《Warlock's Last Exam》


 Chapter 1

    I tried not to look at the coffin, because every time I did, a lump would rise in my throat. That¡¯s why I brought a book with me, but the letters in ¡°Projections of Figures and Signs in Combat Artefactory¡± by Stenn kept blurring, and it wasn¡¯t the lighting to blame. There were enough candles in the chapel.


    The last watch, the final honor... And I was paying it while sitting on a chair. What would Grandpa say to that?


    A grumpy voice echoed in my head: "Read, don¡¯t get distracted! I¡¯m not going anywhere, am I?"


    Right, that¡¯s exactly what he would¡¯ve said...


    God, why did I even insist on being here?


    Because no one would take a talentless young man on a hunt for the werewolf that had torn apart the strongest warlock of the clan. Instead, only the most experienced and gifted ones went ¨C warlocks and shifters. Even promising talents like my cousin Logan stayed home.


    The mist in my eyes thickened so much I had to blink. Tears spilled out, carving trails down to the tip of my nose, where they gathered into a single, heavy drop that fell onto the yellowed pages of the old book and splattered. There was no point in reading. I closed the book and set it aside. Studying wasn¡¯t helping me cope with my emotions, and if I was going to cry, better now than tomorrow at the funeral. My tears wouldn¡¯t have pleased Grandpa Gregor. The old head of the clan had a reputation as a tough and uncompromising man.


    Forgive me, Grandpa. I¡¯m trying, but I¡¯m still far from being like you...


    Tears began streaming down my cheeks in full force.


    I wouldn¡¯t be alone: there was Logan, Aunt Mary, the other Kinkades. But it would be so hard without you, you old grumbler! Who else would share their wisdom, who would point me to the right book or evaluate a fresh idea? You always supported me... especially after I let down the clan, the family, and you.


    ¡°Forgive me, Grandpa,¡± I whispered hoarsely through my tears. ¡°One day you¡¯ll be proud of me.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± rasped a wheezing voice.


    I jumped to my feet. The chair toppled over, and the book fell to the floor. My right hand darted under my jacket, gripping the handle of my FN 910, Grandpa¡¯s gift. My left hand clenched into a fist, ready to activate the cheap corundum ring. Although no one lurked in the shadows, I prepared to channel the spell through the ring. Damn seals wouldn¡¯t let me do it instantly, nor could I charge the artifact with my own power. But a few years ago, I wouldn¡¯t have even hoped to feel the spell in the ring at all.


    ¡°Sir, this is a very bad joke!¡± I said, scanning the reflections of candlelight and the play of shadows on the walls.


    If the prankster was using a standard veil spell, it might still be possible to pinpoint them.


    Grandpa¡¯s body in the coffin stirred sluggishly. His hand rose and scratched at his tightly bandaged neck. The wound across his throat had caused his death, and leaving it on display hadn¡¯t been the best idea. I hadn¡¯t even noticed when I¡¯d aimed the pistol at the coffin.


    Possession, vampirism, necromancy... but definitely not lycanthropy. Vampires rise within a day ¨C It had been nearly two. If someone had performed a raising ritual, our gifted would¡¯ve sensed it. But spirits... spirits could be mischievous. Given that the ground was consecrated, the likelihood of encountering a bloodthirsty demonic entity was low. But even a less sinister otherworldly guest could cause plenty of trouble.


    That¡¯s exactly why the last watch required you to bring a weapon. Too bad that, considering Grandpa¡¯s death, my pistol was loaded with silver bullets. A shotgun with blessed salt would¡¯ve been much better in this situation. Still, eight grams of sacred metal, nine millimeters in caliber, had miraculous stopping power ¨C especially if you hit the head, the third eye through which spirits enter the body.


    Damage to the physical body near an energy node created a strong resonance with the subtle body and distorted the flow of aether. A weak spirit would be expelled instantly, while a powerful one would find control much harder. But the shot had to be precise. Negotiating afterward wouldn¡¯t be an option.


    And it wasn¡¯t exactly honorable. No respect for the deceased. Damn it, and I couldn¡¯t even warn the others ¨C any noise might provoke it. Father Martin would¡¯ve handled this much better than me. Still, I wasn¡¯t useless, and you, Grandpa, taught me well.


    Taking advantage of the fact that the possessed wasn¡¯t looking at me, I slid the pistol back into the holster under my jacket. Let¡¯s try to negotiate. Maybe we can settle this with a modest offering.


    ¡°Sir, I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ve gotten the wrong body.¡±


    Grandpa turned his gray head, but the edge of the coffin blocked his view of me. So the old man grabbed the side and sat up.


    ¡°What in the hell are you babbling about?¡± Grandpa looked at me, swept his gaze over the many candles, then glanced down and froze.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid so,¡± I continued, seizing the pause. But Grandpa frowned and raised his index finger, the way he always did when demanding silence.


    His strong, wrinkled hand curled into a fist and knocked on the side of the coffin.


    ¡°Well, shit!¡± Grandpa concluded. ¡°No, the coffin¡¯s fine, pine burns well. The situation, though ¨C just a real pile of crap. Forget possession right away. Why didn¡¯t you draw your weapon? Or is that not a thing for the last watch anymore?¡­ And why are you here, anyway?¡±


    ¡°Grandpa?!¡± I asked. How the hell was this even possible? He¡¯d been lying dead for two days, we¡¯d already washed and dressed him.


    ¡°As you can see!¡± Grandpa snapped back and pressed two fingers to his neck, trying to find a pulse. ¡°Don¡¯t waste your time. How long¡¯s it been?¡±


    ¡°This is the second day.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯m not a vampire. Although¡­¡± Grandpa flicked his wrist, and a long, double-edged dagger appeared in his hand. Instinctively, I drew my pistol.


    ¡°You did bring it,¡± he said. ¡°So why are we still talking? You should¡¯ve put a bullet in my head immediately!¡±


    ¡°I thought it might be a spirit playing tricks. I wanted to negotiate.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve already negotiated with Ferrish,¡± Grandpa snorted, shoving his fingers into his mouth, followed by the dagger. A moment later, something crunched. The old man pulled a long fang from his mouth, wiped it on his jacket, and tossed it to me. ¡°Here, take a look.¡±


    I leaned back, letting the tooth sail past and clatter onto the marble floor. Grandpa gave an approving grunt and added the dagger to the mix, tossing it toward the wall to put me at ease. I suddenly felt like I was back taking one of his damn tests. Keeping the old man in my line of sight, I stepped back and to the right so the tooth was near my feet. I crouched on one knee, ready to spring up at a moment¡¯s notice, and glanced downward with just my eyes, without lowering my head.


    The thin, curved strip of enamel wasn¡¯t a fully developed fang yet, but it was sharp enough to break skin.


    ¡°The werewolf tore you apart!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s just it,¡± Grandpa said. ¡°Don¡¯t hesitate. Bullet to the head, and I¡¯ll join the ancestors.¡±


    ¡°Wait. This is clearly a setup. Judging by how fast the transformation is happening, they must¡¯ve injected you with vampire blood after you died. It doesn¡¯t turn the dead on its own.¡±


    ¡°They must¡¯ve used a powerful healing potion, or something like it,¡± Grandpa confirmed. ¡°Duncan, I get that this is an attack on the family ¨C or maybe the entire clan ¨C but that¡¯s for the next head of the clan to sort out. I just hope Bryce doesn¡¯t botch the job. Son, time¡¯s running out.¡±


    ¡°You mean the Call?¡±


    Grandpa nodded.


    In the past, I would¡¯ve said no vampire could slip past our shifters, that no one could awaken his thirst, and that we had a solid day before he¡¯d start losing his mind to bloodlust. But given recent events¡­ This was going to take a lot of explaining to the family.


    The grip of my pistol felt slick, my hand heavy as lead, but I nodded.


    ¡°Good lad,¡± Grandpa smiled. ¡°You know, maybe we can turn this situation to our advantage. Pick up the dagger. Ferrish won¡¯t pass up a trophy like this.¡±


    ¡°A sacrifice on consecrated ground? Father Martin will lose his mind.¡±


    ¡°After he sings the rites, Martin can kiss my ass. You tell him that. Now, pick up the dagger.¡±


    I approached the wall, picking up the blade consecrated to an ancient spirit of the hunt. The moment I touched it, I felt the powerful otherworldly entity that had granted Grandpa his magic turn its attention to me. We¡¯d met once before, five years ago. That conversation had gone poorly, and I¡¯d been punished for my insolence.


    ¡°Go on, son, aim for the base of the skull. It won¡¯t be hard.¡±


    Grandpa lay back down in the coffin and rolled onto his stomach. The blade would indeed easily slide into the spot he¡¯d chosen, if we were just talking physics. But the dagger in my hand felt like it had turned to lead, and its tip trembled like the hands of a drunk in the morning after a binge. Damn tears started flooding my eyes again. It was a good thing Grandpa couldn¡¯t see me, because I couldn¡¯t! I just couldn¡¯t do this to him.


    ¡°Duncan!¡± Grandpa growled, his voice a warning.


    ¡°It won¡¯t work,¡± I said, stowing the dagger. ¡°You¡¯re no prey, not without a hunt. I¡¯d just anger him even more.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°Oh, son¡­¡± Grandpa rolled over in the coffin again and sat up. ¡°Caution is good, but only in moderation. Fine, then. Fire a few shots into the air and let¡¯s see who comes running.¡±


    I met Grandpa¡¯s gaze and then quickly looked away, embarrassed. He realized it wasn¡¯t just caution holding me back.


    Wasting silver bullets shooting into the air felt like sacrilege, but I was eager to take up the offer. I threw open the chapel doors, raised the barrel¡­


    ¡°No need¡­¡± drawled an unfamiliar voice from the darkest corner of the chapel.


    The shadows there ignored the light of nearby candles, clinging unnaturally thick, obscuring the figure within.


    I whipped the pistol toward the voice, steadying the grip with my left hand, where the dagger still rested. I wasn¡¯t about to drop the blade for a better hold ¨C It might still come in handy. Grandpa leapt out of the coffin, spreading his hands with clawed fingers aimed upward. Normally, that gesture would ignite warlock sparks in his hands, but this time his magic fizzled out. A newly turned vampire was no longer a powerful warlock, even if he¡¯d managed to summon Ferrish¡¯s blade earlier.


    Grandpa cursed and tried a few other spells, but none of them worked.


    ¡°Don¡¯t bother,¡± said the shadow, shifting into the shape of a man in a black cloak with a hood. ¡°You¡¯ve already used up your quota for today.¡±


    The dagger in my hand pulsed with feral hatred. Enemy! Enemy with a capital E. The kind Ferrish would not only forgive an old insult for but even reward me for. The surge of emotion carried a promise. I realized with certainty that the spirit would lift the seals from my energy nodes if I took this man¡¯s life. And that was strange. Ferrish was a spirit of the hunt, stubborn but not bloodthirsty. The chase intrigued him far more than the prize.


    ¡°Name yourself!¡± Grandpa demanded.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you recognize me, Kinkades?¡± The intruder threw back his hood, revealing a sharp-featured face framed by a slicked-back hairstyle with a flawless left part. He looked young, barely older than me ¨C nineteen, maybe twenty ¨C but the clean-shaven chin with a dimple gave him an air of maturity, adding a few years. His thin lips twisted into a mocking grin. ¡°Tsk, tsk. You ruin a man¡¯s life and toss him out of your memories.¡±


    ¡°Simon?¡± I said, recognizing him. ¡°What the hell are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°Pfft, I organized this!¡± Simon said indignantly. ¡°And lower that popgun ¨C It won¡¯t help you.¡±


    The uninvited guest lazily pointed a gloved hand at me, but for some reason didn¡¯t lower it afterward. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, and he wiggled his fingers. There was something menacing in that small gesture, as if he were trying to cast magic.


    But he was sealed, just like I was! Though that didn¡¯t stop him from using veil spell ¨C there were always artifacts and amulets to consider. Just in case, I stepped to the side, while Grandpa, on the contrary, stepped forward, clearly with aggressive intent.


    ¡°Stop!¡± Simon barked. ¡°By the right of the matriarch and the founder!¡±


    Grandpa stumbled and fell, unable to resist the power imbued in those simple words.


    Simon ¨C a bloodsucker? Their elders could subjugate younger ones, but something about this compulsion was off. Damn it, I¡¯d studied vampires! What was wrong here?


    Ferrish¡¯s dagger hummed with a restless hunger, clouding my thoughts, while this bastard dared to give orders to Grandpa.


    ¡°Hands on your head! Face to the ground!¡± I barked.


    ¡°Shut up, you spineless wretch,¡± Simon sneered. ¡°You couldn¡¯t even put down this piece of crap, and he didn¡¯t even resist.¡±


    He kicked Grandpa, who twitched and tried to grab his assailant¡¯s leg, but the villain snapped, ¡°Stay down!¡±


    For you, bastard, he might be piece of crap, but to me¡­


    I squeezed the trigger. The sound of the gunshot roared through the relatively small space, so loud it left my ears ringing. The heavy silver bullet whizzed past the enemy¡¯s face, slammed into the wall, and chipped out a chunk of brick. Simon flinched, stung by the flying shards, and pressed a hand to his cheek. His eyes narrowed in anger.


    He pulled his hand away and stared at the bloodstains on his glove.


    The cuts on his face were bleeding freely. Not a vampire.


    ¡°Kill him!¡± he ordered Grandpa. ¡°Tear him apart!¡±


    On the second word, I pulled the trigger again. The bullet struck Simon in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground. Should¡¯ve shot right away.


    ¡°Bastard!¡± Simon screamed.


    Grandpa rose to his feet, baring the one remaining fang. His eyes glistened with madness and a thirst for blood, but the iron will of a man who, until recently, was the powerful warlock and head of the Bremor clan still restrained the body that no longer belonged to him. The struggle was clearly one-sided, though, as instinct slowly overtook him, forcing the vampire to creep forward in tiny, hesitant steps.


    ¡°Stop him!¡± I commanded.


    ¡°Kill him!¡± Simon barked in response, earning another bullet to the leg. He howled in pain.


    Grandpa lunged forward, and I shot him in the shoulder. The vampire staggered. I aimed lower, hitting his shin. He collapsed to one knee but refused to stop.


    ¡°Grandpa, damn it!¡± I tried to reason with him. The vampire had only one step left, and I had two bullets and two enemies. Simon, you bastard, this was supposed to be between us! Why the hell did you drag him into it?!


    I had no choice. This fight had to end.


    Dropping to one knee in front of Grandpa, I took aim and pulled the trigger. The bandages around his neck tore as the bullet pierced through, leaving a hole that trailed faint wisps of smoke. The shot tore through his already slashed throat and shattered the vertebra behind it. Even vampires couldn¡¯t survive that kind of damage. A headshot would¡¯ve been safer, but I couldn¡¯t bear the thought of Grandpa being buried with a hole in his forehead. Just the thought made me sick.


    The vampire froze, swayed, his head slumping to one side, neck twisted at an unnatural angle. His body sagged to the floor.


    Even in that grotesque pose, Grandpa smiled and parted his lips, but whatever last words he¡¯d meant to say died with him. Life left his body before the words could.


    Grandpa!


    For the second time in just a few days, my heart clenched in an invisible vice. My chest tightened, refusing to let me draw a breath. I wanted to scream, to shout, but it was as if all the air had been sucked from the room. Every ounce of my strength went into shaking off the haze, forcing myself to take one breath and finish what needed to be done.


    One last bullet. I wasn¡¯t done yet.


    ¡°Simon,¡± I hissed. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re gonna pay for this.¡±


    I was in full agreement with Ferrish now ¨C this bastard needed to die. But the scumbag had used veil again. He wasn¡¯t on the floor, and the shadows in the room lay flat and undisturbed.


    The door!


    I quickly slammed shut the most obvious escape route and scanned the floor for any signs of blood. With the amount pouring from his cheek, there should¡¯ve been a pool from the bullet wounds too. But there was nothing.


    Damn it! Stone skin, or something like it.


    I focused my will into the enchanted ring. If the enemy got away with just bruises, this wouldn¡¯t be over.


    The last bullet had to count ¨C preferably through his eye ¨C and then I¡¯d drive the dagger into his body to finish the kill while it was still warm. Speaking of the blade, its burning hatred had faded the moment the enemy left my sight. Hopefully, that didn¡¯t mean he¡¯d slipped away.


    I scanned the shadows carefully, but found nothing. Either the camouflage was flawless, or I¡¯d rushed my assumptions.


    I listened intently. Not a single out-of-place sound. Logan would¡¯ve heard something. Speaking of hearing ¨C no one had come running at the noise. Strange. I¡¯d have to make note of that, but I couldn¡¯t count on reinforcements.


    This was a standoff, and I couldn¡¯t tell whose side time was on.


    I had one bullet left, and my pistol was the only thing keeping the balance in my favor¡­ My pistol¡­


    Why had Simon come without a weapon? Was he relying on magic? He¡¯d trained in the clan until he was fifteen; he had to know better. He¡¯d know the value of a backup plan. Grandpa had always taught me to assume my enemy¡¯s capabilities extended beyond what they¡¯d shown.


    Let¡¯s assume he has a gun. If I remember correctly, veil spells often have flaws ¨C like reacting to movement. He can¡¯t move!


