Once Martin had returned us to the lounge and seated us to his satisfaction he left, almost simultaneously with the arrival of our tutors-and the regent.  The regent made it clear that for the next month we would be learning to adjust to our new lifestyle, failure to do so was not an option.  Julia signalled me to follow her and left, I hurried after her and she led me downstairs into a large basement room.  A woman a few years younger than me stood there, she seemed unafraid.
 

“This is Marion; she will permit you to feed from her,” said Julia, “Feed from her wrist, do not take too much and try not to get it all over yourself.”

I walked towards Marion, and to my surprise I could hear her heartbeat.  She held her wrist out and I felt my fangs drop as I moved my mouth to her wrist.  She winced slightly as my fangs slid through her skin and I tasted her blood almost instantly.  I drank greedily. I was so surprised how different from my first victim’s blood it tasted that I failed to heed Julia’s instruction to stop feeding.  She wrapped her fingers round my throat and lifted my head from the wound then ordered me to stop feeding and lick the wound.  Something in her voice made it impossible for me to argue; I drew Marion’s wrist to my mouth and gently licked the wound, the bleeding stopped instantly.   Marion’s legs gave way and I caught her as she fell, easily lifting her and carrying her to the couch.  My suit was covered in blood and a trail of bloody footprints led to a larger pool of blood where Marion had stood as I fed.  Marion had bled heavily before I had managed to seal the wound.  Julia tended to Marion and, once she had recovered consciousness, led her from the room.  When she returned Julia had brought me a change of clothes, but before allowing me to change she told me in no uncertain terms how dangerous what I had done was and that I would have to learn to pay attention.  I changed my clothes and watched as two servants cleaned the floor and took my bloodstained clothes away.

Julia led me upstairs taking the opportunity to further lecture me on how dangerous what I had done could have been, this time going into great detail as to the possible consequences for both me and my prey. The survival of the kindred depended on secrecy and the penalty for breaching that secrecy is death. Final death.  Lesson two was the traditions.

Once again we assembled in the lounge and were seated as Martin had seated us and told to sit quietly and pay attention.  Our tutors conferred for a short while then one stepped forward and began to talk.  He had a forgettable face and was dressed to impress.  In my case he failed.

“There are six traditions and they are the foundation of our society, they are recognised worldwide and do not change,” he said, making eye contact with each of us in turn, “ they are The masquerade, The domain,  Progeny, The Accounting, Hospitality and Destruction.”  He paused.  “The first Tradition is the Masquerade, innocent sounding as it is,” I swear he pronounced the capitals, “is probably the most vital to our survival.  We must not let those who are not kindred know that we are, or we must ensure that they tell no one.  Ever.  Kindred is what we call ourselves.”  He paused again and smiled, letting the smile widen until his fangs dropped.  After a few moments he let them recede.  “The second Tradition is the Domain.  In theory in our own domain, as granted by a Prince or held by sheer strength,” he continued, “we are owed respect and need ask no one for permission to do anything in practice that is tempered by both Progeny and Destruction.”  He paused for effect, pausing for breath is pointless for us. “I shall let one of my colleagues continue the lesson.”
 
I mentally sighed with relief, his pompous voice matched his appearance and I found him hard to listen to.  Sighing outwardly would’ve been risky, it’s not something we kindred do naturally.  He stepped back and the second speaker stepped forward, her emerald dress swished audibly as she did, like Julia she appeared to glide rather than walk.  I noticed that her eyes were as green as her dress and that she looked to be only a few years my senior. The appearance was obviously deceptive; she was much older than she looked.  When she started speaking she had a much deeper voice than I expected but at least it was pleasantly modulated.

“The third Tradition, Progeny, is simple: no making vampires without an elder’s permission – in practice this means the Prince of a city – or both creator and created are subject to execution. The fourth Tradition is The Accounting, another innocent sounding one, it really means that if you make a vampire you are responsible for whatever it does, you are responsible for teaching it everything it needs to know and if it fouls up you pay the price. On the other hand the childe –with an ‘e’- is expected to do whatever it is told-you are childer, which is the plural of childe - disobedience is punishable however the sire – we are your sires- wishes, including by final death. You are accountable.” She smiled, “I’ll let Justin finish the lesson.”

