Youngblood - 2. The City Council

Being a Hunter was never my life dream. I didn’t even know there was such a thing as Hunters until I got my ass almost eaten by a ghul. Sure, I had my moment of awe when I watched a machete-wielding guy hack the ghul into pieces like it was the best thing he had ever experienced, but the newness rubbed off quickly, especially when I realized how many people didn’t come back from missions and how many new ones arrived each year. Supes like to eat us when we’re not paying attention.

On the other hand, it’s hard to remember the sad parts of the job when you’re staring at a thirty story high rise made from gleaming glass and polished steel, knowing the people inside are afraid of you. That rush is just something else. Aschure stands next to me, checking the crowd with quick glances to the left and the right while I gawk wide-eyed at the home of the local vampire kiss and wonder where I went wrong with my career choices. My clan’s bunker is a damn fine piece of architecture, but it’s still a bunker with a bunkery feel, regurgitated A/C air, and very little personal space. If I didn’t have to die and become a bloodsucking monster, I would be tempted to join the vampires.

“Gun check,” Aschure says and steps to the side of the entry. I take a last drag of my cigarette to calm my nerves and snip it into the gutter, following her into the shade. We both tap our jackets, holster and pant pockets to make sure everything is where it’s supposed to be. Her hands are calm and quick. I fumble like a five-year-old.

“We’re about to meet the best-behaved group of monsters you’ll ever see, but don’t be fooled. It’s just a front to placate us as long as we’re face to face with them. They will still gleefully eat your face if you make a mistake, no matter how nicely they curtsy. Now, what are the five rules for meetings with supe city leaders?”

I barely manage to control my eye-roll. “No staring at wolves. No speaking wishes out loud with witches or warlocks. No touching vampires. No eating or drinking anything, offered or not. No accepting gifts.”

“Good. Our mission is just on the right side of low-priority, so we won’t be too much of a threat anyway. It’ll go smoothly,” she says, and frowns. “I hope.”

How very reassuring.

***

The meeting room is swanky, but that was to be expected of a penthouse floor in a skyscraper. A little less expected are the people awaiting us: a biker, complete with sweat stains and patches on his greasy leather vest, a business lady in a pencil dress, two guys who couldn’t be more polar opposites and are still obviously a thing, going by the way they chase each other’s tonsils, and a… thing. I think it’s a man, but he has on some kind of robe-y kimono and looks like he belongs onto a morgue slab. When his watery blue eyes meet mine, I shudder and roll my shoulders to chase away the cold rush brushing down my back. “Creep,” I mutter.

Aschure shoots me a deathly glare and more than half of the room snickers, with the exception of the downtrodden, hobo-looking part of the kissing duo, and Mr. Kimono. Supernatural hearing for the win. At least now I know that I’m not the only human in the room. Not that being generally human means anything when there are witches, warlocks, mages, seers, and god only knows what else strolling around.

“Welcome,” says the business skirt and shoots us a professional smile. It’s a good one, although tight-lipped, probably to hide her fangs. That would be the vampire leader then. She’s pretty in that 40-ish fitness trainer way, with dark red hair and a nondescript face. Chocolate brown eyes, medium full lips, natural make-up, the whole innocent package. If I didn’t know about the powers her kind has, I wouldn’t even look twice at her, which is probably the exact reason for her to dress like that. Her ash gray skirt whispers against her thighs as she steps forward and I quickly tear my eyes off her legs. Nothing quite like being accused of leering when you’re a gay man in a diplomatic meeting.

If she has noticed my ogling, she doesn’t react to it. “I’m Loreley Griffon, Lady of the Black Roses. Welcome to Babylon.” Loreley doesn’t offer a hand and keeps us at a little more than an arm’s length. She knows our deal, no matter how much polite smiling she does. “We were notified about your arrival,” she says to Aschure, then her eyes do that little flick towards me that say ‘I don’t know if you’re important’, “but two Hunters are quite unusual.” Then she falls quiet and stares expectantly.