    And I can¡¯t lower my pistol to provoke him without risking taking a bullet myself.


    I carefully examined the nearest candelabra. Thinking logically, Simon would¡¯ve kept his distance from the source of light. What was I risking? Just my life¡­ No, that wasn¡¯t quite right ¨C only if the bastard still had vampire blood. Wrong again. Grandpa¡¯s death had been meticulously staged, and my corpse ¨C especially once someone noticed Grandpa¡¯s fangs ¨C would be examined far more thoroughly. Other risks? The attacker¡¯s identity might remain unknown. But that risk would linger no matter what.


    I shoved the dagger into the pocket of my jacket, grabbed a handful of thin candles from the candelabra, and flung them in a wide arc toward the walls. The shadow beneath the window arch twitched, and I activated the ring, bracing for a retaliatory shot. I couldn¡¯t afford to shoot blindly ¨C there wouldn¡¯t be a second chance.


    A blurred figure raised a hand holding a gun. Just not the head! If it hits my mouth, I might survive, but an eye¡­


    Simon¡¯s final movement was too abrupt, and his concealment failed completely. I saw the whites of his eyes. The muzzle of my gun was already pointed in the right direction ¨C just needed to adjust a millimeter¡­


    Simon¡¯s revolver spat out a bullet first. A chunk of lead tore through my jacket and, judging by the unforgettable sensation, a rib. But I stayed on my feet. The second bullet followed the first ¨C It slammed me against the door. Then a third¡­


    Simon fired quickly, cocking the hammer with one hand and pulling the trigger with the other. All six bullets left the barrel in less than three seconds ¨C the exact time it took for my stone-skin ring to fully drain. If he¡¯d been even a fraction slower, I¡¯d already be chatting with the ancestors.


    My chest burned. The spell only reinforced the skin, not the ribs. A hazy film clouded my vision. My arm, the one holding the pistol, went limp and dropped. I think I growled in pain, struggling to raise it again. It moved, but sluggishly.


    Simon wasn¡¯t polite enough to wait for me to take aim. He spun sharply and smashed the butt of his gun against the windowpane. The bastard scrambled onto the windowsill, and I fired.


    Since he¡¯d turned his rear to me, aiming for the eyes was out of the question, but there was another very natural weak spot in that region, and that¡¯s where I aimed. Too bad I didn¡¯t see if I hit ¨C my shot shoved him out the window.


    I had to finish him!


    An empty pistol was useless. I dropped it to the floor and pulled out the dagger, miraculously still in my pocket. I wasn¡¯t in any condition to climb through the window, so I opened the door and set off the long way around.


    My pace was slow ¨C each step sent stabbing pain through my ribs, painting my vision with bursts of color. Every breath jabbed my lungs like needles, forcing me to gulp air in shallow sips. The dagger¡¯s hilt was slick with sweat and threatened to slip free, but Ferrish¡¯s anger gripped my hand, fueled by the spirit¡¯s renewed awareness of the enemy.


    Simon was limping away, clutching his injured backside and dragging his left leg.


    ¡°Where do you think you¡¯re going, sweetheart?¡± I hissed.


    He didn¡¯t look back, but his limp turned into a more determined hobble toward the garden. On the move, he pulled a small vial from his pocket. He bit off the cork, spat it out, and downed the contents in one gulp.


    I quickened my pace. The colorful circles in my vision turned into an unbroken haze. Simon¡¯s figure blurred, but I was closing the gap.


    Not for long.


    After a few seconds of what felt like a race between cripples, Simon released his grip on his injured buttock and began walking straighter ¨C the potion was kicking in. Only a few meters separated him from the trees.


    I gritted my teeth and made one final, desperate lunge to reach him with the blade. My vision went completely dark.


    The stars traded places with the grass, and the ground kicked me harder than a wild stallion¡¯s hind legs. For a moment, the sky lit up, the stars tumbled down to earth, and sparks flickered among the grass. Up and down lost all meaning, and even the pain vanished.


    But as soon as I took a breath, everything snapped back into place. The pain returned, as did the crushing weight of reality.


    I managed to lift my head.


    There was no sign of Simon around.

 Chapter 2

    Bloody hell! I let him slip away!


    Beyond the garden lay the forest, the one that first gave its name to the clan and later to the entire county of Bremshire. Simon, like me, had been taught to walk its trails. The forest never forgave the weak, and its population of gifted beasts even less so, which was why the knowledge was hammered into the heads of neophytes with absolute finality. For the ¡°alternatively gifted,¡± the instructions were delivered via a belt on the backside ¨C hard enough to make sitting impossible.


    At twelve, every boy in the clan took his first exam: a solo trip into the forest to spend the night. Before he fled the clan, Simon had passed four of them. On the last one, he had already been sealed and carried the mark of prey ¨C a mark that made predators react to him like a cat to a mouse.


    So, let¡¯s assume the forest isn¡¯t a danger to him.


    I don¡¯t know how long the potion he took will last. If it¡¯s based on sun stag horn extract, it could keep him going for a solid three hours. In that time, he¡¯d be halfway to the Elfish County mountains, hiding out in Glembatric or Inverlass, where he could catch a train heading anywhere.


    Although¡­ why bother? He could do the same here in Avoc without even venturing far into the woods. Just a quick detour under the trees to avoid the clan enclave and make it to the city. Damn it! What if he has a car? Even without one, stealing one wouldn¡¯t be hard.


    I had to catch Simon ¨C and fast ¨C before the trail went cold. Unfortunately, I wasn¡¯t particularly skilled at tracking even during the day, and in my current state, I needed help.


    My first attempt to get up failed miserably. My battered ribs all reminded me, in unison, that I should have been more careful. The second attempt was more successful. Slowly and carefully, I picked up speed until I was moving at a pace that wouldn¡¯t send me toppling over. Grinding my teeth at the precious seconds slipping away, I kept having to remind myself that if I fell again, I might not be able to get back up ¨C and crawling would take even longer.


    The clan chapel faded into the background. I tried not to think about how Grandpa¡¯s body was now lying on the floor there. Instead, I focused on the houses that began a few hundred meters ahead. No one had heard the gunshots, which meant Simon must have used some kind of sound-dampening spell. That being the case, disturbing the chapel¡¯s nearest neighbors wouldn¡¯t help.


    There were three Bailey houses nearby, and they were friendly with the Ferons ¨C Simon¡¯s family. The chapel itself had originally been built on the outskirts of the settlement, but that had been ages ago. Avoc, the county capital, had grown so much that the clan settlement was now just another district of the city. Right, this area belonged mostly to the Ferons. Thomas McLilly lived here too ¨C part of a friendly family, though his wife was a Bailey. Two more houses, and I¡¯d be there...


    A small white picket fence almost turned into an insurmountable obstacle. My hands shook and slipped on the tiny latch, but I managed to open it. Stumbling forward, I made it to the heavy oak door and pounded on it with my fist ¨C avoiding the knocker to keep from drawing the neighbors¡¯ attention. The stabbing pain in my ribs protested the motion, but I still had to knock twice more.


    The door opened without a word. Logan, as usual, had sensed my presence in advance. He could¡¯ve been quicker about it! Back then, Ferrish hadn¡¯t been content to merely seal my energy nodes; he¡¯d also branded me with the mark of a hunter. Prey animals scattered in terror at my approach, and predators preferred to keep their distance. Logan felt it too, but he easily ignored its mental influence ¨C being a rather dangerous shifter himself.


    I still remembered the shaggy wolfhound whose spirit Logan had took. Surprisingly, it had been a remarkably good-natured dog.


    ¡°Brother...¡± Logan said, surprised.


    I didn¡¯t let him finish, shoving him back inside and closing the door behind me. Logan had to step aside to let me squeeze past his massive frame. His three younger sisters gasped in shock when they saw the bullet holes in my jacket and shirt. Their reaction drew the attention of Aunt Mary, who peeked into the living room.


    ¡°Good Lord, Duncan!¡±


    ¡°Simon is back,¡± I rasped.


    ¡°Simon¡­ Feron?¡± Logan guessed. The dangerous orange glow in his blue eyes betrayed his half-feral nature.


    ¡°He¡¯s the one who set up Grandpa¡¯s death. Poisoned him with vampire blood. Grandpa rose, and I had to...¡±


    ¡°Elly, Zoe,¡± Aunt Mary commanded sharply, ¡°go to your rooms!¡±


    ¡°But Mom!¡± protested the youngest, who was immediately silenced by a hearty smack upside the head.


    ¡°Don¡¯t make me get the belt,¡± Mary warned.


    The younger girls vanished as if swept away by the wind. The eldest hesitated but returned to her seat when her mother motioned for her to stay.


    ¡°We need to catch Simon,¡± I said. ¡°He went toward the park from the chapel.¡±


    Logan¡¯s features grew more animalistic. His jaw pushed forward, and his lips curled back under the pressure of his lengthening fangs. He grabbed the door handle, but his mother¡¯s commanding voice stopped him in his tracks.


    ¡°Stay put!¡± she ordered.


    Ignoring his confused look, she turned to me. ¡°Are you injured?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°I used stone skin.¡±


    ¡°Get him to the couch,¡± she ordered Logan. ¡°Ivy, draw the curtains and call your father at the pub.¡±


    My cousin scooped me up like I weighed nothing, but the motion jostled my ribs, and I nearly growled in pain again. Ivy pulled the curtains closed and picked up the receiver of the large rotary phone on the side table. Aunt Mary continued barking orders with the confidence of a battle-hardened general, peppering her commands with a few colorful insults and commentary on the current state of the clan.


    She wasn¡¯t exactly delicate as she tore open my shirt. Buttons popped off and clattered across the floor, joined by a couple of spent bullets that had been lodged inside.


    ¡°Flying off on a chase, you boneheads. Wasn¡¯t Grandpa enough for you? You rushing to join him in the afterlife? Bryce brought back the werewolf¡¯s head, and now they¡¯re all drunk celebrating it. Do you have any idea what¡¯ll happen if you start shouting about Simon? That it was him who killed Gregor, not some rogue werewolf who overindulged on the hearts of the strong?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why I came to you...¡±


    ¡°And what if one of you dies? You don¡¯t care about me, but at least think about the family¡¯s reputation.¡±


    She didn¡¯t seem interested in hearing my answer, because she immediately pressed down on my chest, sending fractures of pain shooting through my world. Even so, I managed to rasp, ¡°He¡¯s wounded¡­ fleeing¡­ and dosed on something.¡±


    ¡°Mom, I¡¯ll catch him!¡± Logan barked.


    ¡°Sit down and stop twitching, or I¡¯ll thrash you too!¡±


    Logan obeyed. He always did, but he never hid how he felt about it. This time, however, his sister cut off his complaints. While we¡¯d been arguing, she¡¯d gotten through to their father.


    ¡°Mom,¡± Ivy said, pointing at the receiver.


    ¡°Did you put Grandpa to rest properly?¡± Mary asked me before taking the phone.


    ¡°I guarantee it.¡±


    ¡°Logan, get to the chapel. Make sure no one sees you. Check everything there and wait! You¡¯ll follow the trail when help arrives.¡±


    Logan sprang to his feet and rushed toward the door, but he abruptly changed course, darted into the closet, and emerged with a rifle and bandolier.


    ¡°Gordon, darling,¡± Aunt Mary said into the phone. ¡°I don¡¯t care what you have to do, but Bryce and Evan need to be here in a minute, or your brother can kiss his chances of becoming clan head goodbye.¡± She paused, then added sharply, ¡°No, you don¡¯t have to come yourself.¡±Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    She hung up the phone. ¡°Ivy, fetch Sally.¡±


    ¡°But she¡¯s just¡­¡±


    I knew what Ivy was about to say. Sally had given birth just a week and a half ago.


    ¡°Aunt¡­¡± I tried to intercede for my cousin, who, despite being three years older than me, was still considered a junior in the family.


    ¡°Now!¡± Mary snapped.


    Sally was a warlock, too. Ferrish had gifted her with extraordinary sensitivity, allowing her to literally see the weak points in living beings. She often used this ability for medical purposes.


    The clan had more professional doctors and healers, but Aunt Mary clearly didn¡¯t trust them with this.


    The first to arrive was Evan ¨C another cousin, a talented warlock in his early forties and, incidentally, Sally¡¯s father. His absence from the revenge celebration was easier to explain than most.


    ¡°Who?¡± he asked as soon as he entered.


    ¡°Simon Feron,¡± Aunt Mary replied. ¡°He pumped Grandpa full of vampire blood.¡±


    Evan didn¡¯t believe. He probably thought I was delirious.


    Carefully, I rolled onto my side and pulled the dagger out of my jacket pocket. Strange that Aunt Mary hadn¡¯t confiscated it right away.


    Evan¡¯s skepticism shifted to surprise. The family knew Grandpa had kept the dagger in a dimensional pocket. I extended it to him hilt-first, but the moment Evan¡¯s fingers brushed against it, he jerked his hand back.


    ¡°It¡¯s alive! Why? Do we have a vampire in the settlement?¡±


    ¡°No, I put Grandpa to rest,¡± I replied. ¡°Ferrish set his price for the seals.¡±


    ¡°The spirit is ready to remove them?¡±


    Before I could answer, Evan¡¯s father ¨C Uncle Bryce ¨C burst into the house. Great, now I¡¯d have to start the explanation from the beginning.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter!¡± I said through gritted teeth, the pain in my ribs flaring up again. ¡°The important thing is catching Simon. He¡¯s somehow regained the use of magic.¡±


    ¡°Simon who?¡± Bryce asked, but Evan silenced his father with a gesture and let me continue.


    ¡°Logan¡¯s at the chapel, tracking him.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡± Evan grabbed Bryce by the elbow and dragged him toward the door. ¡°We¡¯ve got a lead ¨C through the runes.¡±


    ¡°What runes?¡± I asked, but no one bothered to answer. At the door, Evan bumped into Sally, pecked her on the cheek, and hurried off with Bryce in tow.


    It seemed the older generation was in on some other shady dealings and had managed to connect them to Simon, leaving me completely in the dark.


    For the next half hour, Sally scrutinized my ribs ¨C and deeper. Turned out there was only one fracture, but plenty of cracks and other internal injuries to go around. Besides the muscles and bones, my lungs and liver had taken damage. With the full list of injuries at hand, the women quickly selected the necessary elixirs and began pouring them into me.


    When I could no longer swallow their vile concoctions, they switched to ointments, rubbing them into my skin. I nearly suffocated from the stench. Someone else might have resisted these tortures, but by my modest calculations, the family had already spent around a thousand pounds on me in salves and potions.


    ¡°Try to sleep,¡± Aunt Mary said. ¡°You¡¯ll need to be up early.¡±


    Not even the smell could stop me from fulfilling that request, but sleep didn¡¯t last long. I¡¯d barely closed my eyes when someone shook me by the shoulder.


    ¡°Duncan...¡±


    For a moment, I thought it was Grandpa Gregor, but no ¨C It was just Uncle Gordon. The smell of his booze-soaked breath easily overpowered the stench of the ointments, snapping me back to full awareness.


    ¡°Uncle,¡± I groaned, ¡°please don¡¯t breathe.¡±


    ¡°Ha? Don¡¯t turn your face away! You think I wanted to drink myself into this state?¡±


    ¡°Oh, like you didn¡¯t want to!¡± Aunt Mary snapped from behind him.


    ¡°At least now no one will remember Bryce and Evan weren¡¯t there!¡±


    ¡°Oh, I can¡¯t wait for the neighbors to tell me all about what you¡¯ve been up to,¡± Aunt Mary said dryly.


    ¡°Here¡¯s a bit of advice for you, boy: don¡¯t get married. Women are ungrateful creatures. They ask you for something and then complain about how you did it.¡±


    Mary rolled up a towel and smacked Gordon across the back of the head with it. The conflict fizzled out after that, neither side interested in prolonging it.


    ¡°Did you catch Simon?¡± I asked.


    ¡°No, the bastard covered his tracks well,¡± Gordon admitted. ¡°Logan spent half the night running through the forest, nearly burning out his nose. The bastard used something corrosive.¡±


    ¡°And now what?¡±


    ¡°Now you take a bath. Get yourself cleaned up. Bryce will be here soon, and the conversation will be serious.¡±


    In the bathroom, I finally got a good look at myself in the mirror. Dark circles hung under my eyes, but those could be blamed on the sleepless night. What couldn¡¯t be dismissed so easily was the mess beneath my shirt. My chest and stomach were a patchwork of bruises in shades of blue, yellow, and green.


    My ribs still ached, but not as badly as they had earlier. A few hours ago, I probably wouldn¡¯t have been able to scrub my back with a sponge, but now I managed it. It took a lot of effort, and even so, I couldn¡¯t completely rid myself of the stench of the ointments.


    As I dried off, I realized the smell had soaked into my skin. My only hope was the balm Aunt Mary applied to me after the bath.


    Bryce arrived just as they were finishing rubbing the balm into my skin. I wasn¡¯t allowed to put on a shirt over the fresh ointment, so I had to have this ¡°serious conversation¡± looking anything but serious. Aunt Mary sat us down in the kitchen, placed two plates of eggs and bacon in front of us along with cups of tea, and closed the door behind her as she left. Bryce ignored the eggs but took a sip of the tea.


