Promotions

Morgana led Father Mitchell down a flight of stairs and down the silent hallway before stopping before room 307.

Standing outside the door they both heard a man’s supernaturally persuasive voice within, saying “… all of the pollution of man’s technology will be wiped clean, and the world will be renewed, a world of harmony and peace, of wonder and magic.”

“Marauder,” mouthed Father Mitchell quietly.

Morgana gestured toward the side of the door with a nod of her head, soundlessly saying “Just like last time.” He nodded, quickly and briefly sketching a cross in the air above Morgana’s head, then seemed to merge with the dim shadows of the hallway.

The Marauder’s voice continued from within: “And you, Carolyn, can be an important part of this renewal, if you will only join us this night.”

Morgana stooped before the door and produced a pair of thin probes, which she inserted into the lock, thankful that the hotel had not yet switched to the new electronic locks. She silently manipulated the lock, sliding the bolt back quietly. She replaced the probes, palmed her derringer, then boldly pushed the door open.

Inside Morgana saw Carolyn standing in the center of the suite staring mutely in fascination at the man standing before her. Morgana recognized him from earlier that evening: he was dressed as Carolyn’s charismatic Starchild character Derek Michaelson, richly garbed in a tunic, breeches, and cape of glossy black satin with intricate gold needlework. The sound of the door opening caused the Marauder and Carolyn to wheel about to face her.

“Fancy meeting you here,” said Morgana conversationally. She took several steps into the room, noting Carolyn’s half-entranced stare that contrasted with the man’s challenging one.

The Marauder mocked her with a smug, self-satisfied grin. “The world of magic I work for has a place for creatures of the night, vampire,” replied the Marauder persuasively. “You may join us this night, too. After all, I have you to thank for preparing this prospective Mage’s will so obligingly.”

Angrily, Morgana shook her head in dismissal, casually brushing aside his supernaturally-persuasive words. Instead she stared directly at Carolyn, capturing her vacant gaze. Morgana seized the opportunity: “Carolyn Knight,” said Morgana suddenly, “sleep!”

Smiling, Carolyn quietly said “Okay” as she crumpled to her knees, then fell sideways onto the bed. At the same time, Morgana felt a sudden rush of air from the doorway as a furious blast of wind hammered at the Marauder. He fell backwards and rolled to the far wall. He lay pinned against the wall for a moment, then he produced a long white bone wand from under his garb and swept it out before him: the wind ceased immediately.

The Marauder looked past Morgana, and she could hear Father Mitchell step inside and close the door. The Marauder pointed the wand at Father Mitchell and said three harsh, flat words; Morgana heard Father Mitchell gasp and stagger against the wall.

Turning toward Morgana, the Marauder raised his wand in her direction. “Now that your companion is busy saving his own life, I can deal with the likes of you, Corpse, then finish your Mage companion,” he said vehemently.

Defiantly, Morgana raised her hands, pointing the derringer at him. The Marauder haughtily examined the tiny pistol held in Morgana’s hands. “That cannot hurt me,” he sneered, quickly gesturing with the wand, “but my magic will hurt you.”

Morgana felt a wave of pain as ghostly claws broke through a suddenly shimmering wall of light before her to rake her left arm. She stifled a scream of pain and glared balefully at the Marauder. “I’m a master of magic myself,” said Morgana ferally; “what do you think of this magic trick?”

The derringer in her double-fisted grip barked and bucked: a long wide cone of white flame spouted from its end, completely engulfing the Marauder. The blast knocked his wand from his hand to bounce off the wall out of reach. The acrid stench of burning phosphorus hung in the air as a shotgun shell dropped away from the derringer.

Behind Morgana, Father Mitchell’s deep voice chanted several words in Latin. Bolts of lightning leaped from the electrical appliances and outlets around the room to strike at the Marauder. He jerked in an aurora of St. Elmo’s Fire, his limbs trembling and jerking in a grotesque version of St. Vitus’ Dance. Morgana stepped forward and fired another burst of flame point-blank into his midsection as a final jolt of electricity played along his form.

There is a terrifying moment of silence as the Marauder stood erect, facing them defiantly, then he fell face-first to the floor.

Morgana looked at Father Mitchell, who had come up to kneel beside the unconscious form of Carolyn. “Will she be all right?” she asked, concern evident in her voice.

Father Mitchell pulled Carolyn’s eyelid back, noting the rapid response. “She’ll be fine. After a display like this, though, she’s definitely going to Awaken, and soon. I’ve got to get her to the Chantry, fast.”

Father Mitchell picked up the unconscious Carolyn and cradled her against his shoulder, then hurried to the door. He chanted a long singsong rhyming Latin phrase in his deep, bell-like voice. When he finished, he opened the door to reveal a brightly-lit room. Morgana, walking up beside him, saw within several men holding a variety of automatic weapons or arcane talismans. Father Mitchell nodded to them, then motioned over his shoulder and said “Clean up detail.” Three men crossed over the threshold and scurried toward the fallen Marauder.

Father Mitchell looked at Morgana. “Carolyn is in good hands now,” he said, smiling, and Morgana nodded and smiled in reply and satisfaction. Father Mitchell took one step forward, crossing the boundary. Suddenly he reached backwards, quickly taking hold of Morgana’s hand and pulling her through after him.