She flowed back to be replaced by a tall, well dressed man with a face that should have belonged to a favourite uncle.  Perhaps it did, once.   His voice was deep, easy to listen to and carried as if he was used to lecturing or preaching.

“The fifth Tradition is Hospitality which simply means that you respect another’s domain by following their rules; it is your responsibility to find out what those rules are. The sixth and final Tradition is Destruction which means killing of kindred, and that right belongs exclusively to the eldest, younger may not slay elder.”  He paused, “Although it is not strictly a tradition, feeding from kindred is frowned upon.  If you feed upon your elder, to his final death, in an attempt to steal his power then that is called diablerie.  It almost always carries a death sentence, and you will no longer be granted the protection of your clan or the camarilla.”

He stepped back to join the others, they conferred briefly and then Julia told me to follow her and walked from the room.  I say walked because I know she walked, I could hear her footsteps, but glided is a better description of what I saw.  I hastily followed her as I realised that she was already out of the room and I hadn’t moved yet.  I felt like a little boy running after his mummy.  She led me to a room that turned out to be a comfortable parlour, she sat and indicated that I should do likewise, I did.

“What did you think of the lesson?” she asked.

“I think the first speaker spoke at us rather than to us, like a bad preacher,” I replied, “and I swear he pronounced the capitals.”

“Don’t be facetious” she snapped, her hand gripping my throat for a second time that day.  I hadn’t seen her move. “Now, let’s try again.” She was back in her seat, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

“I found the first speaker the hardest to listen to, the woman was easier and the final speaker reminded me of a lecturer, a skilled one he made me want to listen; there was rather a lot of information and I doubt if any of us will remember all of it.”

“Better.  Now, why did you continue to feed when I told you to stop?”

“I didn’t hear you until you pulled me off, the taste, the experience, was overwhelming.”

“It is for most fledglings, and if they don’t get over it it’ll get them killed.  Think if you had been feeding alone, outside.”  She smiled, “And why did you have to run after me?”

“I was watching the way you moved, it fascinated me.” If I was mortal I would have blushed, but for us that is a deliberate act.

“Learn to use your senses, to control them.  The big secret for survival is control.”  She smiled, “Now for the next month you are going to be learning, a lot.  Some will be knowledge, like the traditions, most will be skills like feeding, using your senses without letting them overwhelm you.  I am going to ask you a question, you will answer it honestly.  Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am.” I replied.

“Why do you wear gloves all the time?”

I considered an evasive answer for a heartbeat, recalled her hand on my throat and settled for buying a little more time.

“May I ask why ma’am?”

“Of course you can, asking questions is vital to your learning.  Allow me to expand on the traditions slightly for you.  For breaching the masquerade the penalty is death.  For breaching Hospitality the penalty is death.  The right of destruction – final death-belongs to your elder.  Do you see the pattern emerging?”

“Yes ma’am.” I swallowed hard, it was the most elegant threat I’d ever heard.

“Now, why do you wear gloves all the time?”

“I almost died when I was a child, after that I saw visions when I touched objects.  I couldn’t control it, the first one scared me and my mother made me gloves.  It stopped them, so I never took my gloves off.”

“The ability is called psychometry and rarely survives the embrace; of course if it has you can learn to control it.” She smiled. “Take off your gloves and lift the candlestick from the table, tell me what you see, if anything.”

 Reluctantly I removed my right glove and gingerly took hold of the candlestick; it was like opening a floodgate as images flooded into my head. Obediently I described the disjointed visions aloud then dropped the candlestick and replaced my glove.  Julia was staring at me delightedly.

“This must remain our little secret for now.” She said, “You saw things that happened before you were born and your descriptions were accurate.  Your gift has survived; it is one more thing you must learn to control.  You will tell no one about this...experiment.”

“As you wish,” I replied, shuddering. “I would prefer to practice, if I must, on objects with a less bloody past.”

