A little something to hold people while I complete the next Masks story. This is set in the same world as "The Master of Cuts" and "In the Hollow of the Devil's Hand."

Dog and Butterfly

by

Rodford Edmiston

She was dealing with another of the old man's challenges. She was to go covert, on her own, in strange territory, staying hidden for a full twenty-four hours. That meant avoiding all contact, leaving no trace. Which meant not feeding.

He'd left Calli on the outskirts of a New Orleans subdivision, less than two hours before dawn.

"Calliope, my little butterfly," he told her, in an apparently legitimate Cajun accent, "you must be a shadow among shadows, a breeze in the wind. I will come to you this time tomorrow with your grade."

She hadn't bothered to ask how he'd find her if she succeeded in hiding well. He had named her; he would find her.

Calli scouted quickly and quietly. Remembering his teachings she dismissed the obvious places, including some abandoned homes still left from the last big hurricane. A large culvert with a heavy grating was noted, as well as a 24-hour mall where she could hide in plain sight. Hoping to score points for unconventionality, Calli eventually chose a large, old sycamore in an upper middle class neighborhood park. This had a substantial hollow with a small, north-facing opening. She did a quick check to make certain there were no witnesses, then went from ground to hole in one easy leap.

There was quite a bit of debris in the bottom, but it was dry enough she didn't bother with it. This exercise wasn't about comfort; it was about survival. There was no sign of recent occupation by animals, nor that any of the local children used the hole.

Calli slept fitfully through the day. She was cramped, there was a great deal of noise of many types, and she was starting to feel hungry. At one point she came to full alertness when she heard young girls chatting at the base of the tree, and sounds which indicated one of them might be climbing it. Fortunately, they were soon called away by a concerned mother.

Come sundown Calli climbed out, dusted herself off and stretched. Distant sounds and scents stoked her hunger, but she had been hungry almost constantly since the old man Made her. He repeatedly told her that a full vampire was a sluggish, sloppy vampire; that hunger gave an edge and this edge helped with survival.

She sat at the base of the sycamore and waited. The old man was never cruel; he was too objective, too detached for that. He saw her sitting there, alert, and simply walked up to her. He examined her, then looked around. He frowned for a moment, then looked up and smiled. He made the expression look natural.

"Oh, very good, Calliope. Concealed, defensible and unexpected." The old man continued to smile at her for a moment, then looked around more widely. "Full Moon, tonight. Let's get out of town, and find something to eat."

"Definitely," said Calli, echoing his expression... or trying too.

She was still relearning to smile. Most expressions of emotion felt unnatural for her, now, but she was getting better at pretending. They began walking.

"Perhaps something in the beef category," said the old man, as they strode casually along a sidewalk.

Except for streetlights and a few night owls - human as well as avian - the neighborhood was quiet and dark.

"Cow for supper again?" she said, practicing her emulation of humor.

They talked casually as they walked. Calli wondered why they didn't take some form of transportation; the closest farms were hours away. However, her master was unhurried and so she was, as well.

They had traveled only a relatively short part of the long distance when a limousine pulled to a stop against the curb half a block ahead of them. Calli could see that the side and rear windows were a deep, glossy black. More, there was a scent of vampires strange to her on the wind. She went immediately on the alert.

"How considerate," said the old man. He seemed unconcerned, but Calli knew him well enough to appreciate that he was prepared to tear the car apart or flee, whichever he deemed necessary, "they parked upwind."

"That means they want to talk?" said Calli, not relaxing.

"Most likely."

He resumed walking, Calli a bit behind and to his left, at the curb. As they approached the car the driver - human but a bound servant - got out and hurried around to open the rearmost right-side door. A pleasant-looking, well-dressed man got out and smiled, spreading his hands in a gesture of peace.

"I am the Duke of New Orleans, Roger Alperne. Welcome to my town."

"Thank you for the gracious welcome," said the old man, with a sweeping bow. "My bond and I have only been here for one night and we are actually on our way out of the area. You have my word we have not fed in your territory and have obeyed the rules of free passage."

"How are you called?" said the Duke, stepping a bit closer at this reassurance.

