What a strange and yet utterly interesting night. Curious though. Whilst I was alive nobody ever really lay a hand on me. Last night, however, I got slapped several times. I guess that should tell me something. Chiefly that I’m really not meant for physical harm.

So a Malkavian threw a party. Occasion? Las Días de Los Muertos. That’s a pretty safe way to make sure at least one of the three senators is going to attend! Boy, was I excited! And the woman really put some thought into the whole thing. Ok, so there was no altar for all those little items that are supposed to form a connection to the spirits of the dead… But I guess ghouls to do card tricks for you as well as read your palms plus a super freaky candle sort of make up for the lack of an altar. Of course there were those people around who kept referring to All Saints or Samhain, but hey. Whatever floats their boat. Generally speaking I think it was a good celebration. Thumbs up, Miss Rottenmeier.

The guests put a lot into what they appeared as too. Euler, for example, showed up in traditional clothing of his order, which made him look somewhat cooler than usual. I’m pretty sure he’s not headed for town that way though. Such a shame. Still, I was glad to see him around. Somehow seeing that particular Tremere does help building a certain sense of “you fuck up I’ll have him burn you to cinders”. I like the idea.

Poor Raphael didn’t get much of a chance to actually enjoy the party. First he got worked up over some yahoo claiming that Hope would be a permanent member of Marburg now – which totally lacked announcement, so she’s not. I wonder who fed him that lie. Especially since he was so quick to believe it. Anyway. By the time he was calm again we had to make him work. Again. Covering someone’s ass. In this case: Hope. For having attacked Alena in public – which means mortals. I can’t see why people keep bitching and moaning about him when usually it’s his work that saves their asses. They never seem to realize that. Poor bastard.

Hope… It’s strange for me to say, but I feel sorry for her. Me, of all people. I think she didn’t deserve what happened to her last night. All that she wanted was to get laid by a guy she likes, for some reason. And I could think of worse people to end up in bed with than Jason. I gave her an old pendant of mine, for safekeeping. Looking back now I almost think that thing brought the biggest misfortune upon her. And I find myself feeling sorry for that. Her and Jason ended up in a room. I know that something there must have enhanced her desire for him, close to the brink of madness. Then – I guess it must have been Jean – summoned her. She made a run for it. We talked to her. The other two wouldn’t listen when I told them this was just about some fun sex. And then something ticked her off even more, pouring sexual need into her in a way I have never seen a woman crave contact. She literally jumped Thomas. I managed to scare her off, thanks to my blood. Next thing I know she’s pushing me against the wall, groping, touching, opening my throat partially with some sharp edge I never had a chance to look at – and I don’t think she did it for the kill… Her, having no love for me at all, wanting nothing more than to get laid, right then and there, by the very man she despises so much. Tells you a lot about her mental condition that night. Only I can’t be sure what triggered it. Then, later that night, she flees the gathering and attacks Alena with a knife on the open street. Damn that! I’m not sure I can safe her ass from this. If I did it might cost Jean all of his reputation when he should have been hard on her. And still I feel sorry for her. Which also cancels our plans for a few nights out together… I think we could have had a hell of a time…

Thomas is doing somewhat better. He still doesn’t always know when to drop the games. But I think he’s starting to pick up on that. Let’s just hope he learns in time. Though if I put any faith in what the cards told me last night all our efforts for him will be in vain. Statistically speaking I have to go with those cards. Thing is: I don’t want to. And I don’t give up.

The most amazing things happened that night. There was a ghoul, laying out tarot cards for anyone who bothered to ask him to. I sure as hell did. And he was good! Of course you could interpret those cards in a thousand ways. But his guesses were pretty solid. At first that surprised me. But when I learned what was in the letter Rottenmeier handed to me I knew she had more insight than any kindred I know there wasn’t much of a surprise left. That woman is dangerous. Could be in a good way though. According to those cards we share the same personal card. Maybe I can establish a link through that. Maybe that way she can be kept on a leash. The cards… They spoke of the fall of one senator. Now, right now it’s an easy guess to think that would be Thomas. But that’s just about what Xerxes did wrong, so really it might be Jean or myself just as well. Doesn’t matter much. It also said that one senator would remain constant. Those cards, however, never mentioned the third senator at all. Which gives you yet more room for interpretation. Fascinating shit.