Julia laughed so hard that tears of blood ran down her face, I was still young enough not to know that she did that deliberately.  For effect.

“A vampire who doesn’t like blood,” She laughed, “Amazing.”

“I was concerned it may trigger the hunger.” I replied, cursing inwardly as I realised what I’d said.

“Where did you hear that term Michael?” her voice was soft, but unmistakably menacing.

“My domitor used it when I was a ghoul ma’am.” I replied, deciding that she wouldn’t tolerate anything but the truth.

“And when were you going to tell me about that part of your life?”

“I wasn’t, I didn’t think it was important ma’am.”

“What happened to your domitor Michael, why did he release you?”

“He didn’t exactly,” I replied, “he was called away.”

“I want to know everything – his lineage, exactly why and how he left and what happened to you.”
 
 I did as I was told.  My domitor had been Victor Lowe of the Sixth generation from Caine of Clan Tremere.  As I have already related he received a letter and left with those who delivered it.  Afterwards I was found a job and was made aware that the Chantry was watching me and then I was told what my domitor had done.  He had been feeding on kindred, kindred older than himself and they could prove it.  After a while I was given a choice and that brought me to where I am now.  Julia made me describe my time as a ghoul, in detail.  I won’t bore you with it here.  When I finished, I sat back in my chair and watched her closely.  She sat upright in her chair and shook her head.  I waited for an explosion that never came.

“Michael, as a ghoul you learned much about us.  You learned the traditions, you know our senses are heightened which should help you adapt to them and you have already begun to callous your conscience.  We can concentrate on what you need to learn.” She said, “The first thing you need to learn,” I found her hand on my throat yet again, “is that I decide what you need to tell me, not you.  You will not withhold anything from me again or I will kill you.  Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am” I choked out, she released me.

“Good. We will use our month to help you learn to control your gift and your senses.”  She flowed back into her chair and sat, I watched fascinated.  “Senses first I think, close your eyes and listen really listen.”

I obeyed, the room was silent as we neither breathed nor had a heartbeat, and to my surprise I could hear sounds from beyond the room without trying.  Noises from the corridor warred with sounds from the street.  Cab wheels bumped over cobbled streets, whips cracked, footsteps in the corridor got louder and I could even hear the handle turning before the door opened.  The door didn’t creak, but I heard it open anyway.  I opened my eyes.  A young girl was standing in the doorway; she looked straight at Julia and ignored me.  I could hear her heartbeat, it was racing, and she was breathing fairly normally so I guessed she was scared.

“Sorry to intrude ma’am but Felix has returned and sent me to find you immediately,” Said the girl, her voice pleasingly light.  “He says he won’t talk to anyone else.”

“Nor should he,” Retorted Julia. “Thank you my dear, you may go.” The girl left and closed the door.

“What did you learn by listening Michael?”

“I could hear sounds from the street and the corridor, it was fascinating. I heard the footsteps and knew that she was getting nearer, I heard the door open.  I could hear her heart racing even though her breathing was nearly normal.  I learned that she was nervous or scared, and that if I’m not careful those sounds could easily overwhelm me and that is only one sense.”

“Good, now go to the library, find a book and start reading.  When I want you I will call.  I have work to do. Go.”

“Yes ma’am.” I rose and left the room.

I found my way to the library and found a suitable book to read.  I took a seat at a reading table and began to read about the history of clan Tremere, as I did I listened.  I could hear footsteps as people moved, an odd rubbing noise that I soon identified as people shifting in their seats, and the sibilant hiss of turning pages.  I tried to focus on first one sound and then another, to my surprise it worked – I could shut out what I didn’t want to hear with only a little effort. I found it harder to read and deliberately listen at the same time, but I could do it.  I lost track of time as I read and listened to the Chantry going about its business.  Julia’s voice was quiet but distinct; I obediently put away the book and returned to the little parlour we had been using.

“Well done, sit down.” She said.  I obeyed. “Now, what have you learned Michael?”

“From the book I learned some more about the history of the Clan.” I replied, “I also learned that I can shut some noises out if I try, and the more I do it the less I have to try.”

