1 AM: Private Suite Reverend Jeremiah Thomas

There was chaos going on inside The Hotel, but Reverend Thomas is blissfully unaware of it. Content that he had successfully helped overseen the design of the security doors, he turns his attention once again towards acquiring the public library as his municipal asset. He lays out the candles, five in a row on the west side of the room, and five on the right. Lighting them, he reflects how such small flames often strike terror into even the most hardy of Kindred. A silly thing, really. But when you are immortal and there are only six or seven ways to die, you tend to avoid even the smallest of chances of disaster.

Summoning rituals made such a chance a necessity however. And the Tremere had overcome his fear of tiny flames many years ago.

He places the picture of the Head Librarian,  a spry looking man in his fifties named Samuel Lukos, in the center of a small brazier. He had acquired it during his earlier mission to the library,

He pours the mixture on top of the photo, and then chants the spell aloud. Only a soft whisper is required, the magic will do the rest, he knows.

The summoning now done, he heads towards the stairwell and almost gets barreled over by the Nosferatu. "Get outta my way. Can't you see I have a challenge to win?" Mortimer continues on down the hall. "We are all trying to win, Mr. Smith." Reverend Thomas was annoyed. Clearly, Mortimer is a lush. Perhaps that's why he stays away from the others. 

He hears the soft laughter of Salihah as she trails behind. "Who does he think he is? As though we are not all competing in-" He starts but she cuts him off. "No, no. He's competing against Marshall Barry. Whoever gets their business first wins. And, apparently he didn't know that if you drank from intoxicated people, you get drunk as well. It's his first time!"

Well, that certainly changes the perspective on the situation. Reverend Thomas turns and watches Mortimer stagger up the stairwell. "I wonder where he's going. The petting zoo is clearly not up there." She giggles. "He's drunk! Who knows what he'll do next! Let's watch him!"

"While I admit I am curious, I have a task that requires my attention. Please excuse me."

He continues on to the lobby, where Jeeps sits on his stool. "Mr. Jeeps."

"Just, Jeeps, sir. How may I be of service to you?"

"A man, in his fifties will be coming here. His name is Samuel Lukos. He will be bewildered, and unsure of why he has come. But do not turn him away. Keep him here and send word to me."

"Very good, sir. I will do so."

Jeeps, The Tremere elder reflects, is a good, solid man for the job he's doing. He could have questioned the decision to summon a mortal to the competition headquarters, and indeed, Jeremiah had anticipated that he would and had prepared an intentionally snide diatribe to put the ghoul back in his place. Instead, only compliance came from the servant. He had no doubt that Mr. Confetti had worked with Jeeps on many occasions before, and that the seeming lackadaisical approach to his job hid a much more capable individual with an agenda of Mr. Confetti's own devising. He could use a man of his own like that here in Gary. He would have to see to it. Doing menial tasks would only set him behind both his adversaries in the contest and the members of his own Tremere clan in the region. There was no one who competed quite like Tremere in their own Chantry. Behind the closed doors, each had a private agenda to fill. He had no doubt that it was exactly the same here in Chicago, and that he would find Abraham DuSable a worthy opponent, not to mention the others he would find there on Tuesday evening, which, he reflected, was tomorrow.

It would eliminate him from competing, but he would not miss a single meeting, for certain. The advantage of having seven nights for the competition over six belonged to his rivals. He had no doubt, though, that some of them would end up in the same predicament. The Nosferatu was the most likely of them. His clan was a close-knit family and he would surely be asked to become part of their spy network. That would distract him. The Toreador would most certainly be dragged into the muck by his clan. With Prince Modius making a foolhardy play for the seat of Chicago, there will be all kinds of politics that would force Pablo out of his superhero suit and into the spotlight of his clan's needs. Perhaps the Tzisime might even be forced to play in the Jihyad by members of the Sabbat. That would certainly be interesting, wouldn't it?

Likely she wouldn't be contacted by them, and it was likelier still that the Setite would be left alone. Prince Lodin's reputation for harsh justice against her clan meant a high likelihood that she was the only one here. Advantage Salihah.

Reverend Thomas walks to the second floor, and knocks on all the doors, one by one. The little bellboy girl opens her door and looks out. "Ah. I am looking for Mr. Confetti's suite." The girl nods, and escorts him to the very end of the hall. Without knocking, she merely pushes the door open. She looks expectantly at the Tremere elder. "That will be all, thanks." She nods and shrugs, and walks away. It takes him a moment to realize that she was hoping for a tip. The Nosferatu had been generous to her, he remembered from the implanted memories. It was a bad habit he'd started. Mortimer, for all of his computer aptitude and skill with obfuscation, was a rookie immortal. Tipping the girl, and then tipping himself tonight were two prime examples. If they were not competitors, he might take the man under his wing. As it stood, his inexperience would clearly hinder him from gaining points at the speed that the Tremere elder could get them.