Aschure glares back. Usually, people love to fill a void like this with blabbering, and most of the time, there will be information in the nervous chatter that your opponent didn’t intend to blurt out. It’s an old trick that works more often than it doesn’t, but not this time. Aschure has been around the block enough times to know the games vampires love to play, and she’s playing them well. All of them, by the way Loreley ceases all movement. The silence stretches way past the limit of awkwardness, but now that they’re committed, I can’t bring myself to break the standoff. Having the combined attention of two angry women would probably ignite me on the spot.

A loud sigh from the back of the room jerks me out of my panic freeze. It’s the biker guy. “Sweet baby Jesus, Loreley, just give up already and ask your damn question like a normal person,” he drawls, eyes rolling with annoyance. Now that I’m taking a closer look, I realize he isn’t that old. Well below forty, maybe even thirty, neither thin nor fat, just the happy meaty middle. The way his dirty blond hair is flattened into a stripe, I get the notion he’d prefer a mohawk and just couldn’t bring himself to put in the effort tonight. He’s a nice medium pretty, rugged but trim, and I wonder why I didn’t notice him sooner. He makes a big show of rearranging himself, then looks at Aschure, eyes wandering from her heels upward.

And here I was worried I might come across as leering.

“You must be the werewolf leader,” says Aschure dryly. She steps to the side and walks around Loreley as if she wasn’t the most powerful vampire in the city.

The biker beams at her, all surprisingly straight teeth and flickering eyes. “Todd,” he introduces himself and wiggles deeper into his love seat, man-spreading so Aschure gets an in-depth look at the goods. He can’t help it, so he doesn’t even try. Werewolves are animals.

Satisfied, she turns to stare at the other three people in the room, but I lose sight of her when Loreley steps between us. She smiles, but her eyes flick all over me, scrutinizing every last detail of all that is little ol’ me. We’re eye to eye, thanks to her heels, but as most women in power, she makes me feel small and gangly and ten years younger.

“I’m Gideon,” I blurt. I instantly feel like I’ve ruined the game, and something in the air changes. Loreley smiles wider, Todd sighs, and Aschure grunts and sits down on the couch next to the kissing couple. “Might as well get the introductions over with,” she mutters and stares at the couple. They don’t bother looking over, way too focused on their own little world. What’s more, I’m not sure they realize she’s even there, which makes them either very oblivious, or incredibly powerful. The burly mountain of a man sitting on the couch does look pretty intimidating just by sheer size, but the smaller guy in ripped clothing that is sitting on his lap… I can feel his power even from over here. It’s like a waft of cold air and it makes me taste colors, until I shake myself and force him out of my head. Yeah, he’s the dangerous one.

Loreley winks at me and beckons me with her, so I follow. We join the others at the seating arrangement and sit. Oh so civilized, just as Aschure foretold.

“Don’t mind them,” says Todd, nods towards the kissing duo, and scratches his cheek languidly. “The scraggly one is the newly appointed local witchmaster, Alaric Creutz. And that there—,” Todd points at the giant mountain of muscles trying to eat the smaller man by ways of his lips, ”—is his familiar, Rook. I thought it’d be a good idea to make him come tonight, what with him being the master of the local veils and all that. I should’ve known they’d go full-out on the PDA, though. Sorry, but you know how newly-weds are. If you need to know anything about the veils, I’ll try to peel them off of each other.”

Veils. My stomach does a giddy little flutter. I’ve never seen veils in action, at least not the really big ones, and I’ve had wet dreams about finally getting a chance. Magic that can hide whole city blocks from human eyes, how cool is that? Babylon City is rumored to have more than seven of them, all maintained by the local witch covens. And kissy-face over there is the master of them all? God I wish I could go full nerd on him, but that won’t happen. Nobody talks shop with a Hunter.

Aschure smirks and leans forward to examine the kimono man, the forth member of the local leaders. As soon as their eyes meet, he gets up and does a very traditional looking half-bow. “I am Arzel, my lady Huntress. Envoy to my master’s synode.” He waits a moment, then rearranges himself and sinks back down on the ottoman, all cadavery and creepy. Him being well-mannered somehow makes his vibe even worse.

Aschure tenses up and turns her eyes back to Loreley and Todd. “You didn’t inform the Hunters there’s a demon cult in your city?” she asks, her voice scalpel sharp.