    ¡°Start from the beginning, with all the details,¡± he said.


    I laid everything out the way Grandpa had taught me: just the facts, no speculation, no assumptions, no emotions. Thank God Bryce didn¡¯t ask for clarifications.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said gravely.


    ¡°No problem.¡±


    ¡°No, really!¡± Bryce said, his tone weighty. ¡°If you hadn¡¯t put Father to rest, it would have dealt a heavy blow to the family. I know you loved him as much as I did, and...¡± The words didn¡¯t come easily to him, and he clearly would have preferred a glass of strong whiskey over the tea. ¡°I¡¯m sixty now ¨C a respectable age ¨C and even now I doubt I could¡¯ve done it. That was an honorable deed. Worthy of a vote in the council.¡±


    Wait, what?! Was he offering me a place on the clan council? Logan¡¯s twenty, and despite all his talent, he was only invited this year. Uncle Gordon was thirty when he got in. And here Bryce was talking about a seventeen-year-old sealed brat.


    ¡°All the more reason,¡± Bryce continued, ¡°that it¡¯s unpleasant to ask you for a favor.¡±


    I nodded. I already had a general idea of what he was going to ask.


    ¡°The council was never my goal. I¡¯ll keep quiet,¡± I said.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Bryce said sincerely. ¡°We lost Simon. The dagger was burning with hatred, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    I nodded again, this time with more interest.


    ¡°I¡¯ve encountered that twice before,¡± Bryce explained. ¡°Both times with bloodsuckers, and both times on the frontlines. In 1916, one of our allies in the ranks turned out to be one ¨C I had to let him go. The second, a year later, Ferrish rewarded me handsomely for. Are you sure Simon isn¡¯t a vampire?¡±


    ¡°He bled,¡± I reminded him. ¡°But he could command... a vampire. By the word of the matriarch.¡±


    ¡°We found blood, but it¡¯s tainted. Useless for a tracking ritual. He was well-prepared.¡±


    ¡°You think Simon didn¡¯t plan this alone?¡±


    Now it was Bryce¡¯s turn to shake his head.


    ¡°Granting someone authority over young blood by the right of the word can only be done by an elder or an ancient.¡±


    Bloodsuckers again. Our clan had a long history of dealings with nightborn freaks practically since its founding. Ferrish paid well for dangerous prey. The last illegal nest in Bremshire was wiped out by my father in 1927. The bloodsuckers retaliated by leaving me an orphan. Grandpa went on a rampage across the country after that. Nests burned in several counties, and they say even a few ancient princes were sent to hell.


    ¡°So that werewolf who killed Grandpa...¡±


    ¡°He was just a tool. They carved submission runes into his skin, drugged him, fed him rare hearts, and sent him off to die.¡±


    ¡°But how did a rabid beast manage to take down Grandpa?¡±


    Bryce shrugged uncertainly.


    ¡°They helped.¡±


    ¡°Someone from our side?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know! Before you told me about Simon, I suspected Sean. But even he wouldn¡¯t use his own son.¡±


    Sean Feron ¨C Simon¡¯s father ¨C had been Bryce¡¯s main rival in the race for clan leadership. He hated Grandpa, had no sense of honor, but genuinely loved his son. When Simon fled, Sean had nearly killed me, accusing me of every sin under the sun.


    ¡°So we keep quiet and suspect everyone?¡±


    ¡°Pretty much,¡± Bryce agreed. ¡°Eat your eggs before they get cold.¡±


    I quickly finished my breakfast, put on the fresh suit Aunt Mary had prepared for me, slid my freshly cleaned and oiled pistol into its holster, and tucked the dagger ¨C now housed in a brand-new leather sheath ¨C into the inner pocket of my jacket.


    Uncle Bryce escorted me back to the chapel, shielding me from prying eyes with one of Ferrish¡¯s little tricks.


    The window Simon had broken was whole again. The candles were no longer scattered across the floor. The chapel had been scrubbed clean, and the bullet holes in the wall had been patched, leaving only the faint smell of fresh plaster. Grandpa had been rewrapped, redressed, and the bullet wounds hidden. He now lay peacefully in the coffin, his lips curled into a faint smile. No one could do anything about that smile ¨C It had appeared after his second death.


    I stepped into the last watch for the second time. This time, without a book and without tears.


    ¡°God is merciful,¡± Bryce said unexpectedly. ¡°We are not.¡±


    It seemed he¡¯d made some sort of vow to Grandpa. Then he spun around, clapped me on the shoulder, and left.


    Maybe it was too emotional a moment, and I got caught up in it. I had no business going after the puppeteers who stood behind Simon, but that bastard himself ¨C I¡¯d get him! Whatever it took ¨C I¡¯d get him!

 Chapter 3

    The memorial service was held in the central cathedral of Avoc. The bishop himself had wanted to officiate, but he was, to put it mildly, reined in. The only priest Grandpa could tolerate in life was Father Martin, who was practically part of the family, though he bore a completely different surname. Martin was the same age as Bryce, and he never gave Grandpa an inch, regularly unloading such constructions of sacred texts on him that it was hard to tell whether he was blessing or cursing him.


    This time, Father Martin kept things simple, and his speech was clear to everyone. In life, he and Grandpa had often argued about where his soul would go after death. Martin left the final word for himself, sending his old friend straight to heaven.


    Bryce spoke next. ¡°Spoke¡± was the right word ¨C his speech was far less sincere but far more relevant given the upcoming elections. While the crowd in the church wasn¡¯t directly tied to the clan council, public support for candidates still mattered. And Bryce had it.


    Several times, I discreetly touched the hilt of the dagger under my jacket and scanned the hall, hoping Ferrish would sense Simon somewhere among the crowd. Logic told me the bastard was already far away, but I couldn¡¯t help myself. Logan quickly grew annoyed with my fidgeting and elbowed me in the ribs. His bloodshot eyes and sniffling nose, likely the result of his wild night, made him look like the perfect grief-stricken relative. In contrast, I, with the bruises under my eyes, looked like an angry goblin in a suit.


    After the church service, Grandpa¡¯s body was loaded into a shiny new hearse and taken back to the clan enclave. That ceremony had been for the people of the county ¨C it would make the papers and be mentioned on the radio. But the real event was just beginning.


    Everyone who belonged came together: the Kinkades, the McLillies, the Ferons, the Baileys, the Boyles, and other less common names. Men, women, and children who could endure a three-hour trek through the forest on the old paths ¨C about four hundred people in total. The sea of clan colors was overwhelming. Large blue and green tartan patterns dominated nearly every skirt, ceremonial kilt worn by the older generation, and most of the berets sported by the younger ones.


    We didn¡¯t stay at the house long. The coffin was quickly transferred from the hearse to the hands of the younger generation. Logan and I were excused from the duty, as close family in mourning, and given places in the procession immediately behind the coffin and Grandpa¡¯s children. The elders led the procession in front of the coffin, setting the pace for the rest of us.


    We were headed to the Ancient Stones ¨C one of five places of power scattered throughout the forest. This particular one was tied to the element of earth and had long served as the clan¡¯s burial ground.


    The procession stretched out like a snake, and the noise of the crowd scared away all the animals, even those that usually didn¡¯t fear humans. The ash and maple trees gradually gave way to beech and birch, and the ground grew rockier. The path wound upward along a slope hidden beneath the trees. Soon, the first pines appeared. As the deciduous trees disappeared entirely, the slope leveled out, and the pines began to thin as well.


    Here, the earth gave birth to stone instead of trees. Occasionally, some of these stones would come to life, taking on beastly or humanoid forms, and wander the forest, leaving chaos in their wake. We hunted such elementals down and broke them apart into a dozen valuable ingredients. There were no elementals now, though. The place of power had been checked yesterday, and the mineral ¡°seedlings¡± had been removed to preserve the solemnity of the moment. My ring of stone skin had been recharged here.


    At the center of the clearing, no stones grew. In the very heart of the place of power, the earth had already turned to stone. That¡¯s where Grandpa¡¯s coffin was placed.


    The elders took seats on the surrounding stones and waited for the tail of the procession to file into the clearing. It took a good half hour.


    Grandma Lough was the first to rise, followed by the patriarchs of the Baileys and the Ferons, then the McLilly and Kinkade grandmothers ¨C all of them gifted and over eighty, yet still able to move without assistance. At the last funeral, Grandpa Gregor had stood among them. Now his place was below.


    The elders formed a circle around the coffin and bowed their heads in respect. The youth who had carried the coffin laid it on the stone ground and stepped back from the circle. The polished wooden box was no longer needed, so it was moved aside onto one of the large, charred boulders.


    ¡°Bremor,¡± the elders intoned in unison, adding a drop of power to the word. I knew the rest of the clan quietly repeated the ancient words to themselves, and the magic eagerly responded. This incantation wasn¡¯t the refined, structured spellwork of modern times. It had been spoken here thousands of times since the distant ages when magic was raw, unpolished, and as honest as these boulders.


    ¡°...our blood, our flesh, our spirit! Accept the one who will no longer walk your paths.¡±


    The stone shimmered faintly, and Grandpa¡¯s body began to sink into it. The descent happened in complete, solemn silence. It felt almost reverent. I forgot how to breathe, only taking a deep breath once Grandpa¡¯s long nose disappeared beneath the stone.


    That was it. Really, that was it. Now I¡¯d never see him again. Grandpa, damn it all!


    I felt panic creeping in, but a sharp smack to the back of my head snapped me out of it.


    ¡°What the hell!?¡± I protested, turning to Logan. Only he could reach me.


    ¡°What?¡± my cousin asked, genuinely confused. His hands were clasped so tightly his knuckles were white.


    I looked around, trying to figure out who else it could¡¯ve been, but everyone¡¯s serious expressions revealed nothing. No one else had seen it? The blow had been strong, like the last one I got from Grandpa after breaking the fang of a thunder bear.


    The elders gave their final respects, bowing to the now-empty spot, and turned to the coffin. The crowd stepped back from the wooden box. It was no longer needed ¨C not exactly something you¡¯d reuse.


    Uncle Bryce ignited a small orange flame in his palm. Every warlock in the clan who could perform similar tricks followed suit. Some flames were red, others blue. For some, they were massive fireballs; for others, tiny sparks. If it had been night, it probably would¡¯ve looked beautiful.


    Bryce moved his hand, and his flame pierced the lacquered planks, leaving scorched holes behind. Other flames, sparks, whips, and jets of fire joined in. A magical explosion of colors descended on the pine box, tearing it apart like cardboard, roaring into a column of flame, and reducing it to ashes in seconds. The wind would carry those ashes across Bremor.


    Usually, the official part of the funeral ended there: everyone would head back to drink their fill of ale and whiskey. But not today. Today, one more question was to be settled here: who would take Gregor Oliver Kinkade¡¯s place as the next head of the clan and inherit the title of Earl of Bremor.


    Once again, Grandma Lough was the first to act.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to make any fancy speeches ¨C we¡¯re not in Parliament,¡± she quipped, referencing the prime minister¡¯s recent speech that had been replayed on the radio all week. ¡°Everyone knows why we¡¯re here. Though for many, this is a new experience. The last time I attended such a vote, I was still a young girl.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t exaggerate,¡± Grandma McLilly interrupted. ¡°You were pregnant with your fifth back then. It¡¯s not exactly an immaculate conception.¡±


    ¡°Well, I had my experience, but I still had plenty of fire left in me!¡± Lough shot back with a grumble, eliciting chuckles and lightening the mood. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if the sharp-tongued grandmothers had planned this.


    ¡°Don¡¯t interrupt, Clara,¡± Lough continued. ¡°Now then, I¡¯m asking those with the right to vote to step forward.¡±


    The crowd began to shift. I clapped Logan on the shoulder, stepped back into the second row, and quickly moved to claim a stone I¡¯d spotted earlier before someone else could climb onto it.


    ¡°Bryce,¡± Lough said, pointing to the center of the clearing where Grandpa¡¯s body had just been swallowed by the stone. ¡°Step forward.¡±


    Next, she called Sean Feron ¨C Simon¡¯s father ¨C and then William McLilly. The first stepped forward with his head held high, while the second immediately declined.


    ¡°I¡¯m out,¡± William said. ¡°I can handle two grandkids, but the clan¡¯s too much for me.¡±


    ¡°Just wait until the great-grandkids come along,¡± Grandma Lough teased. ¡°Then you¡¯ll regret not ducking out sooner.¡±


    Laughter rippled through the crowd again. William smiled but shook his head firmly.


    ¡°Your call,¡± Lough nodded. ¡°Any other volunteers? These three were chosen by the elders, but if anyone feels unjustly overlooked, speak up... No? Excellent. Shall we vote immediately, or waste time jabbering? We could shout and throw papers at each other like they do in Parliament these days.¡± She addressed the candidates standing in the center.


    ¡°Let our actions speak for us,¡± Bryce replied. He was well aware of how strong his reputation had become after killing the werewolf that had torn Grandpa apart.


    ¡°Pfft,¡± Sean scoffed.


    For him, this was the last chance to seize the initiative and win over the voters. Yes, his reputation was weaker, but he was a full fifteen years younger than Bryce, and that was a significant margin ¨C time enough for everything to change. Sean was still eager to grow as a warlock, while Uncle Bryce hadn¡¯t hunted for Ferrish since he turned sixty.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    I tensed. What if Feron said something that gave him away? But Sean began with the usual accusations.


    ¡°Your actions show that the Kinkade family has gained too much power.¡±


    ¡°That power serves the clan,¡± Bryce said firmly.


    ¡°Power serves the powerful. Fourteen gifted warlocks in the Kinkade family.¡±


    ¡°Hey, I only made one of them!¡± Bryce joked.


    The crowd chuckled. Someone clapped Evan on the shoulder, and he raised his hand.


    ¡°I made two!¡± my cousin declared proudly.


    ¡°Amateurs, I¡¯ve got three!¡± Magnus McLilly shouted.


    Grandma Lough didn¡¯t let the discussion devolve into chaos, though she had her own way of shutting it down.


    ¡°Quit yelling like you were the ones giving birth to them! Thank the women!¡± she said, and the crowd erupted in laughter. ¡°Sean, if you¡¯ve got something to say, say it plainly. Old fools like me don¡¯t get subtle hints. And you ¨C don¡¯t turn this into a circus,¡± she added, pointing a gnarled finger at Bryce. He raised his hands in mock surrender.


    ¡°Right, if we¡¯re not wasting time babbling, someone get Grandma a seat. Youth, make some stools for the elders.¡±


    A few young men who regularly worked at the place of power drew symbols on the ground, chanted a spell, and conjured a few stone stumps. Within a day or two, the magical flows would wear them back down to the earth, but they¡¯d last long enough for this meeting.


    Grandma Lough sat down on her ¡°chair¡± and nodded to Sean.


    ¡°You want plain talk? The Kinkades don¡¯t let other families grow.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense!¡± Bryce shot back, and many voices in the crowd supported him, though there were some murmurs of agreement with Sean.


    ¡°Name one example.¡±


    ¡°My son,¡± Sean said. ¡°Everyone knows what promise he showed!¡±


    The weight of those words made me uncomfortable. Not everyone, but enough people were looking at me to make it clear who he meant. I hated bringing up that story.


    ¡°He could¡¯ve become a great warlock, a pillar of the clan...¡± Sean continued, but Logan cut him off.


    ¡°A great arsehole, maybe!¡±


    My cousin was even more infuriated by that history than I was. People had expected a lot from Simon and forgiven him even more. Then Grandpa started training me. At ten years old, I matched Simon¡¯s achievement ¨C I opened my central energy node and began developing my Spiritual Core. Simon was no longer the only unique one, and he didn¡¯t like it. That¡¯s when he started coming after me.


    The two-year age gap and his extra time practicing energy techniques made it easy for him to dominate me. Logan trained with us back then, but he didn¡¯t show any particular talent. The problem was, he had a constant ¡°big brother protector¡± complex. So, we both regularly got beaten up together.


    By the time I was twelve, I was fed up with enduring that bastard and his goons. After they broke Logan¡¯s arm in yet another fight, I decided to get even. Scare the jerk so badly he¡¯d remember it for life.


    I spent a whole week preparing: planning tactics, designing traps, figuring out which potions and amulets I could ¡°borrow¡± from Grandpa without getting caught and which I¡¯d have to acquire through friends. I chose the old herb shed as the battlefield. Simon had gone quiet after getting chewed out for Logan, but once he lost his temper, he went back to his old ways.


    In the first conflict, I lured his entire gang into the shed and let them beat me up. The next time, I put all my effort into escaping ¨C and I succeeded. Then it was back to the shed and another beating. The idiots didn¡¯t even realize I was using the same hunting techniques our teachers had taught us, trying to drill a specific reflex into them.


    The last trip to the herb shed I planned for late evening, catching them completely off guard. First came the hunting nets, then darts with sedatives before they could make too much noise. I gave Simon a dart with a stronger dose, considering he was the most advanced energy practitioner. Once his lackeys passed out, I tied them up, loaded Simon onto a wheelbarrow, and dragged him into the forest.


    For a twelve-year-old boy, even with a developed Spiritual Core, it wasn¡¯t easy. I had to drink a stamina potion to manage it. Speed was crucial. I left more than enough tracks, especially for an experienced hunter to follow. Parents usually checked on their children¡¯s safety closer to nightfall, so the threat of being caught hung over me like the Sword of Damocles.


