<span style="text-decoration: underline"><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="font-weight: bold">Elsewhere in the Palace...</span></span></span><br/><br/>The study was ill-lit by a single lamp on an end table beside a high-backed chair; its dim light cast a long, arching shadow on the far wall as the chair's occupant removed the handset from the telephone cradle, placing the receiver against his ear as he dialed.  The scrape of the finger wheel with each number dialed resounded in the otherwise silent study.<br/><br/>"Mr. Serat," the man requested after a woman's tinny response in his ear.  "Lucian Christopher calling."<br/><br/>"Abaddon-" Lucian greeted when connected.  "Lucian here.  The druid has made an appearance."<br/>"Well, he didn't exactly sneak in, but he isn't rattling his saber either."<br/>"Some little Nannie Dee named Johnnie, here all the time; I don't know the connection with him."<br/>"Well, if I can, sure - but I'm not starting a war on my own doorstep for you."<br/>"A pleasure.  Bye now."  Returning the handset to its cradle, the owner of the Sheik and Sheba Palace pressed a small button built into a panel on his chair's armrest.  A moment later two men entered the study, both built along the lines of a Model T chassis but with blunter features.  Lucian bade them closer with a crooked finger.<br/><br/>"I called the warlock - his men will be here shortly.  I want you to find out more about this vamp doll of his; find out if you can what he is doing here; if they go to leave keep them occupied for as long as possible,<span style="font-style: italic">without altercation</span>.  Free drinks, stall his bill, whatever.<span style="font-style: italic">Do not confront the druid</span>," he reiterated.  "The warlock will see to him."<br/><br/><span style="text-decoration: underline"><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">The Anteroom...</span></span></span><br/><br/>"Possibly," Johnnie said. "Would you care to tell me anyway?"<br/><br/>Roman took another sip of Champagne before responding.  ''Of course.  But first I must admit I was remiss in introducing myself earlier.  Allow me to correct that.  My name is John Roman."  Keeper of the balance, fulcrum to the world, the druid was a known entity to virtually all of the otherworld; perhaps feared, likely hated, certainly respected.  As the current iteration of the druid, Roman lived in a time where the supernatural and mortal worlds were rising in power precipitously.  Although the balance was still kept by his efforts, the scales were becoming precariously heavy of late, and more and more Roman was required to meddle in the otherworld's affairs, sometimes forcefully.  This had endeared him to few, thus his clandestine avoidance of the druid's mantle tonight.  Whether Johnnie would spit in his face, attempt to fight or flee, or simply slip further into her drunken numbness - in any event it was time to ask his questions.<br/><br/>Hand still resting at the small of the girl's back, Roman reached into his inner breast pocket and retrieved a small photograph depicting a man in full formal dress with a dinner coat of a style more in keeping with the end of the previous century fashion, complete with cravat and top hat.  Obfuscated by a rather impressive handlebar mustache was a young planar face, beset with small glimmering eyes beneath an expansive forehead.  He stood with one booted foot propped upon a small boulder, a set of field tools in the foreground.  "This is Gregory Markham, a notable Egyptologist.  Recognize him?"<br/><br/>Two months ago the man had returned from a successful expedition to Cairo and had celebrated with a night at the Palace.  He wasn't seen again until just a few weeks ago when the desiccated body of a seemingly 80-year-old man at the morgue was proven by his dental records to be the 28-year-old Markham.  While it is possible for succubae to drain a man's sexual energy so fully that physical aging unto expiration occurred, the more experienced succubae knew to siphon only enough essence to leave the man temporarily exhausted before shortly recovering.  But the<span style="font-style: italic">temptress</span>, as Johnnie was known in some circles, was young and reckless and with a reputation for drunken exuberance.  No doubt she hadn't meant to kill Markham, perhaps even to this point didn't know that she had - the Palace well-kept its clients' secrets - but either way she was the final knot in the thread of Markham's life that Roman was unraveling.<br/><br/>Sliding the picture onto the table in front of her and leaning in closer still - to all outward appearance he was some guy canoodling with his gal - Roman whispered in Johnnie's ear.  "My proposal is this: give me the essence you took from this man - his memories, his thoughts, his goals, his<span style="font-style: italic">life</span>- and I ignore the part you played in his death."<br/><br/>Before he could say anything else, Roman had to stop short as their solitude was interrupted by the appearance of another<span style="font-style: italic">draugr</span>waiter.  The creature, rather a hulking specimen in its life, mutely went about its business of cleaning and preparing the room's other tables.  Turning back to the temptress, Roman kept an eye on the creature's back in the reflection of the long, gilded wall mirror opposite him.