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Rick Chillot, Jess Hartley,
Howard Wood Ingham, Mike Lee, Matthew McFarland
Travis Stout, Stew Wilson
CREDITS
Concept and Design:
Justin Achilli, Richard
Thomas, Chuck Wendig
Authors:
Rick Chillot, Jess Hartley,
Howard Wood Ingham, Mike
Lee, Matthew McFarland Tra-
vis Stout, Stew Wilson
Developer:
Chuck Wendig
Editor:
Scribendi.com
Art Direction and Design:
Mike Chaney
Creative Director:
Richard Thomas
Production Manager:
matt milberger
Artists:
Andrea Sorentino, Mattias
Kolross, Phil Hilliker,
Jim DiBartolo, Doug Stam-
baugh, Avery Butterworth,
James Stowe, Juan Antonio
Serrano Garcia, Nik Stakal,
Ken Meyer Jr., Travis In-
gram, & Mike Chaney
Cover Artist:
Sam Arraya
CoMING NExT FoR
HuNTER: THE VIGIL
Spirit SlayerS
© 2008 CCP hf. All rights reserved. Reproduction
without the written permission of the publisher is
expressly forbidden, except for the purposes of
reviews, and one printed copy which may be repro-
duced for personal use only. White Wolf, Vampire
and World of Darkness are registered trademarks of
CCP hf. All rights reserved. Vampire: The Requi-
em, Werewolf: The Forsaken, Mage: The Awakening,
Promethean: The Created, Hunter: The Vigil and
Storytelling System are trademarks of CCP hf. All
rights reserved. All characters, names, places and
text herein are copyrighted by CCP hf. CCP North
America Inc. is a wholly owned subsidiary of CCP
hf. The mention of or reference to any company or product in these pages is not a challenge
to the trademark or copyright concerned. This book uses the supernatural for settings, char-
acters and themes. All mystical and supernatural elements are fiction and intended for enter-
tainment purposes only. This book contains mature content. Reader discretion is advised.
Check out White Wolf online at http://www.white-wolf.com
PRINTED IN CHINA
TabLe oF ConTenTS
Changeling 4
Introduction 10
Carvin’ Jack 14
Chapter one: and There Was blood 20
Cause and effect 80
Chapter Two: The Mask and the Knife 86
Thrill Kill Kult 176
Chapter Three: Many Shattered Minds 182
The house, it
turned out, was out
in the suburbs; a post-war
neighborhood of tract homes about five miles
outside Philly. Despite getting directions off Mapquest it took them almost an hour to find the
place. By that point it was getting very close to sundown, and Elizabeth was trying not to panic.
“This is it,” she said, pointing a gloved finger at a green street sign that appeared out of the
drifting curtain of snow. “Turn here.”
The old Volvo stationwagon chugged like a steam engine as Scott made a right onto another
tree-lined street of run-down, two-story homes. The car was a piece of shit: nothing worked the
way it should, including the heater, which meant their breath left spreading circles of fog on the
inside of the grimy windows. It also had the disconcerting tendency to quit when idling for too long,
and there were moments when Elizabeth wasn’t sure they would get it started again, but Scott
always managed to coax the wheezing thing back to life. They’d bought it off a guy in Bridesburg
for $200 cash, and when they were done they’d abandon it in Kensington with the keys in the igni-
tion. After six months, they were starting to get pretty good at this sort of thing. At least the cops
hadn’t shown up on anyone’s doorstep yet, which Elizabeth took as a sign of their success.
Scott was leaning forward in the driver’s seat like a seventy-year-old man, his chin nearly touch-
ing the top rim of the wheel as he tried to see where they were going through the murk. His long-
fingered hands were chapped and trembling from the cold, and his gaunt face was wrapped in a
layered woolen scarf that was tucked into the collar of a dark blue pea coat. A ratty wool knit cap
was pulled down tight over his rumpled black hair, leaving only his spectacled eyes and the lower
part of his ears exposed to the February air. “Can’t see a damned thing,” he muttered, his voice
muffled by the wool. “Where’s the house?”
Elizabeth dug the tiny flashlight out of the pocket of her down coat and shone its tiny light on
the directions spread in her lap. It took her a moment to find the street they’d just turned from.
“House number’s 405,” she said. “It ought to be up here on the right, but half these mailboxes
don’t have numbers on them.”
Scott shook his head irritably. “We’re running out of time,” he said. “Maybe we’d do better if
we got out and walked.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No way. We’re going to be inside for a bit; I want the car in the
driveway so the neighbors don’t get suspicious.”
“Yeah, but what if he’s inside?” Scott replied, shooting Elizabeth a worried glance. “We’ll tip
him off the minute we pull in.”
“He won’t be there,” Elizabeth replied. “I wish he were. That would make this a hell of a lot
easier.”
Scott shook his head, clearly disagreeing, but before he could reply there was a creak of worn
springs from the back seat and a swish of fabric on cracked leather as James leaned forward and
stuck his head between the front seats. There were spots of color on his cheeks, just above his
dark beard, and his ears were bright red, but otherwise he didn’t seem affected by the cold at all.
“That’s it”, he said, pointing over Elizabeth’s left shoulder at a house a half-block down on the
right. “The house back at the corner was 381, so that’s
got to be 405.”
All at once, Elizabeth felt the breath
catch in her throat. Her stomach
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