The hands were just as interesting. The lady said the lines in my palm were strange because they went a different way than usual. She also thought that I was scared. At that point I wasn’t though. I was just curious. Dead on curious. That type of thing always gets to me. I LOVE those things! Anyway. What she had to say basically boiled down to the same stuff the cards already revealed. Yet more room for interpretation.

Then Rottenmeier invited me upstairs for a private glance behind the mirror. There was this HUGE candle. She told me that, once I was ready, I should snuff it out. The spirits and ghosts would speak to me. And when they were done the candle would light up again, automatically. Spooky! But – interesting! So I sat down, took a moment and then started. Old memories. Sometimes distorted. Different voices. Different shapes. But the message was clear. Self-doubt. Wondering whether I was smart enough. Searching my own flaws and mistakes. Memories of my mother. My father. Christmas. More and more, until I finally collapsed.

I would have expected many people to be there when I woke up. I didn’t expect her. The person to pick me up and help me back onto my feet was Esther. Her, of all people. It was very good fortune for her to check on me. The blood that binds her to me makes her more likely to dismiss my weaknesses whenever I display them. And watching her push Rottenmeier against the wall for slapping me brought some strange satisfaction, however minor it may have been. And since there was another message in the cards, lines and candle I had her check on Dee, who is fine, fortunately. Never have I drank anyone’s blood. Yet I feel strangely grateful to Esther.

But there were more people to take a toll that night. Mascha is being bipolar about what she wants of me and Jason and what she doesn’t want. I pushed her a little too far. I wonder how she’ll get out of this one.

Very revealing for Jean as well, I guess. Rottenmeier must also know of him and his sister. She had a stone put up with Marie’s name on it. I tried to keep him away from it as long as I could. And when I figured he wouldn’t stay away forever and somebody would tell him anyway I explained to him Las Días de Los Muertos. I think he got the basic gist of it. Unlike sex allusions. Just how clearly do you have to say “they want to fuck” for him to let it go? Anyway. I also gave him a taste of how my head usually works. Which made him collapse. That is one part of the evening I sure as hell don’t regret at all. He needed to see this. He needs to understand why I work the way I do. And I still want to kiss the blood from his hands… Only he wouldn’t have any of it. Of course not. Several reasons, I guess. Doesn’t mean I have to like them. He, too, seemed in dire need of comfort. With Mascha and Jason that makes a lot of people I have to take care of. Though I’m pretty sure Mascha will have none of it.

By now I have received Jason’s report on last night. Rape is a bad enough subject with women. To men it’s even worse, because most of us guys never recover from what that’ll do to our pride. They think nobody is ever going to take them serious again. Because obviously at some point they weren’t man enough to defend themselves. They were weak. And there’s hardly a thing as bad for a male than to think of himself as weak. Being the one who needs protection instead of being the one to provide it. Worse yet is needing comfort. Your basic hug can become pure torture because what kind of man is it that actually needs that? I’ll drop by him now, see what I can do.

“In Mexico they celebrate those days in a very different way than us Europeans would. To them this is an opportunity. You remember the dead. Celebrate the time you shared together. People buy candy skulls with the names of their loved ones. They lay out pathways from cemeteries to their apartments, so that the spirits will find the way back home, using mostly orange color because – traditionally – that’s the color the dead can see the best. Suitable eye patch, don’t you think? Anyway… They also build a small altar in their houses where they set up pictures or private belongings of those who have passed away. And they remember.”
Er reichte in seine Jackettasche, zog eine kleine Silberkette mit einem Anhänger daran hervor: Der Kopf eines Einhorns auf ein dreiblättriges Kleeblatt aufgesetzt. Er legte es in die Hand der Frau.
“That could tell you a few things about one of the dead. I would like you to keep it, till we return on Monday. I’m sure it’s in good care until then.”
‘Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace.’
Ob sie gelächelt hatte, das hatte er nicht sehen können. Und er hatte sich nicht die Mühe gemacht nachzusehen ob sie ihm in diesem Moment zugetan war oder nicht. Ob sie log oder nicht. Das alles war ihm egal gewesen. Einen Abend lang hatte er an Frieden glauben wollen. Nur diese Nacht lang…