The coterie was told that they should meet with an envoy of the prince named Alexander Massara, a Ventrue whose place of business is located at 189 Bowery. They arrived to see a modern high rise building of 19 stories with an all glass façade. Upon entering the building, the décor spoke of luxury. White marble floors, highly polished and pristine was set with Italian leather seating in a waiting area offset to the black granite reception desk veined in matte silver. Two exceptionally attractive woman smiled pleasantly as the group approached, one with red hair the color of an autumn bonfire, the other with straight ink black hair with blue highlights. Several individuals, wearing dark suits and earpieces, obvious security, stood quietly in tactical positions around the greeting area. As each member arrived, they were directed to have a seat.

The first to arrive was handsome man, late 20’s with light brown hair. He wore an untucked button down shirt and dockers. His loafers were newish and clean, nice for department store footwear.

“Rustin Cole. Clan Tremere.” He said extending his hand to a middle eastern man, particularly well-dressed wearing a stoic expression on his face.

“Bastenji.” He offered taking the man’s hand. “Most of us do not speak so freely of our clan affiliation. It can be dangerous in unfamiliar areas.” He counseled.

“I see.” Rustin answered slightly taken aback. “I thought we going to working together.”

“Indeed we are lad.” The priest who had accompanied Bastanji into the foyer announced. “Don’t mind him. He’s the secretive type. Clan of judges an all. I’m Father Liam Callahan, pleased to make your acquaintance.” The priest wore a custom tailored suit with a roman collar.

“Nice duds padre.” A woman interjected. She had long wispy black hair and somewhat sallow features. Her attire was hippie chic as if she had just come from a movie set shooting a Woodstock period piece. She was attractive but something in her expression seemed off. “Sylvie Lombardo.” She introduced herself with a slight curtsy.

Rustin pulled a leather bound note pad from his pocket and began writing. “Bastanji – Banu Hakim, Father Callahan – Lasombra, Sylvie – Malkavian. “Looks like we’re missing the Gangrel.”

“Nope. I’m right here detective.” A tall man, muscular, wearing leather pants a white tank top called out as he approached. His wallet was chained to his belt. “Well we know who the narc is right officer?” He joked, slapping Rustin hard enough on the shoulder to push him forward. “Tabot Klann.” He said as he brought his hands to his hips.

“How did you…” Rustin had begun to ask.

“You stink of donuts, coffee and sadness. Of course you’re a cop.” He grinned, exposing oversized canines. “And who else takes notes when they meet people.” He answered with a sarcastic grin.

“Hallooo.” A woman’s voice, thick with eastern European accent, cut off the conversation. “Good. You are all here. You will follow me yes?” She was wearing a black pin striped pants suit with a waist cut jacket that hardly covered the holster of her Russian GSh 18 pistol. As she turned, the barrel end of a Heckler and Koch MP5 peaked from the small of her back. “I’m Elena Sokolov, Mr. Massara’s head of Security. This way.” She said turning into a hallway with a pair of elevators.

Once the car was loaded, she keyed in a code and the lift ascended. When the doors opened again they were greeted to an open work space. There was a man covered in tattoos even up to his face watching “Rick and Morty” on an 80 inch QLED Television. He was wearing a similar tank top to Talbot but with a pair of ripped jean and overused work boots that he unceremoniously placed on what had to be a rather expensive coffee table.  He turned slightly toward the elevator as the door opened but turned away disinterested as he sucked on a toothpick. The main office space was fairly quiet with only a few workers quietly discussing paperwork on oversized leather parlor chairs. To the right were several private offices, all but one darkened. In the illuminated room was a thin Middle Eastern man who wore his silky black hair wrapped tight into a man bun. He was speaking to woman of similar ethnicity wearing a chauffeur’s jacket and skirt with fishnet stockings.

“Through here please.” Elena said opening a door to a conference room, lavishly furnished with every modern amenity. There were several massive monitors quietly playing news and financial reports from around the world. There was a bar lined on one wall and a bookcase on its opposite. Several computer stations and a recessed printer nook was set discreetly of to the side. The center of the room was commanded by a massive black and brown wenge wood table with seating for better than a dozen people. The high back leather chairs were of the highest quality, thickly cushioned with heavy stitching. Sitting at the head facing the doorway was handsome man with olive tan Italian skin tone. He had manicured dark hair and was wearing a suit that only the good father could fathom the cost. He was slightly turned away from the entrance, deep in conversation with a dark skinned Hispanic woman whose ink black hair cascaded to her waist. She was wearing a designer pencil skirt and holding a tablet for him to review. As the group entered they could hear the conversation was in Spanish. Elena, announced their arrival in Russian and the man seamlessly switched languages to respond. He turned full around to greet his guests.

“Welcome. I’m Alexander Massara, but you can call me Alec, Please, sit. Be comfortable.”

“Did you say Alec Massara?” Rustin asked.

“Yes Detective Cole.”

“How?”

“Donuts and sadness.” Talbot murmured.

Alec looked at his assistant for a moment. “Yes Rustin, I know who you are. I know who all of you are. I’d be a poor mentor if I didn’t. But I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced until now.”

“That’s correct.” Rustin replied, regaining his composure. “But I am familiar with the Dragomir investigation. You look a lot like…”

“Do I?” Alec grinned before changing the subject.

“You’ve already met Elena I assume, right El?”

“Da Alec.”