“They have been here for many months and never misbehaved,” Loreley sneers. Meaning, they haven’t been caught sacrificing people or summoning demons. Yet.

“We are but a small group, my lady Huntress. We mean no harm to the Contract,” Arzel pipes in, unctuous as fuck.

A hard line appears around Aschure’s lips. She opens her mouth as if to say something unfortunate, and I reach out to touch her arm. She twitches, turns her eyes to me, and blinks. The murderous expression slides off her face and she sighs, then shakes off my hand.

“Fine, we’ll talk about the cult thing another time,” she says. “Now, who’s ready to take the blame so I can go home?”

I casually scoot over a little and give Loreley more space. Or myself, I’m not sure. Not that Loreley cares. Her eyes are on Aschure, her smile dimming into a more brittle, cold version of itself. “I assume you’re talking about the unfortunate deaths that happened in the last few weeks?”

Aschure doesn’t bat an eye. “Murders. But since you sound so unsure as to why exactly hunters are visiting your home, is there anything else you want us to have a look at? Since we’re here already.”

Bland words, but the threat is unmistakable. Loreley seems to think so, too, and quickly waves the question off. “Murders then. What makes you think it wasn’t a mortal who did the deed? Just because the deaths are gruesome, doesn’t mean it has to be a breach of Contract.”

Aschure gives me a nod and I spring to action. As I explain the general reasoning, the tablet makes its rounds through the group, except for Arzel, who politely declines and tells us that he’s already come to the same conclusion. He must not know the game, because even the kissy-facers disconnect long enough to shoot him a glare.

“So, in conclusion, it’s a vampire,” Todd says and smiles, leaning back with a sigh. He must have known that already, but as Aschure predicted, the relief over us focusing on someone else is palpable. Except for Loreley, who has gotten very still and uptight.

“I agree,” says the vampire overlord evenly and holds out the tablet to us. “But since none of my kiss did it, this means you will have to hunt after a rogue.” At Aschure’s sharp glare, she quickly—if calmly—adds, “I will of course gather all information available to me and mine and send an envoy to you tomorrow.”

Aschure tugs the tablet out of Loreley’s hand and smiles toothily. “Wonderful. And when all is said and done, we can discuss the fine you lot will have to pay for letting it get this far.”

Ah, the tact of a true lady. I stand up when Aschure does and offer the group a polite nod.

I have heard of fines. Every Hunter has. I’ve been living off the fruits of fines for what sometimes feels like forever. Whenever Hunters have to clean up a mess and save the supernatural community from being exposed to humanity, they demand a fine by all parties involved. If a group of supernaturals calls us in before the Contract is broken, it’s just them we make bleed green, but if nobody fesses up, well, everyone gets to pitch in. It can be anything, really, from a dollar to a full, working factory, depending on how nasty the Hunter feels. And how well they can defend themselves, should the accused parties decide to rather kill the Hunter and face the wrath of their clan than lose whatever the Hunter asked for.

Nobody but Hunters could pull off going somewhere to execute someone and then demand compensation from the relatives. It’s basically blackmail, but if you’re past morals, pity, humanity, or mortality, there aren’t many things that still hurt. Money does. As does the loss of property. The simple concept is, if the supes don’t want to feed, clothe, and house Hunters, they’d better clean up their own messes. Works most of the time.

When we reach the elevator door, Arzel’s creepily mild voice rings out. “My lady Huntress, if you could spare a moment for me?” He has stepped through the penthouse doors but keeps his distance, either out of politeness or because he noticed the gun Aschure has on her hip. His gray-blue kimono thing hangs off his starved, skeletal body like a rag and paints his pale skin even paler. Were he wearing a hawaii shirt, I’d call an ambulance, but somehow, he pulls it off to look both malnourished and powerful. It just adds to his grotesqueness.

Shuddering, I turn to Aschure and raise a brow at her clenched jaw. Her fists work at her sides, open and close, open and close, but other than that, she looks settled, calm. Like a chess player right before the big move.

“Go on, I’ll meet you at the car,” she murmurs and claps my shoulder, turning me towards the elevator with the gesture. “You sure?” I ask, but she’s already turned away and approaches Arzel. Alrighty then.

