Worcester College

The buildings of Worcester College are diverse, especially in the main quadrangle. Looking down into the main quadrangle from the entrance through the main building, to the right is an imposing eighteenth century building in the neo-classical style; and to the left a row of medieval buildings known as "the cottages", which are among the oldest residential buildings in Oxford. These cottages are the most substantial surviving part of Gloucester College, Worcester's predecessor on the same site. The chapel is highly unusual and decorative, being predominantly pink. The pews are decorated with carved animals, including kangaroos and whales, and the walls are riotously colourful, and include frescoes of dodos and peacocks.

Michael steps off the private jet into British soil, or British tarmac to be more precise, at the London Oxford airport. The night is young, and he feels particularly well rested and full of energy. He could get used to the luxury - a privilege that comes from getting sent on a job for the Prince of Montreal.  He murmers to himself, "N'oubliez pas le proverbe chinois, 'Servir un prince, c'est comme dormir avec un tigre.'"  He takes a cab to Worcester College, staring out the window a the old buildings rising on all sides, the oddly placed street signs and traffic lights, and the double-decker buses. He keeps getting surprised by people driving on the wrong side of the road and feeling that they are about to crash.  He pulls out his jailbroken Blackberry and sends a message to his private chatroom,  ' Møry_R.T : Arrived in the UK.'  Seconds later, the responses start to come in: ' NakedPenguin: God save the Queen'  ' Barwinkle: 'N her fascist regime! Sid lives!'  ' NakedPenguin: Ignore him. He got swine flu and mad cow disease yesterday.' ' Craphound: Welcome to GMT- Greenwich Medium Tribe Møry_R.T.' And they continue on and on, his phone buzzing continuously.  Michael smiles. He feels uncomfortable around people in real life but misses his friends online when he can't connect.  The taxi pulls up beside a beautiful ancient building. Worcester College. He is impressed, despite himself, with his new home. He grabs his suitcase and backpack, which are heavy, and packed with computer equipment, and walks up to the front door. 

Harry is waiting for Michael at the porter's lodge, one of whom comes out with the senior vampire to collect the new arrival's luggage. "Good evening, Michael, welcome to Worcester College," Harry begins as the neophyte steps out of the cab. "How was your flight?"

Michael hands over his luggage to the porter and says, "You must be Harry. Great to finally meet you," as he shakes the older vampire's hand.  "The flight was both pleasant and restful. I could certainly get used to that kind of comfort. And this," Michael gestures to indicate Worcester College, "is gorgeous - the play of shadows and light overlaying history I can almost feel in my bones." Michael smiles at Harry, "And thank you for arranging everything for me. I appreciate it and hope to start my work as a fellow as  soon as possible. There are people in Montreal who are very eager to see results." Michael thinks to himself this trip is as much a test of his own usefulness as it is a search for the missing Silas. Otherwise, they would have sent someone with more experience. He will need to make a good impression if he wants to survive and keep his new found abililities. 

Harry nods in understanding. "Given the short notice, I've arranged for one of the guest rooms to be made available for you," he explains as they pass through the college's main gate. "If it becomes apparent that your stay will be of a more... extended nature, then we can see to it that suitable accommodation is organised. James here will show you to your lodgings and then the Provost would like to see you before the night is out." Harry gestures to Michael to follow the porter, but hovers for a moment to answer any further questions.

Michael smiles, "That sounds perfectly fine. As long as I can connect to the Internet and the room has some heavy curtains, I will be happy." He turns to follow the porter, and then turns back to Harry and says , "I would like to talk to someone about how I might connect with Silas Mallock, who I believe is another Fellow at this college.." Michael pauses to see if Harry volunteers information himself or at least tells him who he should talk to.

"The Provost will discuss Prince Strathcona's concerns for the well-being of his progeny with you later tonight," Harry explains. "Good evening, Michael," he adds before departing the porter's lodge and heading towards the library. James guides Michael out through the orchard towards the MCR and staircase 24. The room is comfortable and has clearly been fitted to keep out sunlight during the day. After Michael has had a couple of hours to settle in, there's a knock on the door of his rooms. Another porter. "If you'll come with me, Mr. Lefebvre, the Provost will see you now."