    Too bad it didn¡¯t fall ¨C things turned out much worse instead.


    I stripped Simon, tied him to a tree, and started a fire using kerosene to quickly build up big flames. I stuck a poker into the fire to heat it up and then brought Simon back to consciousness with one of the stolen elixirs.


    I didn¡¯t scare him for long, mostly just with the poker once it was glowing red. Then I pulled out the dagger.


    There are many ways to become a warlock. The only prerequisite is a developed Spiritual Core, which a sympathetic spirit marks with an ethereal seal. But how you earn that spirit¡¯s favor ¨C that¡¯s another matter entirely. Ferrish required you to stalk, catch, and kill a dangerous and powerful beast. When I informed Simon that he would be my beast, the boy wet himself. I got my revenge in full.


    I should¡¯ve stopped there. But his fear was so intoxicating, the vengeance so sweet, that I decided to finish the performance. I actually appealed to the ancient spirit, asking it to accept my "prey." Ferrish didn¡¯t appreciate the humor. He considered Simon a legitimate offering. That¡¯s when both Simon and I realized that a single, precise strike would make me the youngest warlock in the clan¡¯s history.


    What¡¯s more, Ferrish didn¡¯t just reward me ¨C he let me choose one of three spells based on techniques I¡¯d used during the hunt: Binding, Sleep, or Stamina. It was an extraordinarily generous gift, and I rejected it outright. The thought of accepting didn¡¯t even cross my mind.


    Ferrish isn¡¯t inherently evil. I don¡¯t think he even comprehends the concepts of good and evil. So he took my refusal as a deception. Spirits are unpredictable beings, and their wrath is terrifying. I hadn¡¯t prepared any defenses, so I was completely at Ferrish¡¯s mercy. My heart seized, fire consumed my chest, and I screamed. Simon laughed. Ferrish didn¡¯t like that, and soon Simon was screaming alongside me. Then we both passed out.


    We woke up in the hospital, our spiritual cores sealed along with our elemental sources and third eyes. Ferrish hadn¡¯t just blocked our main energy nodes ¨C he also marked our subtle bodies. From that point on, animals feared me, and Simon was perceived as prey.


    That incident led to a lot of trouble. I was even put on trial. It was a tough year. But there were silver linings.


    Grandpa continued pushing me through energy practices, figuring I could break the seals by the time I was forty. Logan decided to support me and, unexpectedly, made a breakthrough in his own development. A year later, Simon ran away from home, and Logan accepted the spirit of an old wolfhound into his core, becoming a shifter. A lamb at home, a lion in battle. He¡¯d never been timid before, but afterward, he became completely fearless.


    I had plenty more to say about Simon, but there was no way I could voice it here, in front of the entire clan.


    ¡°How symbolic, coming from a Kinkade,¡± Sean sneered angrily. ¡°Do you think you¡¯re better than everyone else, Logan?¡±


    ¡°At least I didn¡¯t get star fever like Simon did!¡± Logan shot back. ¡°The elders may not know, but my generation remembers what a bastard he was. He broke Peter MacLilly¡¯s window and forced Liam to take the blame. Remember the shed fire? That wasn¡¯t Ronald and Malcolm ¨C it was Simon, Ben, and Rupert. Not to mention he constantly bullied, shoved, and hit people. He wouldn¡¯t leave Duncan alone. You should be grateful Duncan didn¡¯t cut his throat.¡±


    Sean turned green with rage, but Grandma Lough clapped her hands together sharply.


    ¡°Logan Gregor Kinkade! Show some respect for your elders!¡±


    ¡°I always respect the elders ¨C as long as they don¡¯t spread lies!¡± Logan snapped back.


    ¡°The council already ruled on the incident five years ago,¡± Bryce said calmly.


    ¡°When Kinkade was head!¡± Sean snarled.


    Uncle tried to focus attention on the negativity in his opponent¡¯s words.


    ¡°So, you want the position of clan head just to settle old scores?¡±


    But Sean wasn¡¯t a pushover.


    ¡°Not denying your guilt, are you?¡±


    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen,¡± Uncle asked, turning to the crowd, ¡°who here was present at the council meeting back then? Is there anyone Father pressured to bury the matter? Did he strong-arm anyone?¡±


    ¡°The case was thoroughly investigated!¡± declared David Boyle, but Martha Bailey immediately countered.


    ¡°Thoroughly? Ferrish was dismissed after just a few questions!¡±


    ¡°Oh, brilliant as ever, Martha. You make it clear how foolish you are,¡± Boyle retorted sharply. ¡°The Kinkades took on the burden of summoning Ferrish themselves and didn¡¯t flinch. I didn¡¯t see the Ferons showing that kind of initiative. They could¡¯ve summoned him too, asked their own questions.¡±


    ¡°Silence, all of you!¡± Grandma Lough barked, amplifying her voice with an amulet. ¡°You¡¯re acting like actual MPs! Should we hand out wigs and robes to you as well?¡±


    ¡°Well, you¡¯d make a decent Speaker,¡± Grandma MacLilly teased.


    ¡°Damn right I would! I¡¯d straighten out Parliament in no time, unlike that Thatcher. Enough empty talk! What will you do for the clan?¡± Grandma Lough asked the candidates.


    This time, Sean jumped ahead of Bryce.


    ¡°I¡¯ll ensure that everything is fair! That every member of the clan has equal rights and opportunities! That family ties are the last thing anyone considers!¡±


    Something about his speech reminded me of the prime minister¡¯s recent address.


    ¡°Let the council handle fairness,¡± Bryce said mockingly. ¡°Rights and responsibilities are their domain, too. As for me, I¡¯m planning to import golden koi from the Far East and establish a fish farm at Thunder Loch. Ailie experimented with their swim bladders in some potions, and the effectiveness tripled ¨C particularly for basic cold remedies. But that¡¯s with imported materials. We need to see how well the fish adapt to our magic.


    ¡°I¡¯m also looking into importing moon deer from America and planting amaryllis in the Living Thicket. Plus, it¡¯s time to set up a new brick factory in Glembatrick. The old one can¡¯t keep up. Lord Peabody¡¯s abandoned his duties, and now people are importing building materials from the neighboring county. We¡¯ve got a great opportunity to enter the market. That¡¯s all for now ¨C we¡¯ll see where things go from there.¡±


    Well said. Grandma Lough clearly approved, and Bryce had successfully shifted the focus away from Sean¡¯s accusations.


    ¡°Shall we vote?¡± the elder who had claimed the role of Speaker asked.


    The other elders nodded and got up from their stone seats. Lough passed the honor of overseeing the vote to Grandpa Kink, a shifter who had bonded with the spirit of an eagle in his youth and still retained excellent vision despite his age.


    ¡°Raise your hands for Bryce,¡± Grandpa Kink announced. ¡°Eugene, don¡¯t bother ¨C you lost your voting rights last week.¡±


    The old eagle shifter slowly turned in a circle, scanning the crowd, then delivered the result in a solemn tone.


    ¡°Hmm... Forty-six.¡±


    ¡°Now for Sean¡­¡± He turned again.


    ¡°Hmm... Forty-one.¡±


    Grandma Lough spoke again.


    ¡°Any objections?¡±


    Sean shook his head and extended a hand to Bryce with a forced smile.


    ¡°Congratulations,¡± he said.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Uncle replied.


    Sean stepped out of the circle, pushed through the crowd, and headed home without staying for the oath ceremony. Not even his wife followed him.


    Uncle Bryce once again claimed the crowd¡¯s attention, and I used the opportunity to slip away after Feron. His retreat struck me as suspicious.

 Chapter 4

    Hunting was never an easy task for me. Animals could sense the predator in me long before they ever saw me. That meant I had to approach from afar, and shoot from even farther away. Grandpa made sure I didn¡¯t miss: there were always enough bullets and practice sessions.


    From the age of twelve to fifteen, in addition to the standard fortifying alchemical adaptogens that all clan children took, I drank a modified version of the "Eagle¡¯s Vision" elixir. It altered the lenses of my eyes and affected my retina. My vision didn¡¯t quite become eagle-like, but it was no longer ordinary either.


    I let Sean pull ahead to a distance where his magic shouldn¡¯t have been able to sense me, and where his figure almost blended in among the trees. Then I followed, keeping track of the flicker of his blue kilt through the woods. The warlock wasn¡¯t trying to hide; he walked directly along a winding path toward home.


    When we reached the garden of the clan enclave, I had to make a detour to avoid walking straight into the younger folks setting up the "celebratory" tables under the open sky.


    For a moment, I lost track of Sean, but I assumed he¡¯d head straight home. Picking up my pace, I ran past several houses, skirted those with the most notorious barking dogs, and reached the yard of Ferguson McLilly. I slipped into his gazebo, hidden by a thicket of jasmine. Ferguson would probably have been surprised to see me there if he weren¡¯t at the Ancient Stones with his family.


    I¡¯d chosen my ambush spot just in time. Sean Feron entered his house and drew the curtains on the first-floor windows. Moments later, something flared behind the curtains, and the decorative bell on his porch swayed but made no sound.


    My right arm was suddenly yanked back, twisted painfully. A knee pressed into my right shoulder blade, and strong fingers wrapped tightly around my neck. A familiar move.


    ¡°Logan!¡± I hissed.


    ¡°What are you doing here?!¡± my cousin growled softly, his voice carrying the undertone of his half-beast form.


    ¡°Look!¡± I said.


    Another flash lit up behind the curtains, and the bell swayed again.


    ¡°He¡¯s just blowing off steam after losing,¡± Logan said dismissively. ¡°Threw up a silence dome so no one would hear him embarrass himself. I¡¯m asking, what are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°Waiting for him to cool off and head to the tables.¡±


    ¡°And then?¡± Logan pressed.


    ¡°Then I planned to sneak into his house and search it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re counting on his wards being down and the mess covering your tracks?¡±


    ¡°Pretty much.¡±


    ¡°Idiot,¡± Logan said, releasing my arm and neck. ¡°Usually, I¡¯m the one acting impulsively.¡±


    ¡°I thought it through. Uncle¡¯s already the head of the clan. You all need to be with him. I¡¯m only risking myself.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s basically what he said when he asked me to keep an eye on you.¡±


    ¡°Bryce?¡±


    Logan nodded.


    ¡°And I¡¯ll tell you something else ¨C Evan found Simon¡¯s trail.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡±


    ¡°You can ask him yourself. Let¡¯s go back. We need to show up there before Feron does.¡±


    Logan convinced me. The family needed to honor Grandpa today, and Uncle Bryce deserved our support. He had taken the oath, and the crowd had poured back from the forest. The smells of grilled meat filled the entire enclave, driving every dog mad, while barrels of cold beer stoked the men¡¯s appetites.


    Logan grabbed two mugs and shoved one into my hand.


    ¡°Time you learned how to drink like a proper man, brother.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you afraid I¡¯ll get drunk and start running my mouth?¡±


    ¡°Nope. I¡¯ll just knock you out if you do,¡± Logan promised. ¡°And remember, I¡¯m not letting you out of my sight tonight.¡±


    ¡°Not even if Jenny decides to comfort you?¡± I grinned.


    I needed to probe for possible ways to shake off this babysitter. Things with Jenny were serious for Logan ¨C our family had already approved of the girl long ago and turned a blind eye to their antics, as long as she didn¡¯t get pregnant before the wedding.


    ¡°Damn it, not today!¡± Logan muttered in frustration.


    ¡°You¡¯re practically married already,¡± I teased.


    ¡°Brother, you¡¯re...¡± Logan shook his head and took a large gulp of beer.


    I sipped my own drink, thinking about how to stay sober. This wake was supposed to be in the style of ¡°The king is dead, long live the king!¡± Everyone would be drinking. If Uncle woke up with a hangover tomorrow and I caught him before he downed a sobering elixir, I might be able to get more out of him.


    The first toast was for the old clan head, the second for the new one, the third for the clan itself, and after that, everyone drank as they pleased, paying little attention to their limits. People drank like it was their last time.


    As dusk fell, a bonfire was lit, musicians pulled out flutes, bagpipes, and drums. Lewis Lough brought his fiddle, and Dunn Feron carried in a guitar. The wake slowly turned into a celebration of life.


    I stood out like a pale, brooding shadow against the festive crowd, despite Logan¡¯s efforts to keep topping off my beer and generously spiking it with whiskey. I poured most of the foul mix under the table, and eventually, I left altogether.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± my cousin asked.


    ¡°Home, Logan. Honestly.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m coming with you,¡± he said.


    ¡°At least grab some meat and beer. I¡¯m not coming back here.¡±


    Logan grabbed a beef roast and a small ten-liter keg.


    ¡°So, what are we going to do?¡±


    ¡°You ¨C drink. Me ¨C read.¡±


    ¡°Ugh, how boring!¡± Logan spat.


    ¡°Grandpa¡¯s journals,¡± I replied.


    Every gifted member of the clan kept a journal. It was considered as personal as it was sacred. The journal was the first thing people looked for after a hunter¡¯s death, as it often shed light on the circumstances surrounding their demise.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t Uncle take them?¡±


    ¡°Just the last one.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Logan asked, skepticism in his tone.


    I understood his doubts. The successor was supposed to read the journals, and Bryce was the successor. But for the past nine years, Grandpa and I had lived alone. We shared all the housework, cooking, and laundry, and we trained together.


    ¡°Some things Grandpa left specifically for me,¡± I said.


    For a clan head, Grandpa had a modest home. He always said two people didn¡¯t need anything bigger. The stone house had two floors: a library, an office, and a combined bedroom-storage room upstairs. On the first floor, there was a living room with a fireplace and a large radio, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a spacious bedroom that belonged to me. There was also an alchemical lab and a summoning circle in the basement, but Grandpa rarely used them, preferring to work at his desk in the office. That¡¯s where we headed.


    Logan flopped onto the couch by the wall and busied himself with the keg. Meanwhile, I moved the desk aside, lifted a loose floorboard where one of its legs had rested, and used the dagger to pull out a leather bundle marked with a preservation charm. Inside were three different journals with clasps on their leather covers and a fat envelope labeled simply, ¡°For Duncan.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Once again, I used the dagger for something other than its intended purpose and sliced open the envelope. Most of it contained documents, but there was also a letter.


    ¡°In here are the house papers,¡± Grandpa wrote, ¡°and a bank account. Don¡¯t touch the account ¨C It¡¯s better left alone. To start, you¡¯ll have enough from what¡¯s in the safe. The code is thirty-two fifty-nine.


    ¡°In the gray journal, I wrote my thoughts on breaking the seals. There¡¯s not much information, and even less practical use, but at least you can immediately rule out dead-end approaches.


    ¡°The brown one covers the time you got into trouble with Simon. Be sure to read it. I don¡¯t think the boy will ever forgive you ¨C consider him your first mortal enemy.


    ¡°The black one is empty. If you ever decide to stir up trouble, record it for your descendants.¡±


    In Grandpa¡¯s style: brief and to the point.


    I picked up the gray journal, unclasped it, and flipped through the pages. It was less than a quarter full. The brown one, however, looked much more worn. Stains that couldn¡¯t be cleaned off still marred the leather cover, and they¡¯d soaked through onto the yellowed pages.


    I sat down in Grandpa¡¯s chair and pulled the desk lamp closer. The entries varied in length ¨C sometimes just a few lines, sometimes several pages. The dates followed day by day, then disappeared for months at a time.


    I found July 10th, 1931 ¨C a day I would never forget.


    Grandpa¡¯s account of the events was dry, but to my surprise, I discovered that he had known about my preparations and, to some extent, even approved of them. What he hadn¡¯t imagined was that I would summon Ferrish.


    What followed was chaos in the clan. I was shocked to learn that Sean Feron had demanded I be sacrificed to Ferrish to restore his son¡¯s power. Grandpa had prepared for internal war, keeping an eye on many members of the clan. But tensions quickly subsided. The Ferons lost their influence, and Logan¡¯s talent emerged among the Kinkades. Simon harbored a grudge.


    Grandpa didn¡¯t expect anything good to come if both of us stayed in the clan. He didn¡¯t want to send me away, fearing Simon would remain an insider while I became an outsider over time. So, Grandpa ordered a trusted associate ¨C whose name he didn¡¯t mention ¨C to plant the idea in Simon¡¯s empty head that American shamans could remove seals. Grandpa himself pushed Simon to run away!


    That same man, whose name Grandpa still didn¡¯t reveal, tracked Simon to Farnell. The trail disappeared after that, but Grandpa assumed Simon had managed to board a ship.


    I tossed the journal onto the desk and rubbed my tired eyes.


    ¡°Pour me one,¡± I said to Logan.


    My brother quickly filled a clean mug for me.


    ¡°Digging into the dirty laundry?¡± he asked, eyeing my face. ¡°It¡¯s written all over you. I don¡¯t want to know!¡± he warned preemptively.


    ¡°Bollocks, it¡¯s just¡­¡± I said, taking a long swig.


    ¡°I believe you,¡± Logan replied.


    I understood that Grandpa hadn¡¯t done it just for me, but for the clan. Conflicts needed to be dealt with, and they had to be handled in a way that didn¡¯t tear the clan apart in a civil war. It was a surprisingly clever solution. But beyond the logic, there were emotions. Emotionally, I wasn¡¯t ready to read something like that.