Calli could tell the driver was as watchful as she, and there were at least two other vampires in the back of the car, also on full alert. None of this was particularly worrying; in fact, it was business as usual in the world of most vampires.

"Oh, I have many names," said the old man, with a casual shrug. "I'm not certain which you might have heard: Camus and The Stranger in the recent past. Most commonly these days, I go by Old Dog."

The other vampire smiled. He didn't even try to make it look natural. The rictus would have made a human uneasy, but Calli had lost those instincts. What mattered was that he was indicating peaceful intent.

"Your pick of names to relate tells me a great deal about you... and what you know about me. Yes, I am fairly young. I come from a strong line, though, and am supported by my creator, Don Romano."

"I am familiar with your lineage, actually," said the old man, with a nod of respect. "That is why I didn't intend to formally introduce myself. I avoid politics, these days."

"If I am correct, you have also been called Solomon," said the Duke.

"Not always in a complimentary fashion."

"You are either humble or know you don't need to brag," said the Duke, seeming pleased. His mood grew more serious. "If you are the one I seek, then I ask a boon."

"On behalf of your creator, I will grant it," said the old man, after a moment of thought.

"There is a three-way dispute among the night walkers of this city. A dispute which threatens to erupt into open warfare. Several have already died due to this conflict. I want you to negotiate a truce. If you can bring the three sides into at least general agreement I would be satisfied. If you can completely resolve the conflict that would be wonderful and I would owe you a significant favor. I will supply a place to stay, food and clothing for the duration of the negotiations, and transportation afterwards to any location in this region you desire."

"I heard there were troubles in this town," said the old man, frowning in thought. "I hadn't realized things were this bad."

"There was an... incident two weeks ago which greatly aggravated the situation."

"Then I agree."

"Then I declare that you and your companion are under my protection and acting with my authority in the upcoming negotiations."

* * *

The limousine stopped at an isolated mansion. Calli noted that the windows of the building were all heavily curtained. Their host escorted them inside, where they were given a formal welcome.

Cali had the distinct impression that the entire human staff was staying up late just for them. She appreciated that, but would appreciate a good meal more. She was feeling decidedly hungry by now. Still, she was not so hungry that she ignored her situation.

"What's wrong with my clothes?" said Calli, sounding a bit peeved as she prowled the rooms they had been assigned.

She habitually dressed much as she had before being Made, in ragged jeans, t-shirt and old athletic shoes. The main difference being that she was even less likely now to wear a bra. Given that her master habitually wore what she mentally labelled old-style gentleman hobo couture she felt he had as much - or little - concern about appearances as she did.

"My dear, if I am the negotiator then you are my assistant," said the old man, grandly. "We must both dress the part."

"In my case, 'dress' is probably literal," said Calli, sourly. She shook her head. "Sorry. Think I'm just hungry."

"We will be fed soon," said the old man, smiling in anticipation.

"'Invited guests of a powerful lord are feted in style,'" she said, reciting what she had learned in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Exactly. This Duke is a powerful figure, financially as well as politically. We will be well cared for, and in return must not embarrass him."

As if on cue there was a knock on the door. A food cart was wheeled in. The servants quickly set up trays with their meal: Large tumblers of rewarmed blood bank fare, with a pitcher for refills. Palatable, though not as good as fresh. If the old man felt slighted by this he gave no sign.

Both he and Calli drank enough to take the edge off, and a bit more. As the servants removed the remains of the meal more people arrived, to enquire as to their clothing sizes and preferences.

The Duke came in once all was finished. He and the old man sat at a small table and spoke at length about the problems in the city. Cali stayed alert but learned little. She simply didn't have enough context about the local situation to understand the significance of what was discussed. Finally, the Duke bade them good morning.

"Now, we see to our toilette then to bed," said the old man, sounding satisfied. "It's a bit before dawn, yet, but I want us to be well rested for tomorrow night."

In her adjoining rooms Calli enjoyed her first actual bath in months. Showers at the Y or a homeless shelter were good enough for hygiene, but a hot soak was one of the few pleasures she still enjoyed. Afterwards she put on the pajamas the Duke's staff had provided and climbed gratefully into bed.