Michael walks into his room and looks around. He's pretty impressed. It's more elegant than any university dorm he's seen before. He searches until he finds the little receptacle to connect to the local area network and smiles happily as he unpacks his computer and boots it up. He gets a net crawler working on mapping the connections and connected devices. It should give him an idea of what's around and what sort of security they have set up - nothing intrusive, yet, but there will be time for that later. All the while, his speakers play out: People are strange When you're a stranger Faces look ugly When you're alone Women seem wicked When you're unwanted Streets are uneven When you're down Michael connects to his online group, catches up on the latest gossip, and unpacks his clothes.  When you're strange Faces come out of the rain When you're strange No one remembers your name When you're strange When you're strange When you're strange... He hears a knock on the door, then follows the porter down the old halls to meet the Provost. 

The Provost receives Michael in a study clad in all the dark wood, old world furnishings that are so typical of Oxford University. "Good evening, Michael," the Provost greets his guest, clasping the other vampire firmly by the hand as he invites him in. "I'm Richard. Please take a seat." Richard Smethurst is a tall man with deep blue eyes and greying dark hair. He settles into the studded upholstery of his chair, reclining back as he examines the man before him. "Kyle Strathcona tells me that he fears that his childe has been the victim of foul play and that you are the man to get to the bottom of the matter," Richard notes, gesturing to Michael across his desk. "What do you make of that?"

"The Prince believes Silas is torpid or has met his final death. Other than that, he has not confided in me what he knows or suspects has happened. I have some skills at finding information in computer networks, as well as entering and leaving buildings unseen. I assume he feels that these will be useful." Michael smiles at the Provost apologetically and shrugs, "But I am still in the dark as to how. If you could put me in contact with someone who knew him and might know what sort of friends and enemies, his habits, and places he frequented. That would be helpful. As would any security camera footage that might show who came and went from his rooms and office. Even his phone numbers and email addresses might reveal clues to his whereabouts." Michael shifts forward in his chair and looks directly at the vampire across the desk, "If you have any ideas yourself on what happened, I would love to hear them." 

The Provost's brow crinkles in what might be amusement. "What do you know of our covenant here at Worcester College, Michael?"

Michael réponds to the Provost,  "I understand that the college is connected to the Ordo Dracul, but I'm afraid I know little beyond that." Michael suddenly regrets not having had a chance to understand better what he was getting into before coming here.  "I realize that my near complete ignorance must not be making a good first impression, especially for an order that values knowledge so highly. All I can say is that I am willing and eager to learn more, even as I try to discover what happened to Silas." Michael tries to judge how the other vampire is taking this. 

"Dracula," Richard explains, "was cursed by God and became a vampire, but he transcended that curse and became something greater. We seek this same path. I understand that you have a duty to your sire and your prince, but Prince Strathcona is an illuminus of our order. Even beyond your immediate task, there is much that you could learn here, were you to join us." The Provost leans forwards to rest his elbows on his desk, templing his fingers as he examines Michael. A meow can be heard from near the door and it becomes apparent that a pair of cats, an ocicat and a bengal, have slunk into the study.

Michael leans forward and says, "I'm enjoying the new powers, and if there is a way to grow and transcend the," he pauses to consider his words, "limitations we face, then I'm eager to learn them. My immediate priority is, of course, to complete the work I was sent here to do. But I hope that won't take me too long."  Michael smiles as he looks down at the two cats rubbing against the leg of the enormous, ornate desk. "Those are lovely cats you have. Is that one an ocicat? It looks like a smaller version of an ocelot I saw during a trip down to Central America years ago. I remember it being enchanting in its curiousness and terrifying in its playfulness." 

The bengal hops up onto Richard's lap and the Provost curls his fingers through the fur on the back of its neck. " That one isn't mine," he remarks with a frown in the direction of the ocicat. "In fact, I've never seen it before. This little fellow, on the other hand,  latched on to me a few nights ago." Richard chuckles and continues to stroke the cat on his lap. "I haven't been able to get rid of him since." The last statement is met with an indignant meow from the bengal. "I must say, he has grown on me though," the Provost adds with a grin.  "As far as I know, since Thursday night every vampire in Oxford now has a cat who has decided that they are its owner. It's quite a mystery. I suppose that this one here must be yours ." The ocicat sits on the floor besides Michael's chair and stares up at him intently.