    Simon had gone from being a complete bastard to just a spiteful wretch ¨C one who, perhaps, even had a right to vengeance. And once again, guilt started gnawing at me. What would happen if I killed him? How would the clan react? How many more dirty secrets would bubble to the surface in the process?


    I had a sharp urge to tear those pages from the journal and burn them to hell.


    Sure, these pages painted the old story in a new light, but¡­ Simon had been indiscriminate in his methods of revenge. This was between us, yet the blood he spilled belonged to someone who had tried to resolve everything peacefully.


    I didn¡¯t think Feron would stop with what he¡¯d already done, which meant I had no choice: Simon had to die.


    A thought crept into my mind ¨C were my motives really so pure, or did I just want to break these damn seals? The thought was unpleasant. I chalked it up to the alcohol and shoved it aside. To keep it from coming back, I grabbed the gray journal.


    The beginning was familiar. In one way or another, I¡¯d read most of it before ¨C in books about ether, runes, higher spirits, curses, blessings, warlocks, and much more. By seventeen, I¡¯d built up a solid theoretical base in energy practices and magic.


    But Grandpa had dealt with all kinds of people. Sometimes his specialists weren¡¯t well-known, but they were talented and intelligent. On the fourth page, I came across the overheating method I was currently using in my meditations. The expert who had suggested it was a wizard, and ever since, we¡¯ve been sending him a large piece of smoky quartz charged with earth energy every month as payment for his advice.


    I finished the gray journal well past midnight and found nothing particularly new or useful except the names of Grandpa¡¯s old acquaintances. By then, Logan had emptied more than half the keg and passed out. I decided to get some sleep too ¨C there would be serious conversations ahead.


    The next morning, I went to see Uncle Bryce late. The new clan head was sitting in the kitchen with a heavy head, waiting for his wife to bring him some light broth.


    ¡°Aunt, Uncle,¡± I greeted them.


    Bryce took in my determined expression and said,


    ¡°Let¡¯s go to the office. Ailie, can you make us some tea?¡±


    ¡°Biscuits?¡± Aunt Ailie asked.


    ¡°We¡¯ll manage without,¡± he replied.


    Bryce¡¯s office resembled Grandpa¡¯s in many ways ¨C the atmosphere was familiar, as was the situation. I¡¯d already played the role of a petitioner before.


    ¡°Are we waiting for tea?¡± Bryce asked.


    I shook my head.


    ¡°Logan said Evan found Simon¡¯s trail,¡± I said.


    ¡°There is a trail,¡± Bryce confirmed.


    ¡°I want to take part in the hunt.¡±


    ¡°I understand what this opportunity means to you. And believe me, no one will lay a hand on him. Simon is your prey.¡±


    ¡°I want to be involved in the entire process, from start to finish.¡±


    ¡°I want, I want...¡± Bryce mimicked me. ¡°That¡¯s how children beg for toys. But before you...¡±


    A knock at the door interrupted him. Bryce paused as Aunt Ailie entered and placed a tea tray on the table.


    ¡°Thanks, love,¡± he said.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I added.


    Ailie left, and Bryce continued.


    ¡°Before you start making demands, think about what you bring to the table. With your mark. What use are you? If Simon has truly mastered magic, you¡¯re no match for him.¡±


    ¡°We fought, and I survived!¡±


    ¡°Because he overestimated his strength! And now you¡¯re overestimating yours! Duncan, we¡¯ll track him, catch him, and after that, you can do whatever you want with him.¡±


    ¡°Ferrish needs a hunt,¡± I reminded him.


    ¡°No, he doesn¡¯t,¡± Bryce said. ¡°I asked. All you need to do is take his life. This isn¡¯t the forest, Duncan. You have no experience in this kind of hunt. Let those who do handle it.¡±


    Bryce¡¯s logic was crushing. All I could do was grit my teeth and sip my tea.


    I returned home in a state of complete frustration, but I didn¡¯t stay long. Grabbing my rifle, a backpack with supplies, and some gear, I headed into the forest, toward the Ancient Stones. Grandpa¡¯s death had thrown my meditation schedule out the window, and I also needed to recharge the ring¡¯s corundum stone.


    Today, the power spot shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow. Semi-precious stones were laid out on the boulders, absorbing the energy of the place. Minerals weren¡¯t placed directly on the ground ¨C anything that wasn¡¯t local stone was slowly consumed by the petrified earth. For the same reason, meditating on the ground wasn¡¯t recommended. Two boulders were set aside for that purpose. Their positions were not fixed, as the field¡¯s layout shifted over time, so workers selected the boulders as needed.


    I spread my mat on the nearest boulder and began with the ring. Controlled charging took much less time than infusing raw stones, but the ring was a finished artifact, while the other stones here were absorbing power here for the first time.


    Reassured that I¡¯d have protection from bullets next time, I shifted my focus to my breathing and then dove into my Spiritual Core, where Ferrish¡¯s seal lay embedded. To me, the seal appeared as a large sphere filled with intricate patterns. These ¡°patterns¡± were, in fact, etheric runes, woven into a complex five-tier structure. For four years, I¡¯d been hiking to Gromloch, pumping one particular rune in the seal with water energy until it overheated, burned out, and left a small breach.


    That breach restored my ability to activate artifacts. The breach granted me access to three fourth-tier runes. Two glowed with fiery hues, while the third was stone-gray and easily yielded to earth energy. That was the one I planned to break next.


    The ultimate goal was to reach the central rune and burn it to hell. In theory, that would collapse the entire structure ¨C but only in the spiritual core. My third eye and elemental source would remain sealed. Experts claimed the seals on those were two-tiered.


    It took several hours to overheat the rune, and that was considered quick, thanks to the elemental match. I didn¡¯t even want to think about what I¡¯d do if the next tier revealed elements not represented by any power spots in the Bremor Forest.


    The searing energy began to cause physical pain, and I had to stop before I burned out the entire energy node. That was a very real possibility.


    I got home by evening, cooked dinner, and started receiving visitors. Logan was the first to show up, followed shortly by Sally, who invited me to see her father. He was preparing to leave on an extended assignment.


    I declined, and she tried to pique my interest.


    ¡°Come on, Dad¡¯s heading out on the first mission from the new clan head.¡±


    I knew exactly what kind of mission it was ¨C if Bryce was sending Evan, it was to deal with Simon.


    ¡°No, thanks.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Sally pressed. ¡°Everything¡¯s so top-secret it¡¯s almost scary, but he bought a ticket to Dramock.¡±


    I looked into my cosin¡¯s eyes, trying to figure out what was going on. She understood the importance of secrecy as well as I did and wouldn¡¯t recklessly jeopardize her father. Why would she spill where Evan was going? Only if someone had told her to.


    Fine. Why did I need to know where Evan was headed? So I¡¯d follow him?


    The whole situation reminded me of the trick Grandpa had played with Simon. The right person planted the right thought... Like father, like son, I guess... They were using the same methods! But why would Uncle want to get me out of town? That stung a little. Couldn¡¯t he have just said so outright? Clearly, I hadn¡¯t held myself together as well as I thought this morning. At least, someone had convinced Sally it was necessary.


    What did I know about Dramock? Only that the former duke had trouble with vampires, and the city had been free of them for about fifty years.


    The picture was coming together.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s all very interesting, but I¡¯ve already eaten,¡± I said to Sally. ¡°You should go; you¡¯ve left the baby with your husband.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, let him suffer a little. Do you know how tired I am after a whole day!?¡±


    ¡°So you didn¡¯t come to invite me; you just escaped from home!¡±


    ¡°Guilty,¡± Sally admitted with a laugh of relief. ¡°All right, I¡¯ll head back. See you, Duncan.¡±


    ¡°Take care, Sally. When¡¯s your father leaving?¡±


    ¡°In the morning.¡±


    I nodded. If Uncle wanted me out of the city, I wasn¡¯t going to disappoint him.

 Chapter 5

    Sally gave me the push I needed, and I spent half the night at Grandpa¡¯s desk, scribbling down every detail I knew, trying to unravel Uncle Bryce¡¯s plans. But despite my efforts, I couldn¡¯t figure out his intentions. I hate relying on intuition, but that¡¯s what it came down to in the end. There was a strong temptation to just follow along with Bryce¡¯s plan ¨C the man was the clan head, after all, and no doubt had the clan¡¯s best interests at heart. But could he sacrifice my gift for the greater good? Absolutely.


    Right now, Bremor¡¯s combat division was one of the strongest in the country, with nearly a quarter of it composed of Kinkaids. Bryce might easily decide to prioritize the clan¡¯s strength over my magic ¨C or even my revenge. A living Simon wasn¡¯t ideal for him, but a dead one? That could be a problem Bryce wouldn¡¯t want to deal with. Heads of clans couldn¡¯t afford to be reckless.


    And that was where logic and emotion aligned: Simon needed to be dealt with ¨C and fast ¨C before he grew stronger.


    I shifted my focus away from clan politics and back to the hunt for Simon. He¡¯d shown two magical tricks so far: a shadow-based veil spell and a silence dome. His shadow trick might be less effective during the day, but I¡¯d still need a way to detect hidden threats.


    I got up from the desk and headed to the library. There weren¡¯t any novels in Grandpa¡¯s collection, just books on magic: from ancient spellcraft to precise mathematical approaches. I couldn¡¯t rely on spells myself, so I went straight to the sections on artifact crafting and potion brewing. Grandpa had forced me to read most of these books as a kid. I hadn¡¯t understood much back then ¨C some of the older books were written in archaic terms, and the newer ones were mind-numbingly technical ¨C but Grandpa had insisted they¡¯d come in handy one day. And now, for once, I was glad he had.


    I knew exactly which books to pull from the shelves.


    For countering veils and invisibility, I found four potential solutions. For the silence spell, I¡¯d need to figure out whether it was a fixed zone or one that moved with Simon as its anchor. Depending on that, the methods of countering it would vary. That led me to five more books.


    Then there was Simon¡¯s strange hand gesture during the fight. It had clearly been magical, though I had little to go on. And lastly, there was the matter of his injury ¨C the hole in his buttock. Simon would almost certainly come back with something akin to my stone skin enchantment, and he¡¯d likely enhance his bullets to counter my defenses.


    For invisibility, my first thought was a monocle or a pair of glasses ¨C an obvious solution. But without the ability to power them myself, the energy costs would be unreasonable. Potions offered a better alternative, with their long-lasting effects. From the books I¡¯d selected, I found three recipes for infusions, two for potions, one for an elixir, and one for an ointment.


    The elixir had the longest-lasting effect, up to several days, but it took almost a week to brew. The ointment, on the other hand, seemed the most practical: the ingredients were readily available, it had a decent shelf life, and it worked for a few hours with just a dab on the lower eyelid.


    For detecting hidden threats, I settled on a basic signaling amulet powered by air-element stones. Ether would have been better, but Bremor had no etheric places of power. The three ether stones Grandpa had left in his stash were reserved for something else entirely.


    As for the silence dome, a signal-based amulet could help detect it too. Beyond that... could I counteract it? I started sketching some formulas using mathematical runes ¨C two-dimensional projections of etheric ones. With air-element stones, there was a chance I could create a short-lived field to nullify foreign spells.


    It could¡¯ve helped back in the chapel. One shot, and within a minute, people would¡¯ve been swarming to my aid. I wasn¡¯t sure what the consequences of that would have been, but at least Simon wouldn¡¯t have gotten away ¨C and his father wouldn¡¯t have dared run for clan head. Or would he?


    I revised the formula, splitting it into two separate spells: one to amplify sound and the other to dampen it. I liked this approach better ¨C It gave me both options depending on the situation.


    The rest of the night was spent in the basement, brewing the ointment and engraving runes. I had to take a concentration potion to avoid messing up the enchantments, but by morning, the work was done.


    I set a large chrysoprase stone into a copper medallion and hung it around my neck as my signaler. A tiny amethyst was welded onto my pistol just below the trigger guard. Combined with the chain-like runes I¡¯d engraved, it looked more like decoration than functionality.


    The main batch of ointment went into a small tin container, while a single-use portion was tucked into a ring with a hidden compartment. I¡¯d crafted a wide leather bracelet with pockets and runes burned into it for extra protection, though I hadn¡¯t yet added the stones to power it. There was still more gear to prepare and test, but I suspected Bryce had someone watching me. So instead of heading to the Ancient Stones or seeing Evan off, I collapsed into bed.


    It was late in the afternoon when Logan shook me awake.


    ¡°Seriously? You¡¯ve been sleeping this whole time?¡± Logan¡¯s voice jolted me awake. He stood at the edge of my bed, arms crossed, his face a mixture of annoyance and concern. ¡°We were starting to worry about you.¡±


    ¡°We? You mean Bryce?¡± I asked, sitting up.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you believe I¡¯d come here out of my own free will?¡±


    ¡°I think your will just happens to align with someone else¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°Well, maybe it does,¡± Logan admitted. ¡°Duncan, we¡¯re worried about you.¡±


    ¡°No need, brother. I¡¯m fine.¡±


    ¡°Fine? Great! Then come over to our place. Mom made blueberry pie.¡±


    ¡°Now that¡¯s how you should¡¯ve started,¡± I said with a grin.


    Aunt Mary¡¯s pies were legendary, and I wasn¡¯t about to miss out. Besides, it was a good chance to say goodbye ¨C indirectly, of course. No need to involve her in Bryce¡¯s plans.


    By the time I got back home full of pies, it was too late to head to the Ancient Stones, so I stopped by Uncle Gordon¡¯s workshop and borrowed three charged corundum stones. He was preparing a batch for sale, and I doubted he¡¯d miss them.


    Once home, I opened Grandpa¡¯s safe. Inside, I found a handful of expensive magical trinkets and a thick folder of documents. There wasn¡¯t time to go through them, so I focused on what mattered ¨C cash. The safe held ¡ê3,000 in paper notes, ¡ê1,000 in gold coins, and ¡ê500 in silver. Enough to live a farmer¡¯s life of comfort, but I wasn¡¯t a farmer. My expenses were higher.


    I pocketed a few gold and silver coins but left most of the metal ¨C It was too heavy. The notes, however, I took in their entirety. Memories of losing all my money and a pocket watch to pickpockets at the fair came flooding back. To avoid a repeat, I spent the next hour sewing crude hidden pockets into my undershirt, distributing the notes evenly. By the end, I had eight hidden compartments stitched across my clothing.


    My largest suitcase was filled with old clothes and a few heavy stones for weight. My real belongings went into a hiking backpack, a satchel, and a small travel bag. The satchel held ammunition, gun-cleaning supplies, potions, a dozen charged stones, and a token Grandpa had finished crafting shortly before his death. We¡¯d even managed to test it. The token¡¯s formula suppressed my hunter¡¯s mark. It would reappear within five minutes, fueled by my life force, so using the token repeatedly wasn¡¯t advisable, but it was undeniably useful.


    Into the travel bag, I packed one of my travel outfits ¨C clothes sturdy, comfortable, and yet expensive enough not to raise unnecessary questions on the train. Along with the clothes, I added my favorite boots and a newsboy cap I¡¯d found in Grandpa¡¯s wardrobe, though I had no idea where it had come from. The travel bag and the satchel fit snugly into the backpack, with old clothes stuffed around to disguise the real contents.


    After double-checking everything, I called a cab and dressed in my best suit. If the cabbie got stopped at the edge of the clan enclave, I wanted to make the right impression. This was my first test ¨C if Bryce really wanted me gone, the car would pass without issue.


    Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. It was Bryce.


    ¡°Hello, Uncle,¡± I said, opening the door. A black cab idled behind him, the mustached driver smoking a cigarette and showing no signs of impatience.


    Bryce glanced me over, noting my formal attire and the luggage behind me.


    ¡°Can I come in?¡± he asked. ¡°Or shall we chat on the doorstep?¡±


    ¡°The cab¡¯s waiting,¡± I said.


    ¡°The waiting¡¯s paid for,¡± he replied.


    Reluctantly, I stepped aside and let him into the sitting room. His sharp eyes swept over my suitcase and backpack.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    ¡°Going somewhere?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Thinking of heading to the coast,¡± I said. ¡°They say Drammock¡¯s beautiful this time of year.¡±


    Bryce froze, his expression turning to stone. Then, after a moment, he gave a slow nod.


    ¡°And what about your meditations? Doesn¡¯t it bother you to interrupt your training?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going forever. I¡¯ll be back in a month or two.¡±


    ¡°Duncan...¡± Bryce hesitated. ¡°Are you sure you¡¯ve read the situation correctly?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll be surprised how much I¡¯ve figured out,¡± I said, unable to resist a touch of sarcasm.


    Bryce grimaced. The look was surprisingly genuine, and for the first time, doubt crept into my resolve.


    ¡°Trust me,¡± he said quietly. ¡°It¡¯s better if you stay.¡±


    Something shifted in the air between us. For the first time, it felt like Bryce wasn¡¯t trying to push me out of Avoc ¨C he was trying to misdirect me.


    ¡°No,¡± I said, shaking my head. ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    Bryce let out a heavy sigh and handed me a gold signet ring engraved with an oak leaf and crossed swords behind it.