***

The parking garage is spacious and well lit, with white walls and bright LED stripes along all lanes. Big ventilators blow in cool, fresh air and suck out the stink of fumes and gasoline. As far as parking decks go, this one is really pleasant. If I didn’t know that the building above me—and probably below me as well—is filled with vampires, I wouldn’t mind waiting next to the car and enjoy the light, temperature-controlled breeze. With things as they are, though, I decide to wait in the car and suffer the increasingly humid air.

I’ve just settled in when knuckles hit the window next to my head. I make the most embarrassing yip-sound I have ever heard and hit the door’s locking mechanism with a quick slap, blinking up at Todd’s face. His blond hair looks white in the cold LED light, which in turn makes his skin darker. And his teeth brighter. He is grinning like the Cheshire Cat, eyebrow raised at my manly display of prowess. He’s got a good reason to grin; if he had wanted to, he could have opened the door and dragged me out of it before I even knew what was happening. It was stupid of me not to lock the door as soon as I got in. Damn it. Not that a door could stop him. He could probably bench-press the whole car with me in it, and rip the door off its hinges without breaking a sweat. But it would have given me a few seconds to draw my gun and shoot him. Which makes me wonder why he knocked in the first place. Why is he here?

The rumble of his voice is muted through the window, but still impressive, like a barely suppressed, permanent growl. “Do we talk through the window or are you gettin’ out?”

Well, now I feel silly. I really don’t want to get out of the car where he can grab me before I can react, but he doesn’t have a reason to hurt me. The Contract breach was done by a vampire, and he is a werewolf. Depending on how powerful he is and how important it would be for Loreley to stay in his good graces, he could get away without having paid a dime in fines. If he isn’t powerful enough to fend Loreley off, though, he might be inclined to help us before we can extort money from him. Hmm.

I roll down the window an inch. “Step back from the car so I can get out.”

Todd shakes his head amusedly. I didn’t notice he has brown eyes before. They are the color of bitter, expensive chocolate and still manage to sparkle in the white light. I must entertain the hell out of him for his eyes to do that. “You think I’m gonna try something?” he asks and crosses his arms in front of his chest as if to show me he doesn’t plan to grab for a weapon. The gesture frames his notable pectoral muscles, but it doesn’t make him look any less dangerous. I don’t think anything could.

“Doesn’t matter. Step back.”

Chortling, he does as I ask, spreading his arms mockingly as he retreats two steps. Or rather, glides back. His body moves like it doesn’t understand the concept of bones and joints. I’ve never met a shapeshifter in person, but I don’t think there is a living soul on earth who would think ‘human’ after watching Todd move like that. To be honest, I expected him to argue more, make it some power struggle. He looks the type, all testosterone and musk, muscles and bravado. Throws me off that he didn’t. Something is fishy. Still, I’m too curious to brush him off now. I grab my gun with my left hand, then open the car door. I have to catch it with my elbow as I slide out so it doesn’t dent the car in the next plot, and the movement forces me to do an undignified little twirl, but better that than go unarmed. Todd’s eyes flick down to the gun, then back up to my face. He smiles as if I’ve done something cute, but doesn’t comment. I get the distinct feeling that he’s secretly laughing his ass off, but nothing shows on his face. “I’m not going to attack you. I just wanted to give you some information.”

For a moment I don’t know what to do with myself. Do I point the weapon at the werewolf? I won’t be quick enough to get off a good shot if I don’t, but openly threatening the leader of the local pack will gain me nothing but pissing him off. I leave the weapon lowered and decide to take my chances. “Good. I would feel really bad if I had to shoot someone on my first day.”

Todd barks a surprised laugh, startling me. “Your first day? Wow, that’s gotta suck. And they sent you to Babylon City of all places… Did you piss someone off?”

So much for being suave. I sigh deeply. “Did you want to talk about something?”