"Oh," says Michael with surprise. "That is odd. Has anyone figured out why this happened, and if it is just here, or are cats approaching vampires in other places?" He slowly lowers his hand for the ocicat to smell, giving it a chance to decide if it wants to be stroked or not.  Michael looks up and says to the Provost, "Going back to our previous conversation, yes, I would be interested in forming part of the Ordo Dracul if you would have me. And if you have any suggestions on where to start my search for Silas, I would appreciate it." He lets out a surprised "Ouch" as the ocicat digs its claws into his calf and stares up at him, apparently unhappy at being ignored. 

Richard shakes his head. "I believe that our feline friends are confined to the city of Oxford. As for Silas Mallock, he was last seen on Thursday night attending Elysium at Balliol college. Perhaps somebody there can tell you if and when he left."

Michael says, "Wonderful. I will make some inquiries there. Thank you for your time and for welcoming me to Worcester. It is an impressive place. Hopefully, we can meet again and talk further about the Ordo Dracul."  He stands and shakes hands with the Provost and then makes his way back to his room, smiling when he sees that the cat is following behind.  Opening the door, he sees a black gown and an envelope on his bed. He opens the envelope and takes out the piece of paper inside. He sees that it is a note of when breakfast will be served each day and of the times the College will be locked up at night and opened again in the morning. Turning it over, he finds a map of the college and surrounding area. Deciding it might be useful, he tosses it onto his desk. He picks up the gown, looks at it, and sighs before hanging it in the wardrobe.  Michael then types his password into his computer and looks at what the network crawler has mapped out. He searches for a database with Silas' room number and checks to see if any of the CCTV cameras are located nearby. 

Michael's net crawler is almost too sophisticated for the antiquated network that serves the ethernet port in his room. However, he does manage to get some basic access to the personal data of Worcester college members. It appears that Silas does not have a college room, but resides in 5 Davenant Road.

Michael picks up his satchel with the tools he needs for entering places he is not meant to enter and starts to leave the room. He remembers that he needs to carry his ID and the key to the night door to get back in, so he slips them into his pocket and heads out.  (Continued in Summertown) 

[continues from Summertown] The night had gone surprisingly well. He hadn't expected to make any serious advances so soon, but he knows to be careful of the Ordo and has made friends who are also looking for Silas.  As he gets close to the night entrance, he pulls a package of wipes from his backpack and wipes his face. He has found they are more practical for removing any splattered blood than the traditional handkerchief. He likes the smell of this brand as well. It is pleasantly minty. Michael uses his key to open the night door, shows his ID card to the unsmiling porter, and then heads back to his room. He moves all the blood bags from his backpack into the small fridge. There is still some time in the night, enough to dig a little deeper into the College system and see what sort of records they have on Silas. First though, he reads through his emails and reviews the forums and chat rooms. He puts on a bootleg recording of the Nine Inch Nails Wave Goodbye Tour from earlier this year and starts searching the system.

The college personnel file for Silas mostly includes details that Michael is already aware of. The elder's alma mater, field of expertise and other academic credentials. The most recent college correspondence was regarding his invitation to the Elysium ball at Balliol college last Thursday.

Michael searches for the Elysium Ball at Balliol College on Facebook, the new place to share intimate photos of your life with the entire world of voyeurs, stalkers, and gawkers. He also checks out the still popular Bepo and MySpace. After so many years of people fighting for the right to keep their personal information private, Michael doesn't understand the popularity of these sites that make everything public. They do, however, make his job much easier.  Trent Reznor shouts through Michael's headphones:       Head like a hole      Black as your soul      I'd rather die than give you control Michael looks for photos and names of people who went to the ball and sorts them into another window with his notes. If he can luck upon photos of Silas himself, that will give him a real lead.       Bow down before the one you serve      You're going to get what you deserve Something about the lyrics makes him uncomfortable, but he can't quite place why and pushes it out of his mind. He remembers that he'll see Liam again tomorrow evening, and a happy grin breaks out on his face. 

Michael quickly stumbles upon Liam's own social media. He had been playing at Balliol college that night with a band.

