I had been throwing darts, trying to get my mind off of what I had just seen. Bullseye. Other men might have thrown up to see pieces of their friends, colleagues really, arranged on the dock to spell "CONSPIRACY." I'm not most men. Bullseye. In fact I almost laughed when I saw that the "Y" was made up of boots and clothes. They hadn't planned too well, those damned animals. Bullseye. Whoever they were. I plucked each dart from its home just a hair off of center.

Darts were no good, especially not if they forced me to recognize a slight twitch in my throw. They weren't going to take my mind off of anything. They wouldn't change the fact that I had lost several allies and a ghoul. She wasn't my favorite, Aurora, but she was mine. And she was tough as nails. I don't know if it was finally some the big dogs, maybe that damned kid's girlfriend and her "connections" after all, that finally hit their limit or something else.

We folks that made up "Atlantis" had always prided ourselves on our diversity. A Benetton ad for the occult. But we had drugs in common. It wasn't just them, but everything that came with them, especially the giant waste of time, life, unlife, and the like. But I don't think it was the Family's drug runners. There were two guys I didn't know in the human spelling bee by the pier.

As I slipped through the horrified crowd, I noticed one of the two torsos wore a necklace. It looked hermetic. It might have been placed there, but I don't know why. More importantly, I don't know who, and that strikes a nerve with me. When you're a ragtag bunch of outcasts, it's hard to know who the crime is targeting: the Mages, the Vamps, the Fairies? Any one of us has his or her own enemies and the few we have in common aren't this sloppy. They're also all too human to actually find us. Maybe we slipped up. I've always said that we've been here too long.

But whoever it was, they didn't touch the boat. They hadn't gotten that deep into the connections. If someone had pieced together the paperwork on all of us, they would have found the boat. If they had pieced together something more abstract, then the boat wouldn't have stuck out, not while no one was on it. It's swept pretty clean of all of us. Or it was. I don't have the skills to do that on my own.

But to find everyone, everyone but the four of us left, the ghouls and me, that takes some powerful kind of voodoo. It's the kind that Kindred don't have, not unless they're older than anyone walking these streets has a right to be. The thought of a Methuselah almost makes me gag like the massacre at the dock did not, but I regain my composure. I'm alive and that's not insubstantial, not after what I might have been. Unless . . . and it strikes me that maybe there had been a "Y" and he or she just isn't there anymore, now scattered like ash on the wind. But no, that would be too convenient for them. The one to replace was at the end of the word? I think they just ran out of body parts to spell their word. There were no vampires. Aurora was collateral damage for hanging out with the wizards. I never really liked them and now I actually have a reason. Bastards.

Now it's just us four, motoring slowly South. I don't know where we'll go. I'm too good at darts, even after something like this, to hit anything other than what I'm aiming at. But I won't decide where to go. I have a hundred ideas, which means they're all off the table. Something big is lurking around the corner and it found us. It might not be after me, what with all the other bodies on the pier, but it might. I know too much about the mysteries of the underworld to not suspect the worst in these nights. Whoever it is, if it's after me, it might be infecting my mind. I don't want it to find me or to think that it's scared me right where it always knew I would go. I need spontaneity not of my choosing.

***

When India brought me the evening newspaper down in my cabin, I see that tonight's story didn't make the deadline. There must be electronic updates, but this is clear of the taint of those images. I don't want to see it. Hell, I don't want to see any of the paper. But when I toss it on the ground, I get an idea. It's too silly for a Methuselah to bother with: the sudoku puzzle. 6 and 9 are the most empty numbers. Not much. Until you take them to the next power: 36 and 81. That's . . . I look on a map of the Eastern seaboard . . . Charlotte. Christ, there isn't water there, and there's still room for Methuselah infection. Too easy to control that.

I toss a coin into the air and when it lands, it comes down on a blank square. Within 30 seconds, I can tell that it will be a 2 when it's filled in. 34, 81 or 38, 81. Or 36, 83 or 36, 79. These are my options. But as I do a little digging, there's only one option. The Research Triangle is too academic. I don't need all those scholars trying to route me out. And anything else? I shudder. I think I'd rather take a Methuselah than a pack of Wolves. At least I could enjoy myself a little in the city before I was killed.

And that leaves Columbia, South Carolina. At least it's my decision to go. India will flip shit. That's enough of a reason. If there's someone pulling my cords, at least this will get me close enough to where they want me to be without actually being there. If they control gravity and how a coin falls, then I'm fucked anyway. Time to find out more about my new home . . .