“Ah, yes. Business.” The humor drains out of his face. Suddenly those dark eyes don’t sparkle anymore. He doesn’t shrink, even werewolves can’t do that at will, but he somehow sucks a part of his presence, for lack of a better word, back inside of himself and the air suddenly becomes easier to breathe. “I couldn’t say anything up there because there hasn’t been any breach of contract yet, but I figured you might wanna know sooner rather than when it’s too late. Those cultists, the synode guys, they aren’t as squeaky clean as the others might think. Their goons have started showing up in the veils, chatting up folk and lurking around in dark corners. My people have a nose for potential danger, and they’re getting twitchy.”

“Okay, but did they do anything that would count as a breach of Contract?”

Todd shakes his head sharply. A few strands of sticky blond hair slide off the top of his head and dangle against the shaved stubble above his ear. “Nothing provable. But people have gone missing.” He throws a look at the cameras up top, then leans closer and whispers, “vampires.”

How would Alice in Wonderland put it? Curiouser and curiouser. “Loreley doesn’t know, I take it?” I feel so very amateurish asking the question, but as far as I know, vampire lords and ladies, leaders of vampire groups, are connected to their people in some way. Shouldn’t Loreley notice when people she is responsible for vanish?

“None of her people have vanished yet. It’s mostly renegades, unaffiliated vampires, too weak to make any sort of impact. Easily forgotten. But the one thing I know is that this started at about the same time those cultists—,” he spits the word like it’s a curse, “—showed up.”

Todd is right in one aspect: This doesn’t sound like a breach of contract. Supes kill each other all the time. It doesn’t concern us hunters, especially not if it happens in a veil. Inside the veil, the monsters govern themselves, and they are quite good at it. But cultists are another story, and Todd knows it. Hell, even I know it. You don’t become a cultist with a ‘live and let live’-mentality. Cultists are interested in one thing, and one thing only, namely paving a way to earth for their demon masters. They don’t go out for a nice night in the veil. They don’t socialize or take a stroll. And seeing them skulk around inside the veils does pose a very real reason to worry. They are like rats in that aspect; if you see one, there are twelve dozen more around, already gnawing through your food pantry. Only trouble is, I can’t do shit about it. Not until something bad happens. Todd knows that too, so why is he telling me this?

“Let me guess. You want me to check it out on the down low, since I’m already here?”

He smiles and nods. “Exactly.”

“And if I find something, if your insider tip proves to be valuable?”

The smile turns into a shit-eating grin. “Then you’ll surely remember how helpful I was and reduce that damn fine for me, right? It would only be fair.”

I give him my best flat glare. “Yes, fair.”

Todd laughs as if I’ve done something cute. “Great. I’ll leave you to it then,” he says and turns away. “Don’t get killed too soon, Mr. Newbie Hunter. You’ve got a job to do.”

***

I get back into the car and wait for another tiny eternity, fiddling with the car radio to fill the silence. When the elevator door finally opens to spit out a ruffled looking Aschure, I readjust the radio channels quickly and pull my hands back, trying to look unperturbed instead of guilty.

“What did the scarecrow want?” I ask as soon as she’s inside. Maybe she already heard about the cultist sightings in the veils and I don’t have to rehash Todd’s little tale. That would be very time efficient.

Aschure hesitates, fingers frozen at the ignition as she mulls over something. Sighing, she starts the car and reverses out of the parking spot. “Arzel wanted to make sure I know how committed he and his synode are to upholding the Contract and… helping hunters,” she grumbles, swerving into the exit lane elegantly. When we leave the parking garage, she slips into traffic and frowns at her back mirror. “He also gave me a hint. Something about a veiled local supe bar down in Cat’s Cradle Penninsula, ‘The Midnight Café’. According to him, it’s a hotspot for unaffiliated vampires. Sounds like the perfect place to get your puppy paws wet and gather information, so we’re going there now.”

And suddenly, Todd’s tale seems not that important anymore. My first vampire bar, how cool is that? “We’re not waiting for the vampire envoy?” I ask, superfluously, and blush again. Fuck. Sometimes I can’t seem to shut my mouth in time. Duh. We’re obviously not waiting.

Something harsh tugs at Aschure’s lips. “We’re not. Whatever he tells us will be spun in a way that makes Loreley look innocent and helpful. Which would be totally unhelpful if she was a part of the murder spree, so no, thanks. We’ll do our recon and then see what the envoy says. If it matches, we know where we stand. If it doesn’t…”

She trails off and smiles unhappily. Yeah. If it doesn’t, Loreley will be the first to bleed.