* * *

When Calli rose the next evening she found her master examining the artwork in his room. This activity was cut short as their meal arrived. It was a repeat of the night before, except with animal blood. When Calli commented on this - with a bit more snark than she intended - the old man explained that the Duke was catering to his guests' known preferences.

"Besides, this is a mere apéritif," said the old man, with a non-Cajun French accent, also apparently legitimate. "Wait until later, when we meet with the three parties for a formal dinner. Then you will see him meeting the tastes of the most demanding of those present."

He smiled, and for once looked far more sinister than his usual bland demeanor.

The servants cleared their meal, and the pair was informed that the lord of the manner would enjoy showing them around his property. The Duke gave them a tour of his home, inside and out, while he and the old man spoke more about the dispute. Calli lent them half an hear, most of her attention on their surroundings. Her primary duty was, after all, the old man's safety.

The pair had just returned to their quarters when someone knocked on their door.

"Your pardon," said the heavily-burdened young man who was the first in a procession. "We have clothes for you."

The old man directed them where to put the items.

"I trust you to choose wisely," he said, with a raised eyebrow at Calli.

In other words, she better choose wisely.

"What's your name?" said Calli, as the third and last young man placed his bundle on her assigned bed.

"Daryl, ma'am," he said very deferentially.

By his scent he wasn't a bound servant. Most likely a hireling or wannabe.

"Daryl, how long do we have until..." Was it supper? Lunch? Argh. "The meal."

"Just under an hour and a half, ma'am."

Calli felt uncomfortable with his deferential attitude. However, as she dithered he turned to leave, and she had something else to ask him. Calli reached out and put a hand on his arm. Daryl froze... and shivered.

Oh, she thought, sourly. One of those.

She turned him around and pulled her hand away. Staying close, but not too close. Multiple emotions - memories more than anything current - played through her mind, one of them regret. If he was a wannabe he deserved to know what it actually was he wanted.

"Becoming a vampire burns away a human's social instincts," she told him, flatly. "Some lines are less affected than others, but we all lose at least some of the normal inborn interaction skills. It's a bit like autism. That's why most vampires are usually blunt or formal. No sex drive, either. Any enticement is deliberate, like an angler fish wiggling its lure."

"Yes, ma'am," said Daryl, eyes wide.

"This is nothing you shouldn't have already learned for yourself," she said, firmly. "If you weren't so caught up in the modern fairy tale of the exotic, erotic vampire you would have."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, this time his voice a squeak.

"Now, get on with your duties."

He left, quickly and without another word.

* * *

Calli chose a strapless evening dress in flat black, with accompanying gloves, stockings and low-heeled shoes. From the jewelry box in her room she picked a modest necklace and matching brooch and earrings. All the adornments were of an old style, and she had to shove the posts through her unpierced ears, but that was less than an inconvenience. Her short hair was a bit of a conundrum, until she found several boxes of wigs in the closet. One of those served well enough. The old man looked her over and nodded without comment. He was in a formal dinner jacket. Both of their outfits were old-fashioned, decades out of date, but elegant and stylish.

They arrived at roughly the same time as several other guests, all formally attired but for different eras. From the looks they gave each other and where they sat, deducing who was in which of the three parties was easy. As introductions were made Calli learned that the others present were puzzled by the old man and Calli. Who revealed nothing about the reason for their being there.

Dinner was a formal affair, though one with only a single dish: Fresh human blood, served in decorative flagons. Calli had rarely drunk human blood from the source, and never taken the donor's life to do so; that could attract unwanted attention. She wondered where this came from. Despite her hunger, she glanced at the old man, and saw him gracefully lift his vessel and drink. Calmly but deeply.

Following her master's lead, Calli drank. She drank in a controlled, paced fashion, but she drank. Most of those present concealed whatever they thought of the amount the pair consumed - flagon after flagon - but some were openly amazed. A few were openly frightened. Two things formed a vampire's capacity for blood; age and closeness to the source. Both meant power.

