Rook

Alrich must be the traitorous member of the Court and that he had stalked her here and would kill her. The second was outrage that the universe would do this to her on her only night off.
    Bewilderingly, and possibly as a result of the unaccustomed alcohol, the second reaction won.
    “Oh, come
on!
” shouted Myfanwy, slamming her glass down on the bar and spraying water and ice everywhere.
    “Rook Thomas?” said Alrich, looking completely composed in the face of her anger.
    “What in the hell are you doing here?” she raged. “And where are they?”
    “Who?” asked the Bishop calmly.
    “Your bodyguards!” She looked around frantically for people dressed in purple who were possibly ready to produce Grafter weapons and kill her.
    “Myfanwy, I do not have any bodyguards.”
    She stared at him. “Say what?” she said weakly.
    “I do not have any bodyguards with me.”
    If there are no bodyguards, then he’s out here, in the night, with no backup.
Myfanwy reached out toward Alrich with her powers and was not terribly surprised to find they did not work.
Of course they wouldn’t,
she thought.
Not on him. He doesn’t need backup to dispense with me. Even this club full of civilians probably wouldn’t stop Alrich. He could shred them all in a few moments and think nothing of it. Still, he hasn’t torn me in half yet, so can I assume he’s not the traitor?
She evaluated her options.
    Option 1: Fight.
    Without powers that work on him, it’s pointless. He could punch a hole through my torso without spilling his beverage.
    Option 2: Flight.
    Even if I could make it to my car, he could still probably catch me. And if he’s not the traitor and I run away, it will make for some embarrassing staff meetings later.
    Option 3: Scream for help.
    If Alrich is a traitor, see violent results from Option 1. If Alrich is not a traitor, see social awkwardness from Option 2.
    Option 4: Engage in polite conversation.
    It may help me gather information as to whether Alrich is the traitor. Also, possibly buy me more time to stay alive.
    Myfanwy elected to pursue Option 4.
    “So, um, Alrich, what are you doing here?” she asked.
    “I was out in the city,” said Alrich carelessly. “And I smelled you in the air.”
    “You
smelled
me,” said Myfanwy weakly. She resisted the urge to sniff her pits.
    “Yes,” said Alrich. “Your scent was hanging in the air, and I was curious as to what Myfanwy Thomas would be doing out tonight. I was especially intrigued when I tracked you to a nightclub of dubious reputation.”
    “I don’t understand. You’re out and you don’t have any bodyguards. And something’s different about you…” She stared in shock at the curtain of hair that hung over his shoulders. “Did you dye your hair
blond?
” Myfanwy took a step backward, suddenly noticing Alrich’s getup. “And what
are
you wearing?” she asked, looking at the tight leather trousers and the mesh shirt. “You look like sex in boots.”
    “
This
from the girl who wore that crimson gown to the reception,” said Alrich, raising an eyebrow in amusement.
    “Yes, well, um,” Myfanwy floundered. “At least I didn’t wear it tonight,” she shot back, and he burst out laughing.
    “Let me buy you a drink,” he said.
    “All right, but make it something weak. Apparently, I have a terrible head for alcohol.”
     
Bishop Alrich
    Is a vampire.
    Despite this, I would urge you not to brandish any holy symbols at him during Court meetings. Quite aside from the fact that they won’t work, it’svery bad manners and would make for an inconvenient break from the meeting agenda.
    With that key point of etiquette established, I can move on to the dossier.
    Alrich emerged into this world in 1888, in a mansion in London.
    Picture a room draped with tapestries, with thick carpets on the floor. There is a massive fire burning in the fireplace. The wood burns with a sweet, foreign smell. In the center of the room, standing on a plinth of gold and copper, there is an egg. Big enough to hold a grown man in the fetal position, the egg is made of a semitransparent material that is a dark brown-red in color. Its surface is not smooth but jagged and bumpy. In fact, as you look at it, you are put in mind of nothing so much as scabbing. If you look closer, you can see that there are the marks of fingers on it, suggesting that it has not been laid but sculpted. If you peer very closely, with the firelight shining through the egg, you can