“Excellent.  We will work on your other senses as well, the principles you have learned apply equally to all. Practice them.”

Over the next week we did just that, bright lights, loud noises, strong smells both pleasant and otherwise, I discovered an entire new world.  I learned to be selective, to choose which sense or senses would be my main source of information.  I learned why most kindred smell of some kind of perfume or cologne, the smell of blood could be a lot more than distracting for us.  Half way through the second week of my training month came what I dreaded most, training my ability.

I reported to the now familiar little parlour, and sitting on the table in front of Julia were a selection of items.  I suppressed a groan, it was obvious what was going to happen, I took a seat and listened patiently as Julia explained what I was to do.  I chose, for my first object a fountain pen still in its presentation box.  I took off my right glove and touched the box. Nothing happened. I opened the box and admired the beautifully crafted pen then lifted it out.  I saw someone writing, and not much else.  Julia nodded and told me that the pen was less than a year old and belonged to one of the library scribes.  Next was an ashtray.  I touched it then threw it half way across the room; I saw fire and instinctively thrust it from me.  My thrust propelled it across the room and into the wall with enough force to shatter it.  Julia made me explain in detail what I had seen.  I described the sudden flare of the flame and the heat, for the first time I realised that it wasn’t just visions.  The next item was a knife, I looked at Julia who smiled and nodded.  Reluctantly I lifted the knife.  To my surprise I saw envelopes, lots of envelopes and a little blood as a clerk using it to open mail slit his finger.  My vision was disturbed Julia’s laughter pealing round the room.

“We’ll take a break there.” She said, “It’s time for you to feed.”

We went to another room and Marion was waiting for us, this time I did it right – my first time.  I took enough to sate my thirst, stopped and sealed the wound.  Julia looked pleased as did Marion.  I felt as if I had passed some kind of test.  Julia took me back to the parlour.  I spotted a beautifully made watch and chose that for my next item.  I was plunged into a maelstrom of sights, sounds and feelings which I related aloud for Julia as best as I could.  I described the owner of the watch, the sounds around him and the street he was in, and his demise as he was fed on – badly – and basically ripped to pieces.  I dropped the watch onto the table and looked at Julia, and realised that I didn’t care what I had seen now that the item was gone from my grip.  Julia just smiled and that smile said it all, she had deliberately chosen items that had backgrounds totally unrelated to their exterior to include in the selection.  And was going to keep doing so.

“If you can tell me who this belongs to,” she said holding up a medallion, “you can call it a night.”

I took the medallion and shuddered, it was old, very old. And it had ‘seen’ a lot of things in its time, both pleasant and unpleasant; I tried to sift through the sensory bombardment.  To my delight I found that focussing as I had learned to do with my senses helped, and after what felt like a few minutes I came up with a name.  Julia took the amulet from me and smiled her approval; apparently I had got it right.  She dismissed me for the evening and, as I roamed the Chantry, I realised that it was later than I had thought.  Another new thing learned, time in my ‘visions’ as I still thought of them was totally unrelated to time in the real world.

The last week of my month of training was a little different.  I was sitting in the parlour with Julia discussing how we should proceed when the door burst open and a man a few years my junior burst into the room.  He ignored me entirely and stepped between me and Julia, his back to me.

“I apologise for interrupting Julia, but I really need to talk to you.” He said.

“Close the door and take a seat Felix,” replied Julia, “and we can talk.  Michael stays.”

“So this is Michael.” The door gently closed as Felix took a seat and glared at me.

“I am Felix Masterson, of the eighth generation from Caine of Clan Tremere.”

“I am Michael Grant of the eighth generation from Caine of Clan Tremere.” I replied, wondering why he had barged in, why he was glaring at me and why Julia wasn’t furious.

“Felix, why did you barge in here uninvited?” asked Julia, her voice softer than usual.  So she was annoyed, although not as annoyed as I thought she’d be.

“It has to stop.  I have no objection to helping my little brother,” he smiled broadly, which made him look even younger, “but enough is enough.  He can feed elsewhere.”  He stopped, staring at my face. “He doesn’t know, does he?”

“No Felix he doesn’t know.”