Tuesday, 22 June 1999, 1:40 AM
The High Museum of Art
Atlanta, Georgia

A thousand million billion thoughts raced through Victoria's mind. She could be wrong, but she guessed herself not so much in shock as completely and utterly baffled. She struggled to find a means to put the pieces together. Were the Nosferatu involved? Rolph had left early. The only other early departure was Vegel, but she'd seen the Setite's chauffeur when she returned to the garage with Samuel. If that was supposed to be a distraction, then why one that called attention to Vegel's absence?

Additionally, if forced to guess, she would say that Hesha was surprised by his henchman's absence too. Victoria couldn't read people nearly as well over the phone as in person, and Setites in general were slippery liars, so it was very possible that Hesha was part of the deception. If it even had been Hesha on the other end of that line. The Toreador knew to take nothing for granted, especially on a night when a Sabbat attack had decimated the Kindred of her city.

The questions about the Sabbat themselves were limitless, and it only confused Victoria more to give them room to whirl in her conscious thought, so she kept them pushed back.

Some of her questions clearly had no importance any longer. Did Eleanor know Victoria was responsible for the tip to Benison about the missiles? Had she told Julius? Just as with everything regarding the last two years of Victoria's life, those questions were now meaningless.

Because Victoria had no doubt that absolutely every Camarilla Kindred attending her Summer Solstice Ball had been destroyed by the Sabbat. Perhaps one or two more besides herself had escaped, but she couldn't imagine it. She'd managed to escape only because of the trapdoor she'd installed in the floor of her cubicle of glass.

After she had gained the cover of that cubicle, it had taken her a moment to overcome the shock-there had been shock then-and begin to make life-saving decisions. The trapdoor led to a maintenance area between the third and fourth floor, and the less than four-foot height meant Victoria crawled to safety.

She heard the screams and threats and war cries above her, and more than once she crawled through a puddle of blood. She imagined she heard Julius's taunts, and she stretched her fantasies to imagine him victorious, but the odds were too great. Besides, the sounds of struggle ended too quickly. Not even one with Julius's speed could vanquish so many foes so quickly. Perhaps he and Benison together, but the Toreador knew such thoughts were mere fancy.

If she doubted the totality of the Sabbat victory at that moment, then any residual hopes were quashed when she reached the parking garage. She had hoped to find her ghouls unaware of the death above them. They would throw her into her Rolls Royce and race to one of her South Georgia havens-though maybe it would be better to go north-before the dawn arrived.

But they were decapitated and gutted. The same for the driver in the limo, which she now knew to be Vegel's vehicle. Like her Rolls, the limo appeared to have a light-sealed compartment where a sleeping Kindred might hide, but Victoria didn't dare remain so close to the Sabbat horde. The wheels on the cars were all slashed, but she suspected the perpetrators would return for whatever booty these cars might hold. She couldn't imagine a band of that size staying together for longer than it took to annihilate the Camarilla, anyway. No doubt they would be fighting each other for whatever baubles might be found on their victims.

And that's where Victoria was now. Looking inside Vegel's limo for anything of use, she decided there would be one less item for the Sabbat to consider confiscating, because she took the cell phone. Her own phone was wired into the Rolls, so this portable one suited her present need. Besides, she knew the number the chauffeur dialed to reach Hesha, and she would use it if necessary. If it really was Hesha and he really didn't know why Vegel was missing, then perhaps he would help her. For a price, of course, but any price was worth her life. Well, almost any price.

Then Victoria hurried out of the parking garage to the small street behind the museum. She wanted to find a covered position that allowed a view of the top floor of the building, but satisfying her curiosity wasn't worth the risk of exposure.

The noise seemed to come from a long way off, but the echoing ding of the elevator doors sent shivers down Victoria's spine. She immediately ducked behind a low concrete wall and looked back at the extreme interior of the garage. A gang of oddly shaped shadows emerged from the recesses of the elevator.

She forced herself to remain calm. Panicking now would only bring them upon her more quickly. But when a pair of dark red eyes seemed to flash from the darkness directly toward the spot where Victoria crouched, the Toreador lost her resolve. Summoning every bit of inhuman speed she could muster, the Toreador ran for her life.