“This lovely young lady is my personal assistant, Ysabelle Saenz.”

“Hola.” She smiled.

“And last but certainly not least is my attorney, Kimiko.”

The group turned their head to see a woman who moments ago had not been there, standing quietly in the corner. She appeared to be of Japanese decent and was wearing a business suit similar to Elena’s but in a rich green. She nodded at her introduction but said nothing.

Perhaps now would be a good time to introduce yourselves to each other. If you’re going to be a coterie there needs to be a level of trust. No worries Bastanji, this place is as private and secure as anyone could hope for these nights.

Once the niceties of introduction had been completed Alec once again took control of the room.

“Our Prince has a service to ask of you. She has formed your group of… as she calls… Misfits into a coterie and has a problem she needs rectified that will test your ability and resourcefulness. Before you take insult to the word Misfits, my own coterie bore the same title before being renamed the Irregulars. Slightly less offensive I guess.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“What does the Prince need?” The good father asked.

Alec nodded to Ysabelle who keyed a few strokes into her tablet. Pictures of girls began to show on the monitor behind him, forming a collage of photos. At the same time Kimiko distributed folders with the same pictures inside and whatever background information was known about each of the girls that had been collected. There has been a rash of disappearances over the last few weeks. All young girls, all pretty, all missing… well all except for one.”

The monitor flashed the picture of as girl who looked to be a young teen.

“This is Maris Perez. She was found dead by a dumpster behind the Nightclub Tao Downtown in Chelsea, drained of all her blood and discarded as refuse.

“She’s a child.” Sylvie gasped.

“Just turned 14.” Alec added. “Fake ID. Was out celebrating her birthday and…” He paused for a second. “…this.”

“Do we have an address for the club?” Talbot asked.

“369 W 16th St.”

Sylvie began to page through the folder. “How many others?” Her voice sounded distressed.

“Seven that we know of that meet the same modus operandi. So far only Maris has been found dead the others are simply missing.”

“Simply missing?” Sylvie asked.

“The Prince is concerned that such a public feed might endanger the masquerade and would like you all to investigate.”

“Is that what she’s worried about.” Sylvie folded her arms and frowned.

“There are seven other girls missing Miss Lombardo. It may be too late for Maris, but maybe you can find out what happened to the others and put a stop to whatever is going on.”

“So what exactly does our Prince require of us Alec.”

“Investigate the disappearances. Find out who’s committing these crimes and bring them in to meet the Prince’s justice if possible, or, end it once and for all, if capture proves beyond your capability. And of course, if possible find the missing girls and see them safely returned. Should you locate any of them, they should be brought here first to be interviewed before the police have a chance to speak with them. No offense Rustin.”

“None taken. I understand what you’re getting at.”

“Good. I have arranged for a working coterie office space in this building for you and apartments upstairs that you are free to use as havens. You’ll each be afforded private living space. Ysa will set you up with the proper access cards and pin codes to the building facilities and lower level parking garage. Please contact me if you run into any unexpected trouble or have any information to update me with.” He walked around the room and handed a carbon fiber business card to each of them with his contact information. I know you are all new to New York City, so I’ll explain how things will work. You speak to me; I speak to the Prince. I have also been granted leave to manage your group in her name.”

“Is that a threat?” Talbot asked.

“No. I don’t make threats. But in the spirit of openness and honesty I want you to understand the complexities of New York politics.”

“That’s a threat.” Bastanji confirmed to the Gangrel.

Rustin skimmed through the rest of the folder. The seven missing girls were:

Felicity Dawson age 21 last seen at Musica in Hell’s Kitchen 637 W 50th St.

Natalie Archer age 23 last seen at Nebula in Midtown 135 W 41st St.

Ida DeJesus age 22 last seen at Little Sister in East Village 112 E 11th St.

Amber Busch age 19 last seen at Somewhere Nowhere in Chelsea 112 W 25th St.

Monique Ford age 17 last seen at Virgo on the Lower East Side 324 Grand St.

Grace Lee age 18 last seen at Elsewhere in Bushwick 599 Johnson Ave., Brooklyn

Annmarie Vergara 16 last seen at Silo in East Williamsburg 90 Scott Ave, Brooklyn

“Any Questions?” Alec asked.

“Where do we start?” Father Callahan responded.

“How about Musica? This one is only reported missing for a day. It’ll be the freshest lead.”

“Works for me.” Talbot stood. Anyone need a ride? I have a bike.”

“Oh me!” Sylvie grinned.

“I have transportation. Bastanji could you have Renfield bring the car around.”

“Yes of course padre.”

“Renfield? Isn’t that a little on the nose?” Rustin asked.

“Perhaps. But that is his name.” Liam smiled.

“I’ll meet you there. My parking is almost up anyhow.” Rustin added.

“Very well.” Blessing upon all of you.

Alec nodded to Father Liam. “Good luck.”

As Rustin made his way back to the elevator, he noticed a man standing in an office off to the right. He was in his 20’s with boyish good looks.  He seemed familiar. There was a bike helmet on his desk and a messenger bag slung across his chair.

“Is that Ethan Sterling?” He asked Elena.

“Who? Oh Yeah, that’s his name. His government name at least. We call the kozyol ‘Wilee’.” She replied with a look of distaste on her face.

“Interesting.” Rustin exclaimed.

“No. Not really. I’d say annoying but it’s not my place.” Elena grumbled. “Come. This way.”