"Are you just going to stand out there, or are you coming in?" Mr. Confetti's enthusiasm and mirth bubbles through everything he says. But Jeremiah isn't fooled. This is a very dangerous individual. And like all Malkavians, he is mentally unstable.

He enters the room. "Mr. Confetti, we need to have a discussion."

"Do we?" Confetti is on the bench of a grand piano. He suddenly plays a concerto. Quite perfectly. He forces the Tremere to wait, An intentional annoyance.

Mr. Confetti spins on his bench towards him. "I can guess why you are here."

"Can you? Or have you simply read my mind?"

"No need for that. You have your first meeting at the Chantry tomorrow night. And you are nervous that I'm going to allow everyone to see what happens at it. That is why you are here, isn't it?"

Damn the Malkavians and their uncanny instincts. "It would be an extraordinary violation of Tremere law for any outsiders to observe the clan's decision making process. I request that I am not to be observed on Tuesday evenings. At least, not while I am inside the Chantry."

"Your request is denied!" Mr. Confetti simply smiles. "It is not really a request. Already, you have revealed Abraham DuSable's identity to the others. If he learned of it, he would burn this place to the ground with all of us inside."

"Well, I'd suggest we not tell him then. Jeremiah, this is how the game is played. I am even revealing many of my own movements to you all. The ones I am not revealing are because they'd give away secrets that will be fun to-"

"This is not about fun. This is about clan politics. I will not sabotage the Tremere to-"

"Won't you, Jeremiah? Let's be real about who exactly you are and why exactly I picked you. Frankly, you may be the only member of your entire clan that I would tell about this. The only one."

The preacher's eyes narrow. "Is that some kind of compliment? It sounds more like an insult, from your tone." 

"You left your family behind to join the priesthood, never visited them again. No need to, right? Then you left the church behind to become a member of Clan Tremere. Actually intentionally sabotaged their efforts to find and eliminate us. That sure impressed the Tremere higher-ups, now didn't it? And now you have left the Chantry, in order to be here, as one of us. You are a traitor Jeremiah. That is your nature. That defines you to the very core of your being."

"That's not true!"

"Oh, but it is. You have, in fact, betrayed just about everyone you have ever known. So don't tell me what you will or will not do. You don't want everyone to learn the Tremere secrets because it's to your advantage that they don't. But, whatever you learn, everyone learns. That's the game Jeremiah, or didn't you see the very special map that Mortimer Smith located all by his lonesome in the basement?"

"That's different. It was here. It was-"

"It was his. In a different kind of game, none of the rest of you would even know about it. He could explore all eight locations by himself. How many other things did we learn about all of the competitors just last night?"

"Nothing that would compromise their clan!"

"No? You didn't learn that the Oradea League has a spy in the region who knows exactly where the Sabbat are? He's compiling a list! Hahah!"

Jeremiah is silenced by that. "That still isn't compromising her-"

"The Sabbat would kill her if they knew. Her family would recall her to Romania before allowing her to be "contaminated" by them. Prince Modius would surely call a blood hunt and have her captured, and interrogated, using the most vile of personal violations possible to know all that she knows. Toreador tortures are maddingly sadistic and Modius is notoriously old school. But we aren't going to tell anyone about her secrets are we?"

Jeremiah is once again lost for words. "I won't compromise her, no. Or any of the others. But compromising every member of the Tremere is-"

"Then don't go to the meetings. That's also a choice you can make."

"It would appear extremely disrespectful."

Mr. Confetti shrugs, and extends his hands. "Well, we wouldn't want to appear disrespectful to anybody now, would we?"

Reverend Thomas turns towards the door, anger flushes his cheeks. Then he stops himself, and turns back.

"I am not a traitor. I have always felt that my purpose was to serve God's will. That's who I am, not some pawn to be moved about on someone else's game board!"

"Exactly right, Jeremiah. Exactly right. That is exactly why I chose you. The one vampire on this entire planet who truly has the faith. You are simultaneously the most pious member of the Camarilla, and its most hypocritical member. I congratulate you."

Reverend Thomas stares at the Malkavian incredulous for a moment, then abruptly leaves the room.