Michael leans forward when he comes across Liam's social media. It is fascinating that a vampire has such a public life. If Liam was at the same ball as Silas, he might have more information about what Silas was doing and who interacted with. Michael will have to ask him when they meet up tomorrow.  "Where are you Silas?" he asks himself as he looks over the photos of happy people dancing. "What happened to you that night?"  Realizing it is almost dawn, Michael takes a shower and then falls into his bed. His last thought before falling asleep for the first time England is that Oxford has not disappointed. 

Michael's phone pings. He crawls out of bed unhappily and grabs it off his desk. It's a message from Liam. Michael immediately perks up and, after reading it, types in a response: I'll be right over. Michael drinks until he is full from the blood bags in his fridge. If anything, they taste better than they did last night. When he finds Silas, he will have to ask him where he gets it. He checks his map to plan his route, grabs his tool bag because you never know when it might be useful, and then jogs to Summerville College.  [continued in Summerville College]

[continued from Angels]  Michael wanders back to his room, feeling a little dejected, feeling that Liam brushed him off to be with Claire. Which is understandable, but he suddenly feels very alone. He briefly considers calling Emily, but it is way too soon for that, and he still has some work to do. Liam had mentioned a library and a group of fleeing vampires. Michael sits down at his computer to try to hack into the video cameras connected online in the right areas and find footage from that evening. He might get a clue in what direction Silas ran or who he was traveling with. Michael sets up an algorithm with the search terms he is looking for, leaves it running, and heads for bed.  He can't get Claire out of his mind. She was the one who caused all the problems for Liam. Michael decides to focus on her as he sleeps and see if he can't get some insight from a dream vision. 

Michael sits up in bed, his head pounding, and vague half-remembered dreams of Claire quickly fade away. Had he been drinking? And then he remembers—all of it.  "Fuck fuck fuck FUUUCK!" He slams his fist into his pillow. "I am such a fucking idiot. Shit. Damnit." Liam had played him. More than played, Liam had used him like a pathetic plaything, royally fucked him over, and like some sad puppy, Michael had been willing and eager for more.  Michael takes a deep breath and then gets on his computer to send off an encrypted email: 'Sire,  I messed things up pretty badly. I investigated Silas' house and found a Daeva and something that looked like Silas but wasn't a vampire. They did something to my mind. It seemed to me that the Daeva, Professor Liam McCarthy, was my best friend, and I would have done anything to help him. Whatever it was that looked like Silas called itself Mehdi. Liam told me that the real Silas was fine, hiding from people like the Ordu Dracul. Last night Liam had me help him carry a body. When I tripped, and it nearly fell out of the bodybag, he forced me not to look at it. We delivered it to his sire in Somerville College. Liam told me the corpse was involved with the murder of a mortal on campus and later said to me that the body had Silas' shoes but had picked them up on the street, that Silas must have dropped them, and that a group including himself and Silas had fled from something terrible out of a library.  I don't know what is true and what was a lie. I suspect it was Silas' corpse we were carrying. I can't imagine why else he wouldn't want me to see it. I don't know if I should trust the Ordu Dracul here. I'm sorry to have let you down. I will make it right.  Yours always,  Michael' Michael hovers the cursor over the Send button for a while, then moves it and clicks on Save Message.  There are a few things he wants to do first. Michael downloads all the videos and messages on the 'Profesor Liam McCarthy is a Vampire' Facebook page and lists the most active posters.  He downloads the photo taken the first day he saw Liam and Mehdi and looks at what he captured there.  Finally, he reviews the results of the algorithm he left searching the night before to see what it has uncovered.

As always, the photo of Liam is at a bad angle and out of focus, but Mehdi's face is clearly visible. Fortunately for Michael, Britain has more surveillance activity than any other European country per capita - approximately one security camera for every thirteen people. As such, the coverage of Oxford's streets is sufficient to give him a rough idea of various peoples' movements on Thursday night.  Although many have the characteristic blur associated with photos of kindred, this is at least enough to suggest which figures are likely to have been vampires. Using the photo from Summertown as a reference, Michael's algorithm flags a few sections of footage of particular interest. Mehdi can be seen moving together with a group made up of two women and two men who never seem to look at the camera, along with an unknown man of middle-eastern ethnicity. They can be seen leaving the Bodleian library and hurrying to University college. Several minutes later the same group makes haste from Univ to Queens. Later, Mehdi can be seen emerging alone from Saint Mary's Church. He walks to a garage from which he collects a sporty red SUV and drives to Brasenose College, where he collects the two men from earlier in the night. One appears to be dragging the limp form of the other out of Brasenose and into the car. Mehdi drops the pair at Somerville College, before returning to his flat in Headington.