    "Take it, Lord Loxlin."


    "Uh..." was all I managed to say, but my uncle wasn¡¯t finished yet.


    "Here are the confirmation papers, and here¡¯s your new passport with the title marked."


    He had truly gone all out to protect me. Being a gentleman from a respected family was one thing ¨C even regular constables wouldn¡¯t think twice about roughing one up if necessary. But a baron? That spelled trouble for any overzealous officials.


    "This¡¯ll cause you problems," I said.


    "And why would that be?"


    "The title¡¯s meant for your great-grandson!"


    "That¡¯s for me to decide," Bryce replied. "Besides, Berke hasn¡¯t managed to have anyone yet."


    "Thanks, Uncle," I said, overcome with emotion. Before I could stop myself, I hugged him. Family, after all, did look out for each other.


    "Maybe you¡¯ll stay?" he tried one last time, throwing the question out like a fisherman¡¯s line.


    "I can¡¯t," I replied.


    "Well, then go with God," he said, resigned. "Let¡¯s go. I¡¯ll see you off."


    Bryce still thought he was in control of the situation. He even supervised as I bought my train ticket at the station. I couldn¡¯t tell if my assigned seat had been arranged in advance, but my sole companion was a lean man of about forty with an impressive mustache.


    The chrysoprase amulet I wore tingled, the magic reacting to something about the man, pricking my skin like needles. I resisted the urge to apply the ointment I¡¯d brewed the night before. As we made our way through the train car, the amulet reacted three more times.


    Not that it mattered ¨C most warlocks and shifters didn¡¯t need to see me to sense the hunter¡¯s mark I carried. But this seatmate was not part of my plans. As the train whistle blew, Bryce and I exchanged one last hug. He stepped off the train, waited for it to start moving, and waved from the platform.


    "Well, young gentleman, shall we get acquainted?" my seatmate asked, smiling warmly.


    "Duncan Kinkaid," I replied, extending a polite nod. "Sorry, sir, but I¡¯ve got a friend traveling in this train, and I need to find him."


    "And why didn¡¯t you sit with him in the first place?" the man, who introduced himself as Fred O''Shaughnessy, asked with a raised brow.


    "My uncle didn¡¯t approve of our acquaintance," I said, feigning an embarrassed smile. "Apologies again."


    "Is this friend of yours perhaps of the fairer sex?" Fred asked with a sly wink.


    I gave him a knowing smile in return. "Mind keeping an eye on my things?"


    "By all means, go ahead, Duncan," he said cheerfully.


    Of course, there was no "friend" on this train. What I needed was the conductor, whose compartment I quickly located and knocked on.


    "Good day, sir. Could you help me with something?" I asked, slipping a folded one-pound note between my fingers.


    "Helping passengers is our duty," the conductor said eagerly.


    "I¡¯d like a private compartment all the way to Drammock. And the best tea and biscuits for me and my former seatmate," I added with a smile.


    My ticket had cost ¡ê1.23 at the station. Renting out an entire compartment would set me back around ¡ê5, and I figured another 50 pence would cover the tea. I showed the conductor a ¡ê5 note and a smaller ¡ê2 one. With such an incentive, I knew he¡¯d be highly motivated to find me a compartment, even if it meant rearranging passengers.


    "One moment, sir!" he said, his eyes lighting up as he reached for the money. I quickly tucked it back into my pocket.


    He got the message. "One moment!" he repeated, this time more energetically, and hurried off down the corridor.


    The conductor¡¯s strategy became clear when he left his compartment door ajar. I could hear him profusely apologizing to another passenger as he cleared out a compartment. Judging by the tone of his voice, he¡¯d simply relocated someone else to free up space for me.


    It took less than a minute for him to finish shifting their luggage, and when he returned, he was practically glowing with pride.


    "All ready, sir! Please follow me."


    The compartment he¡¯d found was indeed empty. Returning to Fred O''Shaughnessy would¡¯ve been awkward at this point, so I asked the conductor to fetch my luggage. Then I handed him the promised payment.


    The knots securing my backpack were still intact, which was a relief. However, my knife, unlike my pistol, was buried deep in my travel bag. Cutting the knots would¡¯ve been quicker, but instead, I set about untying them by hand.


    "If I¡¯m left undisturbed until Drammock, there¡¯ll be another pound waiting here for you," I told the conductor.


    "Understood, sir," he said with a grin, closing the door behind him.


    Once I was alone, I started working on the knots in earnest. Ten minutes in, I was already regretting not leaving the knife more accessible.


    Waiting for nightfall and the next station, I applied the ointment to my eyelids. When the train gave its first whistle, I grabbed Grandpa¡¯s medallion and stepped into the empty corridor. The train let out another long whistle and began to move. At that exact moment, I activated the medallion¡¯s magic. Its energy coursed through my subtle body, dispersing the energy of the hunter¡¯s mark.


    The door of the neighboring compartment suddenly flew open, and out jumped Brian McLilly ¨C a young warlock who had only hunted two beasts for Ferrish.


    "Evening, Brian," I greeted him.


    "E-er, you must be mistaken," he stammered.


    I pointed at the faint shimmer of the ointment under my eye.


    "Bollocks!" he cursed, his irritation plain.


    I smirked, bid him goodnight, and returned to my compartment. Not a minute later, there was a knock at the door.


    "Who is it?"


    "Brian."


    I opened the door. "What do you want?"


    "Let me travel with you."


    "Not a chance. I paid for this compartment."


    "Duncan, you bastard!"


    "Good night!" I slammed the door shut.


    The trick had served its main purpose ¨C I¡¯d identified the spy. I doubted my uncle would have spent money on accommodations for both of us. But the maneuver had a secondary objective too: to teach Brian how situations like this might unfold. This time, I didn¡¯t plan to repeatedly drill the reflex ¨C It would be too obvious and might backfire, putting him on constant alert. Besides, the hunter¡¯s mark actively drained life force as it restored itself. For now, it was just mild fatigue, but repeat the trick three times and trouble would surely follow. The next time would have to be the last.


    I pulled out the charged stones from my satchel and slowly transferred the energies of ether and mist into the medallion. Half the energy dissipated during the process, and I ended up using two of my three ether stones ¨C yet another reason to bring this charade to a close.


    The stones from my suitcase were unceremoniously tossed out the window, replaced by useless old clothes from my backpack. I left two fifty-pence coins on the table for the conductor and waited for the next station.


    The following stop wasn¡¯t ideal. It was just a halt in the middle of nowhere, and I needed a proper station in a larger town. Ideally, one with a bustling platform like Avoc. The next stop was better. As luck would have it, a train heading in the opposite direction pulled up to the platform just as ours let out its first whistle. The timing was perfect, and I decided to act.


    The situation with Brian played out almost identically. This time, however, he wasn¡¯t as quick to react. He opened the door to his compartment, cast a sour look at me, and slammed it shut with a bang.


    Our train had barely picked up speed when I sprang into action. I darted back into my compartment, locked the door, threw my backpack out the window, and followed it immediately. Hopefully, Brian wasn¡¯t looking out his own window. Within minutes, he¡¯d probably start to worry, look for me, and decide whether he should jump off the train himself.


    The second backlash from using the medallion was harder to bear, but I stubbornly hoisted the backpack onto my shoulders and sprinted toward the railway station. My previous train hadn¡¯t yet disappeared from the platform, but I reached the tail end of the opposite train just as its first whistle blew. Scrambling up the steps, I was met by the conductor, who grabbed my hand and yanked me onboard.


    "Ugh... thanks," I said, pulling a pound from my pocket. "Would you be able to help me, sir?"


    "Always happy to assist a generous passenger!" he replied with a grin.


    "Excellent! I need some tea and a map of the railway lines."


    "And where are you headed, sir?"


    "I¡¯ll decide once I see the map."


    "Then please, come to my compartment."


    I didn¡¯t share my plans with the conductor. Instead, I marked the first decent railway junction on our route and requested to be woken up when we arrived, slipping him another pound for good measure. To my surprise, this payment also secured me an entirely empty compartment.


    Half an hour of changing clothes and an hour and a half of deep sleep later, the morning platform greeted a completely different person. The young man in an expensive suit with a backpack was gone. In his place stood a modestly dressed traveler carrying a small travel bag and a satchel. Three hours later, that traveler boarded a train heading for the county capital, Ross, in Ballywinterurk.


    I needed a truly large station to disappear into for good. I had planned to make three more transfers but recalled how Grandpa used to berate me for being overly cautious. So, I adjusted my plan and headed straight for Farnell instead.

 Chapter 6

    The Farnell Railway Station was a sight to behold: dozens of passenger platforms, hundreds, if not thousands, of bustling travelers, and the constant whistle of departing trains. It was no surprise that this city and its surrounding areas formed a fully-fledged administrative county, with the domain itself being a duchy. Of course, the duke only owned the old district and part of the port, yet he made more from them than our clan ever did from the Bremor Forest ¨C by how much, I couldn¡¯t even begin to guess. The country¡¯s second-largest port and the first one trading with the New World ¨C that was no small matter. The Duke of Farnell was fabulously wealthy, the city¡¯s nobility and businessmen were quite prosperous, and the river of money they controlled attracted thieves and paupers like a lamp¡¯s light drew moths.


    A few times a year, my grandfather, Logan, and I ¨C or sometimes someone else from the family ¨C would travel to the capital. So, I had some experience being in crowded places, and the county capital couldn¡¯t exactly be called a backwater. But I wasn¡¯t fooling myself; comparing Avoc¡¯s two hundred thousand people to Farnell¡¯s three million was simply ridiculous. A new city was like a new forest ¨C before the hunt, you had to study its creatures and their habits, and it wouldn¡¯t hurt to hear from an experienced hunter. I didn¡¯t have any contacts here, but the specialist who¡¯d devised the trick of overloading rune seals in an energy node supposedly lived somewhere in this city. Too bad there was no address in the journal, but a talented wizard wasn¡¯t someone who could escape public attention ¨C or the yellow pages.


    From the platform, I headed into the station building, found a free phone booth, and pulled a battered phone book off the shelf. The yellow pages were missing every other page, but I managed to find a listing for Harry Smith under the "Magical Services" section. I didn¡¯t want to tear the book further, so I jotted the address down in the blank journal my grandfather had left me. The first entry¡­ I didn¡¯t even bother describing my escape. Grandfather¡¯s journal was similarly concise and often omitted motives.


    There were plenty of cabs near the station ¨C something for every taste. A few minutes of observation were enough to figure out how their system worked. The newer motor cabs roared closer to the main entrance, while horse-drawn carriages lingered on the outskirts, but neither stood idle for long. All it took was stepping to the curb and raising a hand, and transportation would arrive. The key was knowing the right "zone of responsibility." Shiny, luxurious cars pulled up directly to the entrance, and I had no doubt their fares were just as steep. I moved farther from the center, closer to the line of horse-drawn carriages. The moment I raised my hand, two cabs raced toward me at once. One motor cab cut the other off, its furious driver blasting the horn, but then a woman stepped up nearby, and the second cab immediately turned its attention to her. I didn¡¯t linger on the cabbies'' dispute, opened the door, and tossed my travel bag onto the back seat.


    "Rapsey, Longhead Road, number seventeen," I said.


    "Got it, sir," the driver smiled into the wide rear-view mirror and reached for the taximeter lever. The mechanical display instantly ticked up five pence, then began its usual incremental count. "First time in the city, sir?"


    I glanced at the overly inquisitive cab driver, trying to figure out what had sparked his curiosity. Cab drivers in Avoc never made small talk with me, but there, I was part of the clan that owned the land. Here, I was just another traveler.


    "I was here a few years ago," I replied.


    "A few years in Farnell is like a century in the provinces!" the driver joked. "You¡¯ve got to visit Shiny at night. The district¡¯s changed a lot. Some places won¡¯t even let you in without a choker, and the prices are biting. Working folk still look for fun in Pubset, but every visitor¡¯s got to see Shiny¡¯s glow at least once."


    "Thanks for the tip."


    "Where are you from, sir? There¡¯s a touch of the North in your accent."


    "Elfshire," I lied, naming Bremshire¡¯s northern neighbor.


    "Ah, I¡¯m from the South myself¡­"


    The cabbie didn¡¯t shut up the entire ride, rambling on about the hardships of the southern provinces until we reached our destination. At least he stopped asking questions. I barely noticed when the buildings outside the window grew more decrepit, the proper roads disappeared, and we drove into typical three-story slums. The grandeur of the progressive city had been left behind. The streets were filthy, the glass in the street lamps shattered, and drunks wandered around in broad daylight. Many windows were boarded up, and the roofs of relatively new buildings were already riddled with holes. By all appearances, the inhabitants of this area were not exactly law-abiding or hard-working citizens. To make matters worse, the houses bore no street names or even numbers.


    ¡°We¡¯re here, sir,¡± the cabbie announced as he braked near an alleyway that ended in a building which, by local standards, was relatively decent. At least its windows were intact. Hm¡­ Farnell¡¯s wizards didn¡¯t seem to live extravagantly.


    ¡°You¡¯re sure about this?¡±


    ¡°You wound me, sir! I¡¯ve been driving all over Farnell for four years. That¡¯ll be thirty-seven.¡±


    I handed the cabbie fifty pence coin.


    ¡°Keep the change.¡±


    ¡°Much obliged!¡± he said with genuine enthusiasm.


    ¡°Don¡¯t rush off just yet,¡± I requested, a premonition of trouble stirring in me.


    ¡°Of course!¡± the cabbie promised, but as soon as I closed the door and turned away, the taxi screeched off so fast that the tires squealed.


    ¡°Stop!¡± I shouted after him.


    Heads started poking out of the windows of nearby houses, and from the alleys spilled gangs of scrappy kids in patched-up clothes, armed with sticks. They moved swiftly, forming six pairs that cut off all my routes of escape. Their tactics mirrored those used against a Thunder Bear. In each pair, one boy was older and bigger, probably around fourteen, while a smaller one, a few years younger, covered him from the side and rear. The older boys were clearly meant to take the first hit while training up the younger ones. It was a strategy we also used in our clan hunts. I couldn¡¯t help but laugh at the comparison, feeling like a powerful yet cornered predator. My reaction seemed to catch the gang off guard.


    The smallest of them ¨C a boy in a flat cap, no more than ten ¨C tugged at his partner¡¯s sleeve and whispered something. The older boy frowned, adjusted his suspenders, and asked a follow-up question. He looked older and cockier than the rest, and his outfit and weapon were of better quality. His shirt was intact, his trousers held up by proper suspenders, and two lead knuckles gleamed in the sunlight. All signs pointed to him being the leader of the group, which made him my target. That¡¯s how Thunder Bears broke free too ¨C by eliminating the strongest obstacle in their way.


    The leader¡¯s hesitation worked in my favor. Uncertainty always trickled down to the group, so I smiled again and began walking toward him. The boy was about my age and height but at least fifteen kilos lighter ¨C nothing but angles and sinew instead of muscle. I quickly pushed aside thoughts of any advantage I might have. Despite all my training, his experience in street brawls far outweighed my own.


    I stopped a few steps away from him. I couldn¡¯t make out what he was whispering to the smaller boy, but their disagreement was clearly to my advantage.


    ¡°I take it this isn¡¯t Rapsey?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Knuckles!¡± the smaller one hissed, but the older boy silenced him with a glare before addressing me.


    ¡°Nope, not Rapsey, country boy. You¡¯ve got yourself good and lost.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow at his boldness, letting sarcasm creep into my voice.


    ¡°Well, perhaps you distinguished gentlemen might point a poor country boy in the right direction ¨C before anyone gets into trouble.¡±


    The small boy tugged at the leader¡¯s sleeve again, but the older boy swatted him away and spat at my feet.


    ¡°Oh, we¡¯ll show you the way. We¡¯ll even keep you out of trouble. And you¡¯ll thank us for it. That¡¯s some nice shiny trinkets you¡¯ve got there. The girls are going to love them.¡±


    I kept the rest of the gang in my peripheral vision the entire time. The other pairs were holding back, keeping slightly more distance than the leader.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that won¡¯t be possible,¡± I said, keeping my tone even. ¡°This one¡¯s a gift from my grandfather, and I treasure it dearly.¡±


    "Knuckles!" squeaked the younger boy.


    So it was a nickname? Original, I¡¯ll give them that. But it wasn¡¯t a name given lightly ¨C he clearly knew how to throw a punch. Best not to let it come to that.


    "He¡¯ll give you another one!" the leader declared, taking a bold and threatening step forward.


    I pulled back the flap of my jacket, revealing the pistol holstered under my left arm. That stopped him in his tracks.


    "My grandfather¡¯s dead," I said, my tone low and deliberate. "And I¡¯d rather not hear any stupid jokes about it. I might take offense¡­ serious offense."


    He hesitated for only a second. He was within a step, close enough to strike. My pistol was still holstered under my left arm, and my right hand held the travel bag. Drawing the pistol would take too long, and Knuckles wasn¡¯t counting on me even attempting it ¨C which was exactly where he miscalculated. He struck out with a classic one-two combination.


