1973

Mister Archon Arnold Culler ran at full speed through the backstreets and dark alleys of Jackson, Mississippi. His target ran ahead of him, splashing through puddles. She was a Daeva, her name was Eloise Labolliere, and she had killed the Prince’s childe. In Labolliere’s defense, the stupid fledgling had it coming, but that didn’t concern the Prince’s Hound as he pursued his bounty through the hot muggy night.

The Daeva called back to him, speaking with a heavy Cajun accent, “You’ll not catch me, Culler! An Invictus lapdog like you don’t have what it takes.”

She grabs on to a fire escape, swinging up onto it and clambering up the side of an apartment building. Arnold pushed blood into his muscles, feeling himself grow stronger. He leaps ten feet into the air and grabs hold of the fire escape pulling himself up as the structure creaks beneath the two Kindred’s weight. Eloise turns and snarls at him, then climbs the rest of the way up and begins to run across the roof, followed closely by Arnold. The chase takes them from one building to another as they leap from rooftop to rooftop. One thing is sure. Arnold is gaining on her.

Then Arnold catches up to her. The Daeva makes to leap across another gap in the buildings, and the Hound reaches out and grabs the lithe, powerful young thing by the ankle. He whips her around by the leg and slams her into the rooftop gravel with bone-breaking force.

Eloise Labolliere climbs back to her feet and looks at Archon Culler with eyes that reflected nothing but the Beast living within her. Arnold pulls a stake from his coat, and grins an ugly, malformed rictus grin at her. “Come on, you Creole bitch. Come take your medicine.”

The Frenzying Daeva screams and charges him, hands forward, fingers splayed out, ready to rip Arnold’s chest open and eat his heart. Arnold sidesteps a punch, a kick, deflects a punch, and then one big hand falls on the girl’s throat, constricting as he lifts her up into the air and slams the stake into her heart.

He drops Eloise’s torpid form to the gravel, and composes himself. He’d been tracking that bitch for a week and now the chase was over. The satisfaction of a job well done began to fill him as he climbed down from the roof, heading for the nearest payphone. He left Eloise on the roof, the cunt wasn’t going anywhere. He squeezed into a phonebooth, the light flickering on as he closed the door. He dropped a quarter into the slot and dialed the number of the Prince’s office.

The line picked up, “Hello?”

“It’s Archon Culler. I got Labolliere. Send a car to the corner of Mill and East Hamilton. We’ll be waiting.” He hangs up the receiver, and waits for the ride that would take him home and bear Eloise Labolliere to her final destination.