***

Cat’s Cradle Penninsula is a quirky place. Half of it dangles precariously over the Bracket river, trying its best to imitate all the bad parts of Venice. The other part humps the sea shore like it’s determined to beget a baby version of Greece. The whole district is shaped like a finger, pointing out at the sea and telling modern society where to go and shove it. Hipster central is real. God, I love it.

Most of the houses are Victorian, but a poor man’s version of it. Stucco and wooden veneers, complete with peeling paint and old granite blocks that have gone black from all the car fumes. Little cafés rub shoulders with artsy home deco shops, second hand clothing venues, and what few businesses have found their way into the heart of the bobo generation.

And amidst all that chaos sits the grandiose debacle that is The Midnight Café.

Wooden Greek pillars, a wooden pediment shaped like a mini roof, big three-part-windows, and playful metal fencing stare out at the street, because even in Cat’s Cradle, people would rob their neighbors blind at the first chance. The building is pale blue, the wooden trimmings white, and the fence black, because of course it is black, it’s metal. If I didn’t know there’s a bunch of supes lurking behind the glass-and-wood swing doors, I would have pegged it for a swishy French café. And it’s only when I step inside that I feel the sharp prickle of a magic veil creeping against my face. The brush brings me to a sudden stop, heart racing. It’s just this side of painful, a crawl of static that tugs on the skin, but it doesn’t do any harm yet. A normal human would run the other way at the first touch of the veil, but hunters learn to tolerate magic like this in training, build up an immunity against curses and harmful spells. If a normie, a normal mortal, were somehow forced to cross the boundary, their mind would be wiped, both on the way in and the way out. Nifty little gimmick, that.

Even before I step forward, the veil sucks at my brain in a prickling rush and I dearly hope that I won’t go off my rocker today. A little bell jingles as I move into the stuffy coolness that is regurgitated AC air. Aschure follows at my heels, fiddling around with her mobile phone as if we weren’t about to saunter into the belly of the beast. As if she doesn’t feel the veil’s grasp. And maybe she doesn’t. Who knows how many times she’s had to force her way through this particular magic? If she has done it often enough, she might well be on her way to immunity, which would be very cool. Though there is a slight chance that she’s just that hardcore and doesn’t feel the need to flinch at something mundane like almost-pain anymore.

When I’m able to pay attention to my surroundings again, I am met with a lot of of glares and as much hostility. Every single patron has looked up at our arrival, and none of them looks happy. I can’t really blame them, but I’m not used to being that unpopular. A handful of them get up and walk towards the back exit that most likely leads down into the sewers, or maybe the subway tunnels, but most of them stay put and stick to watching us.

The crowd is thick, but in a non-buzzing way. People reading, working, chatting, very civilized and low-key, if it weren’t for the suffocating smell of fur and a whiff of blood. Aschure told me not to expect too much, that a supe café was just a café with slightly more exotic drink choices, but I’m still a little disappointed. Or maybe relieved, I’m so nervous that I can’t be sure about what I’m feeling right now.

We make our way through the crowd and I notice how some of the people—creatures?—shy away from us, while others don’t spare us a second glance. Either word has gotten around that Hunters are on the prowl, or they simply sense danger better than others. Or maybe Aschure is carrying some heavy-duty magic that I wasn’t aware of. I am not high up enough on the food chain to own any charms, wards, or talismans, but I bet she has at least one. It makes me feel a bit better about wading through a horde of creatures who could rip me apart at a moment’s notice.

Aschure grabs my shoulder to slow me down and leans towards me. “Remember, no touching, no staring, no accepting favors. Food and drink are okay this time.”

I turn, huffing exasperated at her patronizing tone, brushing my shoulder against another patron as I face her. I get a glimpse of a young, surfer-looking guy out of the corner of my eye, a flash off the egg-yolk-yellow polo shirt he’s wearing, perfectly underlining his tanned skin, and then I’ve suddenly got his hand right in my face, his claws in my upper arm, and we’re falling as his breath tickles my neck.

