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One week after the Camarilla was finally able to determine the final death of Prince Vannevar Thomas, an emergency meeting for the remaining members of the Ivory Tower was called. Only around fifteen Camarilla Kindred remained in Los Angeles. They assembled in a house owned by Fiorenza Savona in Beverly Hills, the Ventrue temporarily allowing its use for the sole purpose of determining who, if anyone, would take Vannevar’s place.
Ib was among those present at the meeting, and it was soon devolving into a chaotic, shouting mess. She rolled her eyes, tapping her fingers in irritation on the table around which the meeting was being held. Between having to listen to the commotion and trying to suppress the hungry beast clawing at her chest and stomach, Ib’s patience was wearing extremely thin.
Ib’s voice rose in volume, cutting over the cacophony of arguments. “No! If anyone is to lead what remains of the Camarilla in this city, it is going to be me.”
The others all turned to look at her, their expressions mixed. Most of them looked doubtful.
“You?” a Ventrue at the other end of the table scoffed. Ib knew his name was Graham. “Was it not because of you, Miss. Ib, that Prince Thomas and Madame Rochelle were destroyed? You were their sheriff, yes? You were supposed to protect them!”
“I was their sheriff, yes, and I did my job to the best of my ability. I’d like to see how you would fare up against several flamethrowers going full blast into your face, Mr. Graham.”
Graham blinked. “Flamethrowers? The Anarchs had flamethrowers?”
Ib sighed. The official story, according to the Camarilla, was that Vannavar and Suzanne had been hit by a targeted Anarch attack, not the Second Inquisition. “Flamethrowers were there, yes. If you don’t believe me, you are welcome to read my mind.” She gave him a cold, hard glare, and Graham backed down.
“No, that won’t be necessary,” he mumbled.
“Very well.” Ib returned her attention to the rest of the room. “Additionally, as sheriff, I held the highest rank amongst the Camarilla present at this meeting. Therefore, I say again; if anyone is to lead what’s left of the Camarilla here, it will be me.” Behind Ib, shadows began to grow and spread across the wall. The lights above the table dimmed. Ib stood tall, her back straight and her chin out in a bold stance, daring anyone in the room to stand up and oppose her. “Any objections?”
Graham, feeling embarrassed and not wanting to back down to Ib so easily, stood up. “I object! We cannot allow a Kindred dead less than five years to be Prince! I’ve been alive longer than you’ve been dead.”
Ib tilted her head ever so slightly at him. The embrace had preserved the crows feet around his eyes. “That may be true, but perhaps you are unfamiliar with my history, Graham. Before I became Kindred, I was a ghoul, and I had been a ghoul for over a hundred years.” As she spoke, the shadows behind her writhed, snake-like and angry. Those Kindred unlucky enough to have been sitting close to her moved their chairs back, intimidated by the Lasombra. “So, I think you will find that I am indeed older than everyone present here tonight, correct?”
The assembled Camarilla shared glances, each one quietly asking if what Ib was saying was true, each one silently begging someone else to stand up and prove her wrong. None did.
“I-I believe that is correct,” Graham confirmed.
“I have worked too hard for far too long to lose everything now,” Ib continued. “So, if you continue to object, be assured that I am not afraid to use drastic measures to enforce my position.”
“You can’t do that! The rules of Elysium-”
“Elysium was not called before this meeting,” Ib interrupted. With the smallest gesture of her hand, the shadows shot out towards Graham, ensnaring him and squeezing tightly. Bound and gagged, his composure crumbled. To Ib’s satisfaction, she saw panic in his eyes. The darkness opened up behind and below Graham, swallowing him whole into Ib’s oblivion.
“Now…” Ib purred to the stunned assembled Kindred, “does anyone other than Graham object to my declaration of praxis as Prince of Los Angeles?”
No one else did. Ib smiled, her blood singing. She returned to her seat and allowed the shadows around her to lessen a little. The other Kindred in the room shifted, but they were all sufficiently cowed by Ib’s display of ruthlessness.
“Good!” Ib nodded once. “Now… to business.”