As they finished Calli noted this was the first time she had been full since her conversion. She actually felt a bit groggy, as she had been warned. However, she very well understood that their gorging themselves was a message to the others present. We could drain you dry. Hopefully, that would both reduce any attempts at violence or undue influence and make those whom they were refereeing more accepting of whatever advice the old man offered. Calli glanced at the Duke; he seemed pleased.

When her mentor finally turned down an offer of a refill - a few after Calli called it quits - the Duke stood and tapped the ornate silver handle of a knife on his own final vessel, which was not quite empty. He seemed inordinately pleased about something.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am honored to present to you the Elder sometimes known as Solomon, and his lovely aide."

There was a smattering of applause and several looks of revelation. That simple announcement explained both their capacity and their presence.

"After learning that he was passing through my city I persuaded him to help with a dispute which has plagued us these last several months. He will act as neutral arbitrator and hopefully settle this matter permanently."

What followed that memorable meal was talk. Couched calmly and formally, the discussion reviewed the history of vampires in New Orleans - which Calli actually found interesting - and then moved into an explanation of the background which had led to the current dispute. This example of local politics did not interest Calli. That - combined with her current full state - threatened to make her inattentive. She had to repeatedly dig her nails into her thighs to maintain her alertness.

Calli knew the image she presented. She was a dark-haired, dark-eyed, pale-skinned, tall and lanky tomboy. She had been told more than once - starting long before being Made - that she had a distinct feral look. Which was part of why the old man had taken her in. He had taught her how to use that impression in multiple ways. Right now she was playing the politically ignorant but alert bodyguard.

As her meal digested during the long discussion and her attention improved Calli realized that there was more to the respectful attitudes of the others present than the capacity for blood the pair demonstrated. Many of them seemed to know who the old man was, at least by reputation. One of the Duke's supporters actually seemed to know him, perhaps had met him before.

Calli knew the old man was, well, old. Even ancient. Despite the Duke's claim, he didn't seem to be one of the mythical Elders, but that didn't mean he wasn't one. He always played coy about his past, even when asked directly, not trying to deceive but making obvious that he had no intent to reveal anything. Calli eyed him thoughtfully. The stronger he was, the stronger she was. She had been in few fights since being Made, winning all of them, though one with difficulty. He had been in one, which he won. However, that fight had been... strange. It had appeared to be completely non-physical, strictly a matter of power versus power.

Fortunately, such conflicts were rare. It was a measure of his diplomacy and reputation that few supernatural creatures of any type would openly challenge him.

The others present were a varied lot, in lineage and age. One of them - introduced as Madam Luciana Dornig - was the head of the most antagonistic of the three factions, the one supposedly responsible for several vampire and human deaths. Some of them at her own hands. An accusation which she flatly denied. The woman struck Calli as emotionally frigid and inhuman. Far more so than most of the vampires she had met in the past two years. Another faction leader - Emil Donker - was an enigma to Calli. He was very self-possessed but also sociable, even cordial. He might be very dangerous and simply not bothering to posture.

The third faction head was somewhere in the middle. Adam Suskind struck Calli as younger than the other two, but from a stronger line. He was brash, confident and so far refusing to commit to any decision reached here. He worried Calli more as an overtly physical threat than did the other two, but Dornig was a more valid general concern.

They came nowhere near a decision that night. None of them expected to. The old man had made considerable progress in learning the story behind the dispute and where each person stood and why. Sometimes to the surprise of the parties involved. Negotiating a non-violent settlement might take weeks. Or lifetimes.

As Calli and the old man walked back to their rooms - escorted at a discreet distance by some of the Duke's vampire and bound human servants - they spoke in low tones.

"What did you learn?" he asked her.

Callie summarized the dispute, and gave her analysis of the three faction leaders.

"Very good. Madam Dornig is likely to be the most stubborn in these negotiations, but if she agrees to terms she will consider herself bound by them."

Calli chewed this over, nodding as she thought. She looked at the old man for a moment, trying to phrase her next words carefully. He caught her off guard by stopping and turning to her.

"Do you have a question?"

"Could I take her?" she asked, deciding to abandon tact.

He frowned.

