His meetings with Bastian were a monthly affair, a discussion of business and its prospects, usually in the company of Gideon, whose mind was better built for such things. This time, however, there was no Gideon, and the elder kindred, content to hide within his old library for the colder months, beckoned Sinjin to meet him there and the sinner reluctantly agreed.

The spaniard, dressed in his usual black-on-black clothing, slipped past Bastian's guards at the door and slipped inside; he took a moment, wondering if they were truly that loyal to him or simply ghouled, before tracking the familiar path to the main library that was -- more recently -- seconding as Bastian's office and living quarters. The blond was seated quietly beside a full cup of tea gone cold and a pile of texts and tomes before him, a fire roaring in the hearth to keep the room at a somewhat comfortable temperature. He glanced up from his work with his typically polite, but not unkind smile, gesturing to a seat across from him. "Good afternoon, Sinjin Fai. Are you well?"

Sin dropped down onto the chair uncerimoniously, stretching his legs out before him. "Well enough. Winter is coming." His words has a cryptic heat to them; Bastian's smile turned odd, but understanding.

"This is so," he agreed. "And there is much work to be done before then.." Bastian reached aside to a small stack of business related papers. "You're overdue for a business trip to the Middle East and Asia; it would be wise to take care of that before winter's coming."

The sinner frowned and grunted a reluctant but affirming reply. "I suppose it's about time. How are things in Egypt?" The question was as tentative as his mood. Restless, Sinjin squirmed uncomfortably in his chair for another moment before vaulting to his feet and moving elsewhere, prowling the perimeter of the room as he spoke. "Better, worse?"

Bastian considered the question. "No worse, but no better. If Fane is still alive, he hasn't shown his face amongst his kin or the living." He began to delicately finger through the paperwork, only half watching Sinjin with the kind of attention that an absent parent might have.

Sin paused by the hearth. "I guess it's be-- what are you burning?" He asked abruptly, staring at the flames and their ashes.

Bastian's answer came disturbingly plain. "Books."

Strangely alarmed by that answer, Sinjin turned to look back at Bastian with a queer look. The elder kindred acknowledged him for a quiet moment before he set aside the paperwork; business could be addressed later on. "Some knowledge," he murmured, "is best kept out of any hands. Even mine."

Sin stalled for another moment, brows slowly drawing together; when he started to pace back toward the frenchman with a flurry of questioning looks, Bastian began to rise. "Your curiosity will be your inevitable downfall, Sinjin Fai." His words came on the air of a sigh. "As will mine. No questions, none; I am going to rest. I suggest you contact Gideon and see where your attentions will be needed most."

The spaniard hesitated, reluctant to let the other vampire simply hide something, but eventually nodded once and began taking a much slower walk toward the door. As he was about to exit, he paused at the other man's voice.

"Do you know a man by the name of Icarus Marcotte?"

Sinjin looked back at Bastian, perplexed and now concerned at the random question. "Yes," he replied slowly. "Why?"

The elder vampire gave a disarming smile that unsettled Sin. "Curiosity."

Bastian rarely slept; it was a habit of being what he was. Thick curtains kept most of the daylight from crawling into his library, lit mostly by the roaring fire in the hearth and the chandelier high above, with the occasional lamp at the endcap of each section of shelves. Abandoning the small side room where he slept when the urge suited him, the ancient kindred moved across the length of the library to head toward the large desk he used as his work and research area.

By scent alone he knew something was off; the Spaniard had been here, however briefly, though the trail was old now. Bastien took his time in reaching his final destination. He paused by the hearth to stock the fire and bring a little more heat into the otherwise frigid library and stopped to look over the stack of letters Sabine had left by the door of the library, filled with new business affairs that needed to be dealt with directly by himself.

Eventually he arrived at his desk. It was littered with books, paperwork, notes, and tomes -- and atop them all was a small note which he picked up, reading in the dull light of the library:


Phaelan.

I need information on them, any you can find. If Marcus finds someone else with books on them or information, I'll pay for them myself.

I owe you one, Bastian.

-Sin