All the training goes out the window.

Aschure yells a “whoa,” but as teeth jab my neck, her presence loses its meaning. I can’t even scream, I just gasp. The scientist part of me expected that this would hurt, but holy shit, this isn’t pain. This is agony, and it crawls through my whole body, lighting up with each drag the vampire takes from my neck. It freezes me, stops my breath, paralyzes my vocal cords, and no matter how much I grasp for a thought, for an idea of what is happening, nothing comes to mind. Just white hot pain, the incredible stench of blood, and that burning scent of expensive cologne my attacker is drenched in. His shirt is so soft beneath my clawing fingers…

My eyes roll back and I finally manage to suck in air, but I don’t get to the screaming part. One moment, the fanger is above me and chewing on my neck, the next moment I feel a very painful tug and he disappears into the back via air travel. My mind can’t process that, but I do recognize Aschure’s hand when she holds it out for me. I grab it, still gasping in that first breath of air in eons, and she pulls me up. How I stay up, I have no idea. Her other hand grabs my chin to tilt my head and look at the bite wound. She whistles, sounding vaguely impressed. “Nice hickey,” she says and lets go of my face. “Good news, you’ll live.”

I try to reply, but my head still doesn’t make words good, so I just blink stupidly and try not to keel over. Some part of me wants to vomit, another fights to let out the scream still echoing through my mind, and a third one tries very hard to keep me from peeing myself as I waver back and forth. My heartbeat is so very loud, I can’t hear anything beyond its wild staccato.

Faces pass by as other patrons come closer and back off rather quickly when Aschure points her gun at them, but I can’t concentrate, can’t make anything of them. My scrambled mind reminds me that I’m in the middle of very dangerous, very old, and most likely very peckish creatures, and that I should be worried, but my body can’t make sense of it. Too many contradicting impulses. I feel something hot and thick dripping down into my collar, most likely my own blood, but fuck me if I know what to do about that. As I ponder my drippy predicament, Aschure holsters her gun and jabbers something, but it’s too fast for me to follow.

My brain starts working again when a bunched up wad of kitchen paper is shoved against my neck and I have to grab it and hold it there. On the other side of that helpful hand is a worried looking, curly haired blondie with especially pale skin and big blue eyes. His lips move, but I still don’t understand him, as if he’s talking through cotton. Something in my face must give away my utter blankness, because Aschure curses under her breath, grabs my non-bloody-wad-holding arm and drags me off toward the back area of the café. It’s the general direction the yellow shirt guy was thrown to, but he seems to have simpered off after chewing on me. Clever guy.

Aschure shoves me onto a very cozy couch and makes me scoot into the corner, then sits down next to me. Not that sitting does me any good As soon as my head notices that we’re not in fully upright mode anymore, my heart jolts and I break out in cold sweat. The tip of my nose goes numb and the world gets a little darker, but my blood pressure manages to pick up where it left off and comes back full throttle. And in its company, nausea.

A glass of water appears before me and I grab it. Aschure hits my fingers when I try to lift it and shoves a pink straw in.

“Drink,” she says. I drink.

When the glass is half empty, I finally feel stable enough to take a closer look at the stranger. He looks very shaken, almost as bad as I feel, which confuses me. I got bitten, didn’t I? But then, maybe he’s hungry, because going by the way his eyes flick back and forth between my bloody neck, Aschure, and her gun, I’m willing to bet my ass that blondie over there is a vampire. Makes me wonder if he was the one who saved me.

Somewhere through my pondering, Aschure puts her gun on the table and turns to me. “You back yet?”

I nod, blinking. I actually am, how about that!

Aschure raises an eyebrow and the corner of her mouth twitches. “Stanley here has asked—very politely, I might add—that we don’t kill his charge.”

“Charge?” I rasp. Why does my throat hurt on the inside when I’ve been bitten on the outside? I take another sip of water to wash away the urge to cough and add, “you mean the neck-snacker?”