"I think so. You have only been a vampire for a little over two years, but you have made fine progress. Luciana is over two centuries old, but from a weak line, and she is distant from the source. Also, she prefers guile over assault. She arranges for others to act as she wishes then denies responsibility. In a straightforward fight, I believe you could take not only her but any of her court, many of them in pairs. Note that with her a straightforward fight is unlikely."

"Suskind?"

"In a straightforward fight - despite his confidence - yes. Given that confidence he is the most likely of the three to engage in open violence. However, I consider that currently unlikely."

"What about the Duke?"

"Perhaps. I understand he was quite a brawler back when human. While he doesn't seek out combat these days, he doesn't shrink from it and is apparently good at it. However, as far as I know he hasn't had the sort of training I am giving you."

"Donker?"

"No," he said, surprising her. "Do not even think about that. He is old and well-trained. He knows techniques beyond the physical."

"Like what you did to that vampire in Chicago?"

Uncharacteristically, she shivered a bit. Not from fear - which held little meaning for her now - but from the effect produced by just the memory of that strange experience. It was, quite simply, beyond her capacity to understand.

"Yes. I could take Donker, in a one-on-one fight we both knew was coming. If he caught me by surprise, with time to prepare, he would likely win. However, he is the most reasonable of the three, the most likely to take a decision against him in stride."

He gave her an evaluating look.

"Do you have so little faith in my skills as a negotiator that you think we may need to fight our way out?"

"No. These are some of the most powerful vampires I've met. They're personally strong and capable, and well established here. I... need to know what I can do, in comparison."

"That is reasonable."

He resumed walking. Until Calli moved in front of him.

"Master..." She addressed him formally, to let the old man know she was serious. "How strong am I?"

"Very," he said, equally serious. "If you want numbers, I'm afraid I can't give them to you. At a guess, you could defeat most vampires who haven't learned the aura technique you mentioned. Which generally requires a strong line and at least three centuries of training."

He gently took both her wrists in his hands, and smiled at her. He made the expression look natural.

"You are my child, and I am proud of you. You are capable in many ways. Do not doubt your abilities."

* * *

Days passed. Calli settled into the routine of the household and the negotiations, though she was careful not to let herself become complacent. She actually made - "friends" was too strong a word - acquaintances among the Duke's staff. Even Daryl became less in awe of her, though he still acted like the old man was God's own representative.

The dispute - as they often did - turned out to be largely a matter of misunderstandings. Behind that, though, there was a solid, stubborn core of disagreement between the three parties. Still, by the fifth night the old man had the Duke, Suskind and Donker in general agreement as to a solution. Dornig was so far refusing to bend, but the old man told Calli in confidence that if he could get even two of the other three to agree to one particular change she would yield to the rest. The Duke was doing his best to remain neutral, though he obviously favored Suskind.

Tonight, though, there was something different in the air. Calli felt it while she dressed for the meal; the old man had a plan, had probably learned something he could use against one of more of the parties in the dispute. Accordingly, Calli drank sparingly at the meal, pacing herself in the hope that the others would not notice.

They probably noticed. The old man certainly did, giving her a knowing - and approving - look. Finally all were finished with their meal. The servants cleared the table and the Duke opened the proceedings. The old man then set to work. However, his tack was different tonight. He spent time on what appeared to be casual conversation, saying he wanted to get to know the involved parties. He was able to obtain further information from the leaders of each of the three factions about their histories and tastes.

Finally - seeming satisfied about something - he looked around the room in a dramatic pause before speaking.

"I believe I can resolve this dispute tonight," said the old man. "You see, I have discovered that one of you is not who you are pretending to be."

That caused a stir. Then a reaction.

"Really," said Madam Dornig, "that is such a juvenile tactic."

"Yet, but effective. Especially since that accusation is true. I sought background information on each of you, looking for some niche, somewhere I could apply a metaphorical lever. In the process I learned something unexpected. I actually am impressed at the subterfuge."

"Get on with it," said Dornig, tiredly.

"Adam Suskind died sixteen years ago."

The sudden directness was as shocking as the revelation. The old man turned his gaze on "Suskind."

"Do you have an explanation?"

"Of course," he said, with a calm smile.

