Preacher was slowly pouring brandy into the third of three snifter glasses as he watched two young women, their naked skins glistening in the warm light cast by the antique floor lamp near their heads, silently writhe on a leather-covered mat. Stunningly beautiful by anyone's standards, one blonde and the other a brunette, both were blindfolded and within centimetres of each other on the large mat. Yet, neither touched the other, their mouths thrown open in silent screams of ecstasy, their minds filled with the coerced pleasure that Preacher was pumping directly into their pleasure cortexes.
The lean Brotherhood leader wore a thin smile on his face as he empathetically siphoned off the women's pleasure into his own pleasure centers. It was called 'tapping', a decadent pleasure many powerful psionics engaged in, when they grew jaded with simple physical pleasures.
Completely consumed with the tapping, he nearly dropped the glass of brandy he had lifted in his hand when his smart phone went off with a soft 'peep' in his robe pocket. Ruthlessly quashing his irritation, he frowned as he put the smoky bottle back into the liqueur cabinet before stepping from his study. He left the two women twitching in the throws of their induced sexual frenzies, letting their pleasure build in his absence. It made for a more powerful tap upon his return.
Of course, despite his power and ability to erase their minds, Preacher didn't want to run the chance of them remembering him talking about Brotherhood business. So he would take the call in the office, at the end of the hall. Tugging the robe of fine Chinese silk, his only clothing, closer about his lean and muscular body, he pushed the door to the office open and stepped in.
"This had better be good," he growled as he pulled the phone from his pocket to look at its display as he stepped around the massive oak desk sitting in the center of the opulent office, a near mirror to his larger office in the city.
"Like Henry telling me he's got the renegade in his hands!" Making note of the number, he tapped the auto-dial button on the phone's face even as a tendril of psyken turned on the lamp on his desk.
As the warm light from the antique lamp filled the luxurious and well-appointed office, a series of soft tones sounded in the dim air as he lifted the phone to his ear. Then:
"Mr. Preacher, sorry to disturb you at home," Henry's voice stammered, sounding not so much apologetic, but panicked. "But the situation has taken a turn for the worse. I would advise you to come into the office immediately."
"And just what the hell is that supposed to mean, Henry?" Preacher barked into the phone, no longer able to resist the flood of frustration that burned through him. "The situation has gotten worse?"
"It's Braddox, sir. He's had an engagement with the renegade. And he took heavy losses."
"What?" A cold tingle raced down Preacher's spine. "How many?" he husked.
"There were two separate incidents, sir. Three dead at Curly's, including a mover who had the air in his lungs gelled and turned solid. The rest were badly wounded." The man on the other end paused for a moment, obviously struggling to regain his composure. Preacher could hear him swallow nervously.
"Go on, man," he hissed, sensing Henry's turmoil even through the phone.
"In the second ... ahem, the second confrontation, triggered when Braddox sent a team of movers and burners after the renegade, we lost ... we lost twelve more movers to something an observer called a 'psionic storm'."
"Psionic storm?" Preacher frowned. Then it hit him: fifteen dead. "Burn me to ash," he bit out. "How did Braddox fair in all this?"
"Uninjured, sir. But perhaps you should hear all of this from him."
" ... And then we jousted over a salt shaker," Braddox said fifteen later, shaking his head. The bulky mover was still in a state of shock regarding the brief but devastating clash with the renegade at Curly's. Braddox now sat in one of the padded leather chairs in front of Preacher's teak and mahogany desk, high in his penthouse downtown office.
From the big, high-backed chair behind the desk, the bank of windows directly behind it, Preacher nodded as he thoughtfully steepled his fingers in front of him. The lean Brotherhood leader now wore a black leather car coat, black turtleneck and black slacks, a frown on his handsome face.
"Go on, Mr. Braddox," he softly urged, his eyes narrowed as he concentrated on the powerful mover's words, carefully watching every nuance of emotion as it flashed across the big man's broad face. So far he hadn't heard a thing he liked hearing. If the renegade had half the power Braddox was crediting him with and the man was posturing himself against them, they indeed were in serious trouble.
"You were telling us about the jousting." An old, but rather effective test of strength.
"I was pushing with everything I had, sir!" Braddox declared, a look of astonishment and sincere apology appearing on his blocky features. "But the renegade ... shit, he acted as if he wasn't even trying. And he beat me easily." Braddox looked down at the carpeted floor.
"That's when he got up and made to leave. Since he was the guy we were looking for, I wasn't going to just let him walk out, so I told the boys to take him. Then all hell broke loose."
The big man's head came up, his expression suddenly hard.
"After he walked out, leaving the bodies scattered all over the place like discarded toys, a giant leaving the playground, Kurtis returned with the reinforcements." His eyes fell back to the floor. "I sent them immediately in pursuit." His voice fell to a whisper.
"He took out twelve of my best with some sort of psionic storm."
The muscles along the blocky mover's jaw rippled in reaction to the emotions storming through him.
"A secret weapon of some kind. I don't know, I've never seen anything like it. It left my team shattered. No survivors. Considering how badly we'd been hurt, I called off the pursuit and spent the remainder of the evening rooting out a vampire nest we found."
"A vampire nest?" Preacher glanced up at a frowning Henry, who stood in shadow just behind the stricken Braddox.
"Relatively new, sir," Henry explained in a low voice. "Erected since our last sweep."
"So, what's the relation of the renegade's pursuit and this nest?"
It was Braddox that answered, his voice a little stronger.
"The renegade's trail led right up to the front doors, Mr. Preacher. Almost as if he was in league with them, somehow."
"Impossible," Henry snorted before he could restrain his disbelief. As Preacher looked up with a frown at the outburst, he hastened to explain himself.
"Everybody knows that psionic energy is harmful to vampires. They wouldn't be able to tolerate him getting within ten metres of the building without half of them passing out. That is, if they didn't try to shoot him as soon as they had spotted him."
"Perhaps, Henry," Preacher replied musingly. "This may require greater investigation." His eyes switched back to Braddox. "Did you manage to capture any survivors?"
"A handful, sir. But, so far, they're proving quite difficult. Two have already died under questioning."
Preacher nodded.
"That's expected. Despite their abilities, our fanged mutant cousins are remarkably fragile. Continue your interrogations. Perhaps you'll strike the right chord and they'll tell us why they allowed the renegade so close to one of their bolt holes, if not inside."
He turned back to Henry even as Braddox nodded in acknowledgement.
"Which brings me back to the renegade." He paused thoughtfully, tapping his lip as his mind raced. "Sounds like the situation, indeed, has changed, Henry." His lips pursed. "It sounds like we're dealing not with a powerful softwire, but a full hardwire."
As both men looked at him in shock, Preacher nodded in confirmation and went on.
"He managed to slip in despite our surveillance, probably because of the situation at the airport. But if he feels confident enough to act so quickly and immediately against us, he must be very powerful indeed! That's not even taking into account these new weapons he has displayed in confrontations against us. So our tactics must change, if we want to avoid another costly confrontation. Henry, I want you to pull in all our hard telepaths. Starting as soon as you have them together, I want you to have them make sweeps of the city. Go building to building, if you have to, but I want every square centimetre of this city examined under a microscope. I want the renegade's hiding place."
"And the movers and burners, sir?" Braddox asked softly.
"I want your boys to stay put, for a bit," Preacher replied with a frown. "But be ready to move as quickly as possible at the first sign of need. We'll need everybody we can muster to take the hardwire out as soon as we find him."
The lean Brotherhood leader's eyes narrowed.
"I just hope we have enough to get the job done!"
* * * *