    I stepped back just slightly, evading his left jab, and swung the bag in my hand. The bag intercepted his right hook mid-flight, and the weight of the iron-clad object inside wrenched his upper body off balance. I stepped in close, using his own momentum against him, and drove my boot heel hard into his shin. A nasty move ¨C one I¡¯d experienced myself once ¨C and it bent him forward, leaving his face perfectly positioned for a follow-up strike with my knee. Fortunately for him, the travel bag got in the way, so instead of a knee to the face, his arrogant mug caught the bag in an uppercut motion. Since the bag was mostly filled with clothes and books, I didn¡¯t hold back. His body spun in a rather elegant pirouette, landing on his head and shoulders before collapsing into a heap, legs splayed out awkwardly. The shiny lead knuckles he had been so proud of clattered to the ground, rolling in opposite directions.


    I turned just in time to cut off the rest of the gang¡¯s advance.


    "Freeze!" I barked. It worked. The street rats froze in place, still too stunned by what had just happened. Their wide eyes and the tight grip on their sticks made it clear ¨C they hadn¡¯t expected their leader to go down. "Scram," I added, waving them off dismissively.


    The young gangsters exchanged uneasy glances. This might have been the first time they encountered prey that bit back.


    "Ugh¡­" Knuckles groaned, proving himself surprisingly sturdy ¨C he hadn¡¯t even lost consciousness. With help from the smallest boy, who was now fussing over him, he tried to get to his feet. I wasn¡¯t having that. I tossed my bag down onto Knuckles¡¯ stomach, pushing him flat against the ground again, and turned my attention back to the others.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "Want me to put the rest of you down too? Get lost!"


    With that, I drew my pistol from its holster and cocked the hammer. The younger kids scattered like leaves in a storm, while the older ones retreated more slowly. Only the smallest boy remained, determined to retrieve my travel bag from his fallen leader.


    "Not on the ground!" I barked, my voice sharp enough to make the kid jump. "Pick it up properly, and if I find so much as a scratch on it, you¡¯ll regret it!"


    Terrified, the boy obeyed. Despite the obvious urge to run, he held his ground, eyes wide with fear but also, strangely, resolve. I stepped over the groaning Knuckles, pressing the muzzle of my pistol to his forehead as I crouched down onto his chest.


    "Do you know what a contribution is?" I asked.


    "Uh¡­ what?" he stammered, clearly confused.


    "It¡¯s when a defeated country has to pay money," the younger boy in the cap ¨C Cap I decided to call him ¨C piped up from the side.


    "Correct," I said with a grin.


    The concept was a bit broader than that, and I certainly wasn¡¯t expecting cash from these street kids. But I wasn¡¯t about to let them off scot-free either. After all, there weren¡¯t many cabs around here, and I still needed to find a way out of this mess. Not to mention, I owed that cabbie a solid punch to the face for leaving me stranded.


    "You¡¯re out of luck, mate," Knuckles sneered, regaining some of his cocky attitude. "We ain¡¯t got no money."


    "No profit today? Or am I your first target? It¡¯s hardly early anymore, gentlemen. Lazy thieves, are we?"


    "Like I said, no money," Knuckles shot back, "and now we owe Talbot for you. He charges twenty per client. Cash. Plus, the cops want their ten."


    "Poor, unfortunate souls," I mocked. "Looks like you¡¯re about as profitable as a leaky bucket. Maybe I should take those ¡®shiny trinkets¡¯ off your girls instead. You said they¡¯d like them."


    "We ain¡¯t got no girls," Knuckles grumbled. "Just said it for show."


    "And what do you do with the trinkets you steal?" I pressed, fishing for the name of their fence. That could be a useful lead ¨C criminals always knew more than they let on. "Think carefully before you answer, mate. I¡¯m starting to lose patience with this conversation."


    "I¡¯ll fetch it!" §³ap squeaked suddenly.


    "§³ap!" Knuckles barked, clearly displeased.


    §³ap and Knuckles ¨C a colorful duo indeed.


    "Quiet," I said to Knuckles, waving him off. It wasn¡¯t what I¡¯d expected, but it wasn¡¯t a bad development either. "That would be the right decision in your situation, my young friend. But remember, my patience isn¡¯t endless. And I¡¯ll be waiting¡­" I paused, pulling out my pocket watch and flipping open the cover. "Two minutes. Time starts now."


    "You¡¯ll leave us on the street!" Knuckles warned the boy.


    "You¡¯ll survive," I retorted.


    §³ap hesitated, torn between his leader¡¯s order and the travel bag still in his hands. Realizing what was troubling him, I returned the pocket watch to my pocket and held out my hand. The boy immediately shoved the bag into it and then bolted down the street, his oversized shoes slapping against the pavement.


    I set the bag on Knuckles¡¯ chest.


    "§³ap, stop! Damn it, I¡¯ll give it back! You don¡¯t understand!" Knuckles shouted.


    "Enlighten me," I said, noticing the growing number of onlookers peering out of their windows.


    "It¡¯s dangerous here at night," Knuckles muttered reluctantly. "People disappear. And storing things at The Coin isn¡¯t cheap."


    "What¡¯s The Coin?"


    "The business district of Smuggler¡¯s Bay ¨C where the serious folks are."


    "You fence your loot there?"


    "Yeah."


    "Well, look at that ¨C Cap¡¯s actually running back." I had a suspicion that instead of loot, the boy might bring me more trouble.


    Knuckles groaned and cursed under his breath.


    "Now, now, it¡¯s not that bad," I said, mocking him.


    Cap returned, panting hard but managing to meet the two-minute mark. In his hands was a large leather Pouch. I gestured to the ground.


    "Dump it."


    "We¡¯re being watched!" Knuckles protested.


    "As if they didn¡¯t see you taking it in the first place," I countered. "Dump it."


    Cap emptied the pouch¡¯s contents onto the ground. Rings, brooches, necklaces, earrings ¨C it was a magpie¡¯s treasure trove. I carefully sifted through the pile, running my hand over the stones. Most were cheap glass, but one caught my attention ¨C a modest citrine set in a primitive copper band.


    I held up the ring in front of Knuckles¡¯ face.


    "And how much were your distinguished thieves planning to get for this?"


    "Ten pence," Knuckles admitted grudgingly.


    I shook my head, imagining how much their fence must have been ripping them off. But then Cap surprised me.


    "A pound," he blurted out.


    "I like you," I said, amused. He had been terrified of me at first, but now¡­ This ring was interesting. I didn¡¯t know what enchantment it held, but it practically radiated heat. Brand-new, it might fetch five to ten pounds, but no one would pay these thieves anywhere near that much.


    "Which path are you walking, kid?" I asked, suspecting that Cap might dabble in energy practices.


    "I¡¯m not gifted," Cap quickly denied.


    It was a personal question, so I didn¡¯t press further.


    "As you wish. Gather it all up," I said, gesturing to the scattered jewelry. "Aside from your friend Talbot, do any other cabs come down to this hole? I need transport to Rapsey."


    Knuckles stayed silent, forcing Cap to answer again.


    "Old Yusom¡¯s got a cart, and he probably isn¡¯t too drunk yet," the boy suggested.


    "Horses don¡¯t like me," I replied, dismissing the idea.


    "There¡¯s a butcher two blocks from here. The owner¡¯s got a two-seater Austin. I think he¡¯ll take you if you ask, but he¡¯ll charge you at least three quid."


    "That works for me." I rapped Knuckles lightly on the forehead with the barrel of my pistol. "See? All sorted. Now grab my travel bag. Let¡¯s see you work honestly for a change."


    I pocketed the citrine ring but left the rest of the loot untouched, even though Cap offered me the leather pouch.


    "Here, sir," he said timidly.


    "Hold onto it for now," I waved him off with the pistol. "Move along, my dear friends. And let¡¯s not get clever with any ambushes. I¡¯m tired and in no mood for games ¨C or mercy, for that matter."


    "I¡¯ll go on my own," Knuckles muttered under his breath. "Let the kid go."


    "Move!" I commanded, letting the would-be thieves walk ahead of me. "Who do you sell the loot to?"


    The boys exchanged glances.


    "I might need connections of that sort," I admitted honestly. "Knuckles, keep quiet ¨C I trust Cap more than you. So, my young gentleman?" I holstered the pistol to avoid drawing unnecessary attention.


    "We take it to Patrick Mallory at the ''Commode,''" Cap confessed.


    "That¡¯s in the Coin?"


    "Nope, Pubsate," Knuckles spat. "In the Coin, they wouldn¡¯t even give us that much for it."


    As I mulled over whether to question them about vampires, we reached a small butcher shop. Chalked in large letters on a board was the phrase "Fresh Blood." Judging by the sign, the butcher was more in the know than these street kids.


    "We¡¯re here," Knuckles said, snatching the pouch from Cap¡¯s hands. "Go home," he barked at the younger boy before opening the shop door and motioning for me to follow. "The kid can¡¯t come in here."


    I didn¡¯t entirely believe him, but I wasn¡¯t familiar enough with the local rules to argue.


    "Hey, Dick, is your dad in?" Knuckles asked the skinny boy manning the counter.


    "What¡¯s it to you?" the boy replied, frowning.


    Knuckles nodded toward me and, without warning, flung my travel bag at me. I caught it with both hands, but by the time I looked up, Knuckles had vaulted over the counter and disappeared through a door into the back room.


    "Hey!" the butcher¡¯s son protested, but I just laughed.


    "My good fellow," I said, trying to sound both amused and composed, "I have a lucrative proposal for your father. Would you kindly fetch him for me?"


    The laughter and calm tone must have unsettled the boy because he didn¡¯t argue. When the butcher appeared, I laid out my proposition quickly and clearly, offering half the sum Cap had mentioned as a starting bid. Predictably, the butcher tripled it, but we eventually settled on three pounds.


    An hour later, I found myself in a much more affluent part of the city, far from the slums. The butcher, unfortunately, hadn¡¯t known this area well, so it took us a bit of time to find the right street. But the wizard¡¯s mansion stood out immediately.


    The surrounding buildings were uniform four- or five-story red-brick structures, tightly packed with barely any room to walk between them. In stark contrast, the mansion occupied an entire block, enclosed by an ornate wrought-iron fence. The gray stone house in the center wasn¡¯t particularly luxurious ¨C It was at least a story shorter than its neighbors ¨C but it was surrounded by its own unruly, overgrown garden. It was a breath of fresh air amidst the oppressive reign of brick, asphalt, and the stench of petrol. Though, to be fair, the last offense might have been the fault of the butcher¡¯s ancient Austin.


    I stepped out of the car near the wrought-iron gate bearing the emblem of an anvil, paid the driver, and took a step toward the gate. That¡¯s when I heard someone shout.


    "Wait, sir!"


    I glanced over my shoulder, unsure who they were addressing.


    "You, sir! Yes, you!" A man waved to me from the porch of a house across the street from the wizard¡¯s mansion.


    He quickly crossed the road, heading in my direction. As he approached, the amulet on my chest gave off a faint tingling sensation. Subtly, I flipped open the lid of the ring on my finger and dipped my thumb into the concealment-revealing ointment. The broad-faced man, though dressed in an expensive brown suit, didn¡¯t inspire trust.


    "Sir Smith isn¡¯t receiving visitors right now," he said as he stopped in front of me.


    "And you are¡­?"


    "Martin Belor," he replied, offering a smile that didn¡¯t reach his eyes. "If you¡¯re in need of professional assistance from a wizard, I can recommend the Fairburn House ¨C ten specialists, centuries of magical tradition, and its head holds the title of baron.¡±


    It sounded... like an overly rehearsed radio advertisement.


    "I¡¯m afraid I need Sir Smith specifically," I said, keeping my tone calm and polite.


    Not wanting to escalate the situation, I turned back toward the gate. But before I could take another step, a heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder.


    "Boy, I said you¡¯re not going in there," Martin said, his tone shifting from courteous to threatening.


    I swiped my thumb under my right eye, smearing the remaining ointment under the left as well, and waited for my vision to shift. As the magic took hold, the wizard¡¯s house beyond the garden lit up with energy. I turned back to face Martin, noticing his figure was surrounded by a faint blue aura emanating from his amulet ¨C similar to the glow coming from my own.


    "Sir, I don¡¯t appreciate being told what to do," I said sharply.


    Martin jabbed his finger into my chest.


    "Don¡¯t push your luck, country boy. Get lost!"


    I jabbed him back, aiming precisely where his amulet glowed faintly beneath his shirt. Defensive amulets worn over the heart¡­ It would be foolish to place an object designed to absorb hits in such a vulnerable spot, but they still do. Let¡¯s see what this thing was.


    The moment my finger connected, the amulet responded with a surge of air energy. I immediately latched onto it and pulled it free from its restraints. The surprise on Martin¡¯s face told me everything I needed to know. His amulet carried an air shield, designed to deflect ranged attacks.


    "Listen carefully," I said, keeping my voice cold and steady. "I¡¯m not asking for an apology, but if you don¡¯t disappear in the next three seconds, I¡¯ll beat you so thoroughly no healer will be able to put you back together."


    His expression shifted from surprise to disbelief.


    Street rats had that same look of defiance ¨C until I pulled out my pistol. This time, I didn¡¯t wait. I drew my FN and pressed the barrel against Martin¡¯s stomach. At this range, even with his shield active, I wouldn¡¯t miss.


    "One."


    "I understand, sir! Apologies, sir! Forgive me, sir!" Martin stammered, raising his hands in surrender.


    He took one step back, then another, before quickly retreating to the house across the street.


    I slid my pistol back into its holster and turned toward the gate again. Only now did I notice the faint glow of magic radiating from it. This, undoubtedly, was a security enchantment.

 Chapter 7

    Bloody hell! I needed to figure out what to do about the gate ¨C and fast. The thug hadn¡¯t come to his senses or returned yet. The worst part of situation was that I couldn¡¯t distinguish one type of energy from another. Everything with an air or water base looked pale and similar in the soft blue-green spectrum. Only lightning, thanks to its fire component, had a brighter violet hue. For gifted energy practitioners with a developed third eye, differentiating them would have been easy, but the ointment I was using didn¡¯t offer that kind of clarity.


    Still, I had a point of reference!


    I threw my travel bag to the ground and pulled out a small box of stones from my satchel. Each one was stored in its own compartment and had a distinct glow, except for the ether and mist stones that had been drained on the train. Bright red for fire, nearly black for metal, and gray for earth ¨C those could be ruled out immediately. Water¡­


    I took a water stone from the box and brought it close to the gate¡¯s handle. Unlikely. It wasn¡¯t lightning either. Air again?


    The glow of the air stone was remarkably similar to the energy surrounding not just the gate¡¯s handle but the entire fence. Damn it, just a basic signaling spell? Hopefully, it wouldn¡¯t chop my hand off. I returned the box to my bag but kept a glowing green garnet bead in my left hand. If I sustained physical damage, I could at least use its raw energy for some quick recovery.


    My hand rested on the gate¡¯s handle, and I pressed. The gate clicked with its rusty lock, creaked on its long-neglected hinges, and opened. A sharp prick of foreign energy shot through my hand, but it wasn¡¯t more than that. Relieved, I grabbed my travel bag and stepped onto the gravel path.


    The pedestrian path wound alongside the driveway but was in a sorry state. Weeds of all kinds pushed their way up through the gravel, reaching for the sun. A pair of spiky thistles had grown so large that I had to step off the path to avoid them ¨C right near some red energy spots hidden in the grass that radiated fire magic. And that wasn¡¯t the only trap.


    The garden ¨C or rather, the park, as it was too vast to be called a garden ¨C glowed with magic. Even in the middle of the path, I encountered powerful circles etched with seals of somber metal energy and dark-red magma magic. The house felt like it was under siege, and the warning from that strange man earlier no longer seemed so ridiculous. It was clear that ordinary people weren¡¯t meant to enter these grounds.


    Adding to the ominous atmosphere was a large plywood sign stuck in the middle of the path. Faded red paint scrawled across it read: ¡°Get lost while you¡¯re still alive!!!¡± In smaller text beneath it, the words: ¡°Leaving the path is dangerous to your life. Regular clients know what to do.¡±


    Beyond the sign began a minefield of small seals glowing with a kaleidoscope of energies.


    Walking straight down the path wasn¡¯t an option, but if there were regular clients¡­ I looked closer.


    On the right, in the tall grass, there was a faint gap, as though a trail had once been there. It led to an old oak tree, and it was the only direction free of ground seals.


    Reaching the tree, I spotted another gap that brought me directly to the grand porch, with its thick columns and a massive balcony on the second floor. Damn it, this Smith guy was either in serious trouble or a full-blown paranoid! There were seals even on the porch. The clear path was no more than a meter and a half wide, and the door itself radiated an unpleasant blue energy ¨C especially the bronze door knocker.


    Still, no one would attach an offensive spell to a knocker. It was likely another signaling spell, like the one on the gate. Most knockers are shaped like large rings held in the mouth of some grotesque beast, but Harry¡¯s knocker was a literal hammer hanging from a ring. It struck a plate that depicted an anvil.


    I knocked three times and heard the sound echo through the house, amplified by magic.


    I waited. And waited. Eventually, I knocked again¡­ and again. Entering a wizard¡¯s home uninvited wasn¡¯t just impolite ¨C It was downright dangerous. But the ointment¡¯s effect was wearing off, and the knocker¡¯s glow had almost completely faded.


    Taking a deep breath, I decided to risk it and pushed open the massive doors.