Abruptly, he rose, throwing a stake with each hand. One at the old man, one at the Duke.

The world went into slow motion for Calli. Her first responsibility was her Maker, but she could see that he was already easily dodging out of the way. The Duke was also reacting, but too slowly. His servants were moving even more slowly. Calli lunged, grabbing the second stake when it was a bit more than halfway to its target.

"I will handle matters here," said the old man, as time came most of the way back to normal.

Calli didn't even bother nodding, but launched herself after the fleeing vampire, captured stake in hand.

* * *

Remembering her lessons, Calli went wide around the corner "Suskind" had taken. She actually kicked off the wall to make the turn, damaging the tough, old plaster and lath. As she had half expected, her prey was waiting just around the corner to ambush her. Her acrobatic maneuver caught him off guard, and she slid to a stop a little beyond him.

He recovered quickly, perhaps realizing that Calli was the only effective barrier between him and the nearest exit. "Suskind" lunged at her with incredible speed, a stake in his right hand. Calli barely blocked, then spun out of the way.

There was a brief flurry of strike, parry and counterstrike, with neither gaining a clear advantage. They broke, and studied each other for a moment.

"The old bastard trained you well," said "Suskind," with a nasty smirk he obviously practiced. "Another few decades and you might be a good fight for me. You're not getting those decades."

He started forward. Calliope reached to her left and tore the heavy curtain away from the east-facing window. It was still well before dawn, but her opponent shied back reflexively.

"Idiot."

Calliope shoved against the wall, then swung the stake in a horizontal arc, ending in the center of his chest.

"Suskind" screamed as he found himself pinned. He grabbed the stake and tried to tear it loose, but it was tough old hardwood, well and truly embedded in the sturdy wall at his back. He tried to pull himself off the stake, but its taper made that impossible. Oddly, he then reached towards Calliope in a pleading gesture.

She simply stood there as the others approached.

"Yes, very good," said the old man, nodding. He glanced at the Duke. "I believe his sentence should be that we wait and do nothing, letting the Sun consume him at dawn."

By the that time Suskind - or whatever his name was - had stopped moving. That would change with the first touch of the dawn light, in due time. The others stood watch, as motionless as posed corpses, until he was a burned husk.

* * *

Suskind's servants were held by the Duke's security staff until both he and the old man could dominate and thoroughly interrogate them the next evening. That was done first thing upon rising.

Finally satisfied that their crimes were minor and with appropriate punishments decided by the Duke, the rest of the evening proceeded as the previous several had. The first order of business after their meal was the old man giving more details about Suskind's pretense and likely goals.

"So that was it," said Donker, nodding, once the old man finished. "I sensed some hand at work, but thought it was either the Duke or Luciana."

"I believe we all thought something similar," said Dornig, scowling. "Hard to believe such an insignificant... thing nearly succeeded in his plot."

"If it is any consolation, that insignificance was a sham," said the old man. "He was actually nearly five centuries old, and long practiced at working from behind the scenes. He took a more direct role, this time, but still wore a mask. I think that if I could have interrogated him I might have found the solution to many mysteries. Including several recent deaths and disappearances in your community."

"That you stopped him is sufficient," said Donker. Telling what he thought was difficult, but he seemed impressed. He was looking at the old man as he spoke, but then moved his gaze to Calli. "Though he would have escaped if not for your child."

"She does me proud," said the old man, smiling at Calliope.

Donker then smoothly stood and bowed towards the Duke, a formal acknowledgement of rule which he had not given before.

"Your Grace, you have earned my respect and fealty. Long may you reign over New Orleans."

With a bit of hesitation, Dornig joined him. Then all their servants did as well.

* * *

The old man and Cali spent the day at the Duke's mansion, but he made it clear before retiring they would be leaving the next night.

True to the Duke's word, after a final meal the old man and Calli were dropped off in a wooded area outside New Orleans.

"Well, my dear," he said, as the limousine's lights disappeared into the distance, "the easy living is over. Time to get back to the hard life."

He patted his flat, hard stomach and gave her a practiced smile.

"Time to work off this fat we gained."

Calli didn't laugh often, these days. At least, not honestly. This was an exception.