Though her powers and her blood meant she rocketed along the street at a speed unknown to the greatest human sprinters, the pursuit seemed possessed of the same uncanny prowess, and Victoria numbered the moments of her life by the steps she took. And in a very real sense, her life did evaporate with her every stride. For her incredible speed-and she now outstripped any speed limit humans imposed upon vehicles within the confines of this city-was empowered by the blood within her. As a human kine burns calories to fuel exertion, so the Kindred body requires blood.

Through the blurred haze of lampposts and concrete and glass, Victoria blessed her indulgence this evening. Yes, she had celebrated far too soon, for she'd sensed the victory that would have been hers if not for this outrageous assault by the Sabbat, but this evening she partook in good measure of the blood she offered her guests at the High Museum. She usually denied herself this blood, for it came in crystal flutes and was devoid of the scent of mortal flesh. The warmth it carried was that of stovetop simmering and not of kine vigor. She was not a passionless monster desiring only to satisfy her hunger; the humanity she set her wits to fanning in other Kindred by virtue of her inhuman powers and ultra-human beauty still flickered within her as well.

But the humanity was soon forgotten amidst her present flight. The blood encapsulated by her lifeless flesh burned and flushed her with the speed she required, but giving herself to the motion for so long-sustaining her flight for so many moments with blood that was stolen from a now-dead mortal-brought the monster she denied closer to the surface.

Victoria's body shuddered with feral ecstasy, for it had been many long years since she last gave in so heedlessly to the potential of her immortal form. It had been so long since she'd needed to. And it was required now, for though a beast, she knew herself the prey and not the predator. A glance over her shoulder confirmed that despite her terrible speed, a trio of the Sabbat still dogged her, though others had fallen out of sight.

They were slender creatures who seemed to cut through space as if the air gave no resistance. Long and spindly-legged, they did not possess the build a sprinter should, so Victoria knew she was undone if they could move so quickly regardless. These creatures were built for distance. For endurance. And though by dint of great effort she increased her lead by a stride and two and three, the Toreador knew she would not shake them before she burned her entire consumption of blood.

Without that blood she would stand no chance when cornered. Although maybe that was best.

But she gave one final effort. Her body flushed with warmth and she found a greater speed. Victoria ducked around corners, through breezeways of office buildings, into underground garages and soon the athletic capacity she demanded of her tiring body overmatched the simple knots that strung her faux-Grecian garb to her curved body. It slipped off and fluttered to the side, revealing glimpses of a body that could be possessed only by a Toreador whose greatest work was herself. Even so, dashing naked through the Atlanta night, too fast for mortal eyes to track or at least comprehend, Victoria continued to clutch the cellular phone with the impossibly mad hope that it might yet save her.

The humid night felt cool on Victoria's heated skin, but as she slowed to a trot and then came to a standstill, that taste of the wind became the bitter one of freedom lost. Though they'd lost contact with her for several seconds at times, the Sabbat pack was yet upon her trail, so flight held no further purpose.

Her eyes swallowed her probable last view of the night. One hundred thousand prior nights had been hers. She knew she'd lived those nights as if they were hers exclusively. She'd sought beauty and power so she could have more of both. Arrogant, yes. And egotistical too. But she couldn't regret it. Here, at the end, with a halo of city lights blotting out the starlight above her, Victoria was alone. For what other than herself should she have fought? For whose fate but her own was she responsible?

As she watched the three lanky humanoids close upon her, Victoria briefly wondered if this night was in fact her exact one hundred thousandth sunset. It was damn close.

The fiends did not slow as they neared Victoria. They fanned out, but their incredible pace did not abate. They slavered and howled, and Victoria held no hope of victory. She would join those felled at the High-if she was lucky. This defeat would not hurt so much as would the vanquishing to come if she survived. The Sabbat despised beauty, and if they could resist destroying her outright, Victoria might became a prized plaything of some Sabbat lord foul beyond imagination.

The Toreador prepared to fight. Prepared to goad the creatures to blood frenzy. Better to be ripped to shreds in an orgy of predation than be dissected and disfigured by a cool-headed surgeon. The Sabbat was so frightening because it was capable of both.