Michael wakes up to the blaring sound of his radio alarm clock, the beats of a Ministry song sending shivers down his spine. The lyrics fit his mood, filled with anger and frustration. As he rubs his eyes, he realizes that it's already Wednesday, and the events of the previous days flood back into his mind. Michael had spent hours in front of his computer, putting the first steps of his plan into motion. He had contacted his group online, urging them to start researching Liam McCarthy and Mehdi on the dark corners of the Deep Web. They would be scouring for any information they could find - bank account numbers, credit cards, passwords, taxes, medical records, and family members. Then Michael had adjusted his algorithm to search for the Mehdi and the other face he had seen fleeing with Liam and others from the library. Even keeping busy,  Michael feels uneasy. He doesn't know if he can trust the Ordu, and he fears the power of Liam's voice. He wonders whether the other Mehkat, his vampire clan, would help him. After all, blood is supposed to bind people together, and Michael feels alone. He knows he can't manage this on his own. He grabs one of the last bags of blood out of the fridge. He is going to have to figure out where to get more. It's not like they sell them in the supermarket. He still doesn't understand why other vampires don't use them. There is so much less mess and drama with bagged blood, and it tastes so good.  As he contemplates his next move, his computer chimes, signaling the arrival of an email. Michael's apprehension rises as he realizes it is from his sire. He wonders if she has found out how much he has screwed up already, and the thought of her disappointment makes his stomach churn. With a heavy sigh, he sits down and opens the message, bracing himself for what it might contain.

The email is brief and to the point, as Michael is accustomed to from his sire. Hello Michael, I hope that you've settled in well in Oxford and are making good progress in your investigation. A contact of mine needs a favour and you're well positioned to assist. Her progeny is also in Oxford trying to track down one Raziel Andrews (photo attached). I owe a debt here that I'd be happy to strike from my ledger. Your contact is Aubrey Knight at Brasenose College. Do what you can to help her find the girl. Best, Lydia A contact file with Aubrey's phone number is also attached to the email.

Michael leans back in his chair and swivels around. That was not what he had been expecting, which is good, and it might provide him with the ally he needs.  He does a quick internet search for both Aubrey and Raziel before turning on his phone. It pings immediately with a message from Liam, which is precisely why Michael had left it turned off since he returned to his senses.  > Hi, sorry to run off last night, as I'm sure youe realise, trouble is brewing for me here.  "Oh yeah, trouble is brewing,'" Michael says to the empty room.  > Look I hope you're not mad? "Mad because you took away my free will and used me like a meat puppet? Why would I be mad?"  > I promise everything I told you is as truthful as I can be, and I will answer almost any questions you have. "Some of it was true, and some definitely wasn't. How the hell am I supposed to believe anything that comes out of your mouth? And there's no way I'm going anywhere I can hear your voice again." Michael realizes he is almost yelling and sits down, ashamed.  He takes a deep breath and sends a text message to Aubrey: > Hello Aubrey. My name is Mike. I was asked to help you find someone called Raziel. Let me know how I can help or if you want to meet up and discuss this.  He scrolls through her Facebook page. She couldn't be this Aubrey, could she? 

Actually, I'd prefer you not call me Mikey. I'll be there at seven. And yeah, I might be able to find her from home. It depends. We'll talk about it when I get there.  Michael thinks for a moment and then sits at his computer and sets up a deadman's switch. If he doesn't log in before 24 hours are up, the email and all the files will be automatically sent to his sire.  Then he throws his laptop into his bag, pulls on his jacket, puts on his noise canceling earphones and fades away, so no one notices him walk by.  (Continued at Brasenose Quad) 

