthmore for what she then believed would be the last time.