Stanley’s eyes go wide. Aschure cackles into her juice. Or her bourbon, I have no idea if she’s a drinker. Everyone’s having a good time except for me. My higher brain functions come back bit by bit, and with it, a blush. Charge. Of course. I got bitten by a baby vampire like the rookie I am, and this guy was supposed to make sure stuff like that didn’t happen. One of the few shit-jobs a vampire can get—be charged with herding others’ unruly kids and lose your head if anything goes wrong. The pain in my neck drives home how wrong stuff went for this specific kid-herder. I huff annoyed and eye Stanley. “Why shouldn’t I?” Not that I want to, but damn it if I let him know that.

“He wanted to go out so badly and I made sure he ate before we came, I don’t know what happened,” Stanley blubbers, close to tears. “I’m so, so, deeply sorry. I’ll do whatever I can to make this right.” His hands shake, no matter how hard he grabs his glass of water, matching his pale, panic-blotchy face. If vampires have the ability to faint, this one is about to.

I open my mouth to stop torturing him, but Aschure beats me to it. “You can tell us about the recent string of murders. And don’t give me the public speech about how nobody knows anything, I already got that from Loreley. Give me something new.”

“But I don’t know anything abou—” Stanley stops himself before he can ruin his way out of this. A single, pink drop of sweat rolls over his temple and his face stays white-red, but he’s thinking hard. Very hard. “I know of the deaths, but nothing about it,” he starts anew, licking his lips. “All I know is that they didn’t see you coming until yesterday. Had themselves a good fright when they realized there’d be hunters around, panic everywhere. Our lady interrogated every single elder in our kiss, and she even went to the rogues living in Central, but nothing came of it. A few of the elders got antsy so she had to punish them—”

Stanley’s voice falters and he goes solid, ashen white. “Please forget I said that,” he wheezes, eyes wild.

Aschure sips her drink and curls her lips amusedly. “Which is why you have a charge when you obviously haven’t got a clue what to do with him,” she says, shrugging. “It’s not that uncommon. You people are the most civilized monsters around, but some things still have to be driven home with a little more… oomph. I’ll take a wild guess and say she locked them into coffins?”

Going by Stanley’s sweat output, the room is at 110 degrees Fahrenheit. He is positively dripping when he shakes his head, sprinkling the table with the stuff. “I have nothing to say to that,” he says hurriedly.

“So Loreley did everything she could to find out who did it and came up empty-handed?” I throw in, drawing Stanley’s hysterical eyes to me.

His relief is palpable. “Yes, exactly!”

“But somebody had to have done it,” I prompt, raising an eyebrow and keeping the rest of my head as still as possible. God, my neck wound burns like a motherfucker. “So who else is there? Whom did Loreley forget?”

“Waay-eeell…” Squirming in his seat, Stanley kneads his glass and stares at the table as if the answer to the meaning of life is written on it in fine print. “I can’t say for sure, but I think she kinda left out the kiss in the Dark City district.”

Aschure goes quiet, but her eyes light up. It makes my heart throb with sudden anxiety. “Another group of vampires in the Dark City? And Loreley let them converge into a kiss?”

Unusual doesn’t begin to describe it. A vampire kiss may be a more formal union than a shifter pack, but they are just as territorial. Not because of mere instincts, but because of something much stronger: Money. If you control the local market, you control the flow of money. And if you don’t want to get caught, you have to do it quietly, strategically, underhandedly. Nothing can ruin a perfect plan quicker than being crossed by someone who wants the same thing, but for themselves. Oh, and then there’s the Contract, but who thinks about that in the heat of a business day?

“This is way above my pay grade,” says Stanley quietly, leaning forward to keep the eavesdroppers at bay, “but I heard whispers that they made some kind of deal to cut Loreley in and keep away from the better parts of the city. We almost never see them, with exception of their, eh, envoy. He comes once a month with a briefcase, disappears into Loreley’s office for half an hour, and then leaves without it. Nobody is sure where they actually nest and I think Loreley doesn’t even have contact details for them, plausible deniability and all that.”

Silence follows, filled only with Stanley’s nervous gasping. Somewhere in the back of a room, murmurs are followed by laughter and clinking glasses. I hear them as if through cotton.

Aschure breaks the uncomfortable silence, her voice dead and calm, cold enough to make me shudder. “Tell me everything.”

And Stanley does.