[back from Brasenose College] Michael walks back to Worcester College, instinctively pulling his beast in around himself to avoid being noticed. He runs his conversation with Aubrey over and over in his mind, feeling increasingly unsatisfied with himself. Had he given too much away? Could he have convinced her to help more or tell him more? What sort of impression had he given? He finds it so much easier to communicate over the Internet. As Møry_R.T, he feels confident and in control. As Michael...  He looks down at the cat that is still following him while pretending it isn't, as if the fact they have been walking in the same direction is merely a coincidence. He stops and buys an order of fish and chips from a van near the entrance to the college and puts it on the ground as a peace offering.  "You aren't supposed to notice me when I'm using Obfuscate, but maybe it doesn't work on cats. It never occurred to me to ask." Michael watches it for a while and then says, "You look like you belong in a mesoamerican jungle. What do you think about the name Tepeyollatl? Or Tepe for short?" 

The cat cocks his head at Michael before giving the vampire a pointed meow .

"Alright, I'll take that as a yes." Michael goes to his room and sits down in front of his computer. He turns his attention to Raziel Andrews. It is time to find out where she is. If she has been online, used a cell phone, or paid with plastic, there should be some sign of where she is. 

Rae's Facebook proves a good starting point; there's a phone number attached to the account once Michael manages to spoof the site into treating him as one of her friends. From there, it's a simple matter for an experienced hacker like him to trace recent activity to text messages sent and received in Cowley.

Michael spins his chair around and grins. He has found her. Well, he has found her cell phone, at least. If she is experienced at hiding, she will have given her phone to someone else and either purchased a burner or gone off the grid. But most people don't have that kind of experience.  The night is young. Michael decides he might as well go out and see if he can spot her. Michael sets up a quick redirect to his BlackBerry, so he will be alerted of where her phone is moving to, if it should move, and heads back outside. (To be continued in Crowley) 

(Continued from Oriel College)  Michael looks at his phone, up at the church, and then back at his phone. He obviously won't be hearing more tonight. He wanders around town, taking a meandering path back to Worcester College. Once he is in his room, he writes his sire a quick message: I found the person they were looking for, but they found her by other means around the same time. In any case, I did as asked and may get a new lead out of it for the other case.  He writes, 'W ish you were here ,' but erases it before sending. Feeling unsatisfied, he openes the fridge and sees it is empty ." "Shit ," he says. Tomorrow he will have to figure out how to get more blood bags. 

A noise wakes Michael up. He tries to open his eyes, but they feel grainy, and his eyelids impossibly heavy, so he closes them again. Phone's ringing, he thinks. That was the sound. He stumbles over to the fridge and manages to open it. "Fuck." He fumbles through the empty bags, trying to find one still full of blood. What the hell time is it anyway? He goes over to the night table and slams his little toe into the table leg.  Swearing, he grabs his phone and manages to hit the answer button. Aubrey's upbeat voice is asking him what he wants to know. What he really wants to know is where to find more blood bags. He tries to concentrate. The night Silas disappeared. Right. "Hi Aubrey. Uh, sorry, I'm not feeling so great. It was the library. I mean... I wanted to know what happened that night in the library."  Dammit, he sounds like a complete moron. He uses his shoulder to press the phone to his ear as he pulls all the garbage out of his trash can and tries sucking on some empty bags. There has to be a little blood left in one of them.

Michael slumps down in the corner and holds his head between his hands, the phone lapsed to his ear. He knows what Aubrey is telling him is really important, and he must let his sire know. It was Liam who put Silas in a torpor after all, and that must have been the body he helped deliver. Case solved.  But right now, Michael is trembling, and his body feels like it is burning up. Whatever was in those bags wasn't normal blood. If Silas had it, it has to be some special Ordo Dracul thing the members use. The Dean of the College, or Provost, or whatever his title was, offered to show Michael the ways of the Ordo. He must have his own supply. "Thanks, Aubrey. That is great. Exactly what I needed to know. We are even. It was great working with you. I hope everything worked for you with Rae. If you need anything, just give me a call."  He pauses for a second and the says, " Right now I have to go to the Ordo Dracul about something else... some blood I found in Silas' fridge... I... it... I need them to get me more of it... or show me how to make it... or fix this... I'm really not feeling good at all now it's gone."  After the call ends, Michael stumbles to his feet, washes the dried blood off his face, tries to flattens his hair into something vaguely respectable, and leaves his room to find Richard.