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From: Joseph and Millie
With a final click the large vault door swung open on silent hinges revealing the entrance to what had to be the secret refuge of Joseph Tudor. Millie looked into the dark pit leading down. With a small clap of excitement, the mousy girl crept into the palpable darkness. Turning, she pushed the heavy door closed behind her and with a satisfied smile heard it lock into place with the finality of death.
Her eyes glowed in the darkness as she carefully examined the chamber that she found herself in. A heavy wooden staircase hugged the right wall and led down to a concrete floor. The walls of this medium sized room were made of cinderblock and slime. From where she perched she could see the entire sepulcher. An old-style operating table in front of her running parallel to the wall, bolted to the ground. A large bookshelf lined the wall just to the side of the heavy metal table. Lining the far wall was a large laboratory table with shelves rising almost to the ceiling. Just in front of the table was a roughly circular area of clean concrete flooring that seemed to have no fixed shape. Beyond that was a large, shiny metal box. In the side facing the circle was a door.
Nothing else was visible from where she stood, so quietly she slunk down the stairs and headed to the metal box, skirting the eerie circle. There was a thin coating of damp dust covering the concrete floor that adhered to her bare feet like glue. Moving silently, Millie kept twisting her head, looking into the dark recesses of the lab. Shadows seemed to slide just out of view as she turned, never quite seen, but felt: Malignant forces that resented her intrusion into *their* domain. Her hearing could detect the faint hiss of escaping air, or was it the scratchy whisperings of these baneful Shades?
Crossing the room quickly, she reached the aluminum door and pulled the handle. It opened with a quiet pop, refrigerated air reaching out, encircling her with enticing odors. Peering inside, she was slowly drawn in, captivated by the numerous glass containers. Vials, beakers, and jars stared at her from all sides, some of them even with eyes. Pickled frogs, dissected cats, and embryos of numerous species floated in murky solutions. Herbs and flower bulbs hung in neat rows over her head, drying. Insects of every variety were sealed in mason jars. Vials upon vials of blood, all neatly numbered, filled one rack against a wall. Bags of what could only be plasma filled another rack. Dark glass jars, filled with powder, metal shards, or colored liquids lined the shelves of the back wall all labeled in Joseph’s neat penmanship. Touching smelling tasting Millie went from one container to the next, insatiable desire driving her on.
Finally she managed to pull herself from the room and proceeded to examine the rest of the Alchemical lab. Moving as quietly as the very shadows around her Millie slipped over to the long table: A seamless slab of black Malachite gouged and pitted from years of use. A cold draft seemed to emanate from the circle behind her, caressing her ankles. Ignoring its call for now she studied the many cubbyholes rising from the table. Jars of crushed powder, vials of viscous liquids, rubber hose and all manner of glassware lay strewn across the surface of the table. Moving down the table she got to the end and looked at the operating table: A monstrosity of ancient design reminiscent of a scene from Frankenstein. Reaching forth, Millie hungrily strokes the table to ‘feel’ its past, and shudders. After a while, she walks around the table to the bookshelf. Row upon row of books about human anatomy, herbalism, chemistry, and biology await her perusal. Turning, she approached the circle and stopped just outside its border. Extending a finger out before her, she pierced the assumed boundary and then avidly looked for reactions. Nothing, all was quiet, waiting. Pulling her finger back she then took her foot and tapped the floor inside the circle. It was warm and smooth like it had been left in the sun.
With a sudden click that rung sharply in the Malkavian’s attuned ears, the door above the stairs started to swing open. Moving with supple adroitness, she sprang catlike behind the refrigerator, waiting for her chance.
… to be continued …