    "Sir Harry!" I called out, my voice echoing through the dusty hall. There wasn¡¯t much light in the entryway. The double doors, which likely led to a grand hall, were shut. On either side of the doors, staircases spread out like the wings of a predatory bird, curving upward to the second floor. My attention was caught by a faint, blurry figure with a bluish glow on the right staircase.


    "Sir Harry Smith?" I repeated, uncertain.


    The blue blur shot out a beam of the same color. It instantly wrapped around my legs and yanked upward so fast that I dropped my travel bag and barely managed to hold on to my satchel before flipping upside down. Then an invisible force tore the satchel from my grip as well.


    "Careful!" I shouted instinctively.


    To my surprise, the man who caught me listened. My satchel didn¡¯t slam into the floor, which would have been disastrous for the glass vials inside. Instead, it floated gently down.


    "Sir Harry¡­" I tried again, hoping it was him.


    "The very same. But I don¡¯t know you!"


    The blue blur solidified into the form of a tall, thin man with a shaggy beard and a shiny bald head. The wizard was dressed simply, in a plain shirt and rough work pants held up by suspenders. He gave a sharp flick of his outstretched hand, sending me swinging up and down violently. The movement dislodged my grandfather¡¯s dagger from the inside pocket of my coat, and it clattered to the floor.


    The wizard extended his left hand toward it with interest. I saw his energy try to wrap around the dagger, but it resisted and stayed where it was.


    "A warlock?" he muttered. "You don¡¯t look like one¡­"


    "My grandfather was a warlock," I admitted quickly. "Gregor Kinkaid. I¡¯m Duncan. You examined me five years ago."


    The same force that had grabbed my legs now seized my arms and stretched them downward, carrying me closer to the wizard. My body stopped about half a meter away from him, still hanging upside down. Harry scrutinized my chest, rotated my body slightly in midair, and finally set me upright on the floor.


    "Looks like you¡¯ve been keeping busy. One rune broken, working on the second. Impressive." He nodded approvingly. "Sorry about the rough welcome, boy. I¡¯ve got a bit of a¡­ conflict going on."


    "I noticed. A man outside ¡®strongly advised¡¯ me not to come in."


    "Advised, did he?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "That bastard¡¯s scared off everyone he could, and anyone he couldn¡¯t, his master took care of! What¡¯s that crap under your eyes? Can¡¯t make sense of it."


    "Ointment to see what¡¯s hidden," I explained.


    "Ah, classic warlock education. Next time, try putting it on your third eye."


    "My third eye¡¯s closed."


    "Try it!" Harry said insistently.


    Not wanting to upset the wizard, I opened the ring, scraped out the remaining ointment with my pinky, and brought it toward my forehead.


    "Lower," Harry corrected immediately.


    "I know. The spot¡¯s just above the brows," I replied, applying the ointment to the proper point.


    Almost instantly, the world blossomed into sharper, more vivid colors. The elemental hues gained clarity, and even Harry¡¯s form changed. A small blue glow appeared where his third eye should be, green energy shone where his spiritual core resided, and gray light radiated from his elemental source. All three key energy nodes were open and brimming with power.


    "Impressive," I whispered, awed.


    "See? All it took was using it correctly!" Harry smirked. "Right, gather up your stuff and let¡¯s head to the kitchen. I¡¯ll treat you to some chamomile tea and baked potatoes. That¡¯s all I¡¯ve got, unfortunately."


    I bent down to grab my travel bag and satchel, but froze mid-motion. Through the cracks in the grand hall¡¯s doors, I could see powerful streams of magic leaking out. Gray earth energy shifted into nearly black metal, only to transform into a vivid blue ether. What kind of monstrous spell could radiate that power?


    "Come on already," Harry grumbled. "It¡¯s not like you haven¡¯t seen places of power before."


    "There are three elements in there¡­" I murmured, unable to tear my eyes away.


    "It hasn¡¯t fully formed yet," Harry replied dismissively.


    It was becoming clearer what was happening here. If the wizard was trying to awaken his own place of power, it made sense that competitors would attempt to sabotage him. The only thing that puzzled me was that I¡¯d never heard of such a complex ritual being conducted by a single person. Sir Harry Smith was either a genius or a madman ¨C or maybe a bit of both.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "Should you really be stepping away?" I asked, complying with the wizard¡¯s instruction to follow him.


    "Pfft... I¡¯ve been playing with it for a year," he replied, leading me toward the kitchen. "An hour or two won¡¯t make much of a difference."


    "A year?! That means you haven¡¯t left the house in a year?"


    "And how do you think I¡¯ve been growing potatoes and gathering chamomile?" he retorted. "The bastards scared off all my suppliers too. I¡¯d kill for some bacon and a couple of eggs."


    "Why not get some chickens, then?" I suggested.


    "I did have chickens ¨C until a fox got into the coop. I prepared seriously for this ritual," Harry grumbled.


    We entered a spacious, bright, but slightly dusty kitchen. It looked like it could host a banquet for a hundred people, but signs of activity were limited to the gas stove and one corner of the table. The wizard grabbed a ladle, scooped water from a wooden barrel, and filled the kettle.


    "They cut off my water and gas as soon as they realized what I was doing. The well in the backyard and a few cylinders in the basement keep me going. Same with the electricity ¨C they cut that too. Even blocked the sewer line. They even tried to summon me to court, but for some reason, they stopped. No idea why."


    Harry lit the stove and set the kettle on it.


    "Hungry?"


    "I last ate on the train," I admitted.


    "Then grab a knife. We¡¯re peeling potatoes. Your grandfather was good at this. How¡¯s the old fart doing, anyway?" Harry handed me a short kitchen knife.


    "He¡¯s dead. Killed," I replied, my tone somber.


    "Damn¡­ Sorry, boy. I¡­ I¡¯ve been out of touch with people for a while. I¡¯ve been putting off moments like this. So, what brings you to me? How can I help?"


    "It¡¯s a long story," I said. "I can tell you while we peel the potatoes."


    "Hmm! Go on then!"


    "One question first ¨C how much longer will the ritual take?" I quickly clarified, hoping to avoid being hoisted upside down again. "I just want to know how open I can be. If the ritual¡¯s ongoing, you won¡¯t exactly have a chance to spill the beans to anyone."


    "A month. Give or take a week," Harry said, waving off the concern.


    I told him everything. Harry turned out to be quite emotional. He cursed furiously when I described my grandfather¡¯s rise, swore vividly at Simon, laughed heartily at my escape from the train, and recommended tracking down and thrashing the street gang that had tried to mug me.


    "You know who I feel the sorriest for in this whole mess?" he asked as the kettle began to whistle.


    "Who?"


    "Bryce. You¡¯ve dropped quite the headache into his lap. Well done, by the way, for clarifying about the ritual. If I had the chance, I¡¯d definitely have ratted you out to him."


    "Thanks for your honesty," I said dryly.


    "Don¡¯t mention it," Harry waved me off, pouring the boiled water over crushed chamomile in the teapot. "What exactly do you want from me? To track down your Simon?"


    "No," I surprised him. "I wanted to learn about the balance of power here in the city. And I wanted to figure out what caught Ferrish¡¯s attention about Simon. My uncle mentioned that his dagger reacted to vampires."


    "I don¡¯t deal with bloodsuckers," Harry said quickly, distancing himself from the topic. "And as for the city¡¯s power structure, I¡¯ve been out of the loop for nearly a year."


    Harry¡¯s potatoes¡­ Well, they were something else. As it turned out, he had been "feeding" them with magic ¨C not blood, but earth energy ¨C which gave them a distinctly peculiar flavor, like road dust. The chamomile tea, however, was surprisingly decent.


    The wizard allowed me to stay the night, giving me time to rest after my journey and think over my next steps. I confessed that I had brought a small fortune with me, which he strongly advised me not to carry around. Then again, he also didn¡¯t recommend staying in the city either. According to Harry, Baron Fairburn was an influential bastard, and picking a fight with him without a proper patron was foolish. Harry himself would have gladly acted as my patron, but for now, his abilities were severely limited.


    So, I was assigned one of the mansion¡¯s dusty rooms and a much-needed bed, where I welcomed the morning ¨C though it was a rather late one, to be honest.


    A note lay on the floor, clearly slid under the door by Harry:


    "Don¡¯t go into the hall!!! Call for me. If I don¡¯t answer, I¡¯m busy. Potatoes are on the stove."


    I made a mental note to buy him some meat.


    After calling for Harry a few times and receiving no response, I left a note of my own in the kitchen, letting him know I was heading into the city. But before leaving, I sorted through my satchel, packing the unnecessary items into my travel bag: the stones, half the potions, and an undershirt with sewn-in banknotes. I kept only ¡ê200 in cash with me ¨C a sum that was easily ten times the average monthly wage of a descent worker in Avoc.


    The only significant item of value that I didn¡¯t leave behind was the baron¡¯s ring. I figured it might come in handy, but instead of wearing it, I strung it on a cord alongside my signaling amulet.


    Once more, I called for Harry, and this time I heard his voice from behind a closed door.


    "One more hour!"


    "I¡¯m heading into the city," I shouted back.


    "Don¡¯t stir up trouble," came his sage advice.


    I paused by the gate, even waving toward the house where Fairburn¡¯s men were holed up. I had hoped to settle things peacefully, but no one came out, so I continued on toward the nearby square where Harry had mentioned cabs gathered.


    There were about ten idle vehicles there; it was that time of day when no one was in much of a hurry. The second cabbie I approached recognized the establishment I named in Pubsate.


    Unsurprisingly, the "Commode" turned out to be a pawnshop of middling quality. Or perhaps I was just biased ¨C it was my first time in such a place, so I couldn¡¯t help but look around with curiosity. The shop was packed with all sorts of items: watches, kitchen utensils, furniture, weapons, and even works of art.


    Patrick Mallory turned out to be a large, rotund man with the cheerful smile of a favorite uncle and small, oily eyes. He immediately pegged me as an outsider and set to work on me. Clearly, I needed to change my clothes.


    Mallory assured me that the streets of Farnell were rife with dangers and that only a reliable firearm could keep me safe. He then attempted to sell me a revolver that had been outdated for at least half a century. In response, I showed him my own pistol, and the shopkeeper immediately quieted down. Then, hoping to catch him off guard, I casually mentioned my fear of vampires.


    The man perked up instantly, launching into a sales pitch for a wooden crucifix, thrice blessed by the bishop himself. It was a bargain at just one pound, he claimed.


    I bought the cross. Building contacts, after all, required a bit of give-and-take.


    Asking direct questions about the city¡¯s shadow community ¨C or vampires specifically ¨C might have scared him off. So, I left the pawnshop no wiser than when I had entered.


    The next item on my agenda was finding a place to stay, but life had other plans for me. Pubsate was a district known for cheap entertainment, so during the day, the streets were mostly empty ¨C just the occasional passerby, workers, or completely unhinged partygoers stumbling around. The streets didn¡¯t come alive until the evening.


    That said, a couple of sturdy-looking fellows immediately started tailing me. When I stopped by a pub, so did they. I took a step forward ¨C they followed.


    "Gentlemen," I asked directly, "whose interests are you representing?"


    Who knew what had drawn their attention to me? Maybe they were just common thugs.


    "Huh? We¡­ uh¡­" one of them stammered.


    "We¡¯re just here, not botherin¡¯ anyone," the other chimed in. "Keep movin¡¯."


    "Apologies, but I¡¯m already where I need to be," I said, gesturing toward the pub. "You¡¯re free to move along; I won¡¯t keep you."


    "Well, we¡¯re here too!" the first one declared, puffing out his chest.


    "Then by all means, go ahead," I said, pointing toward the pub¡¯s doors.


    An awkward silence hung between us.


    "Let¡¯s not kid ourselves ¨C you¡¯re following me. Why don¡¯t you just tell me who sent you and arrange a meeting with them? That would save us all some trouble."


    "What?" the thugs said in unison, clearly baffled.


    "There¡¯s always a way to settle things peacefully," I continued. "And then there¡¯s no need to hide bodies from the police."


    "What bodies?!" blurted the first one, his voice rising slightly.


    "Not live ones, surely. The live ones will just walk away," I said matter-of-factly. "So, gentlemen, what will it be?"


    The two men, who had been visibly tense, suddenly relaxed. I followed their gaze over my shoulder and turned to see what had caused the shift.


    Storming down the sidewalk with the fury of a thousand devils was none other than Martin Belor, with two more enforcers trailing behind him. We were still separated by a fair distance, and it seemed he was afraid I might run. But running from a predator only triggers its hunting instincts.


    "Mr. Belor!" I called out, waving cheerfully. To make matters worse for him, I began walking toward him.


    Martin slowed his pace, clearly wary. I scanned the surroundings with my peripheral vision and adjusted my stride so that we would meet directly in front of another establishment. Judging by the female mannequins in overly revealing dresses on display in the windows, it definitely wasn¡¯t a pub where someone could drag me out easily. It might have been a specialized boutique or a salon. I hoped men weren¡¯t barred from entry. The well-maintained exterior and tasteful decor spoke of a certain status.


    "Sir," Martin spat the word like it was poison, clearly in no mood for pleasantries.


    "I¡¯ve been informed about the disagreement between Sir Harry and Lord Fairburn," I said calmly. "You can assure your employer that I have no intention of interfering. However, I do need some time to find alternative accommodations. I hope to be done by evening. For now, if you¡¯ll excuse me¡­"


    I turned ninety degrees, took a step toward the door, and pressed the button for the electric doorbell. If no one answered, I¡¯d likely be smeared across the pavement in short order.


    No one answered immediately, so I pressed the button again under Martin¡¯s increasingly irritated glare. He shoved his hat back on his head and furrowed his brow, clearly trying to decide what to do.


    Thankfully, before his thoughts settled on a violent course of action, the door opened. Unfortunately, the man who opened it gave off the kind of vibe that suggested a painful death awaited those who crossed him.


    The bruiser, dressed in a vest with a loosened tie around his thick neck, was bigger than anyone present, including Martin¡¯s enforcers.


    "The girls are sleeping," he grunted.


    Damn it. The dresses in the window suddenly clicked in my head: I¡¯d walked right into a brothel.


    "Surely this problem can be resolved?" I asked, holding up a five-pound note. It was the first thing my fingers found in my pocket, but I would¡¯ve offered more if needed.


    "All of ''em?" the bruiser asked, raising an eyebrow.


    I turned back to the stunned group behind me.


    "Let them pay for themselves," I said with a shrug.


    "Entry¡¯s a fiver," the bruiser declared.


    I handed him the note, squeezed past him with as much dignity as I could muster, and stepped inside.


    None of Belor¡¯s men followed me, but I couldn¡¯t shake the unease about what lay ahead. My immediate future was suddenly looking rather uncertain.

 Chapter 8

    "Any preferences, sir?" the bruiser asked.


    "Young and fresh," I replied. I had some experience in intimate matters, thanks to Betty McLal, though she quickly shifted her attention to John Kink.


    "Give us a moment; the girl needs to get herself ready." The bruiser gestured toward a red velvet-upholstered chair. "Tea?"


    "I won¡¯t say no."


    The man disappeared through a side door, leaving me with a brief window of solitude. I needed to use it wisely to analyze the situation. I¡¯d managed to not only surprise my pursuers but also myself. How the hell did I end up here? And what am I supposed to do now?!


    Sure, I knew what people usually did in places like this. Betty... well, she was back in Avoc and had nothing to do with this situation. God, what a mess I¡¯ve gotten myself into!


    The bruiser reappeared in the hall, announcing that the tea would be brought shortly, and lumbered up the stairs.


    Right. First things first ¨C calm down. Now, back to the task at hand. I needed to rent a room, deposit the money in a bank, and, above all, get rid of Fairburn¡¯s thugs. I doubted they¡¯d just give up and leave.


    The shopfront windows on the first floor were sealed tight with decorative walls, for obvious reasons. A shame ¨C I would¡¯ve liked to peek behind the curtains. So, my options were to either stay put here¡­ or sneak out through the back. Perhaps I could try the windows on the upper floors, or even the roof.


    The side door opened again, and out came a plump woman carrying a tray. She had a shawl draped over her shoulders. On the tray was a steaming cup of aromatic tea, a small dish of cookies, a saucer with a few large sugar cubes, and a tiny decorative bottle of milk.


    "Here you go, sir," she said warmly.


    I stood to take the tray from her hands, but she waved me off.


    "Oh, no, no! That¡¯s my job," she insisted, setting the tray on a small table beside me. "Sugar?"


    "No, thank you. Just milk," I replied, noticing the bottle. There was still space in the cup, and the milk practically spoke for itself.


    As the woman poured the milk, I couldn¡¯t help but notice the massive stones set into the gold rings on her fingers. Servants didn¡¯t wear jewelry like that. Was she the manager, or perhaps the owner? I¡¯d heard that former courtesans, those who "retired" and managed to save up some money, often opened their own establishments or inherited them from older proprietors. Abuse of contraceptive potions wasn¡¯t exactly kind to their reproductive health, and few of them had children after a few years of diligent service.


    "Here you are, sir," she said, handing me the cup on its saucer and gesturing toward the dish of cookies. "Please, help yourself."


    "Thank you."


    With women like her, one had to tread carefully. They¡¯d seen a lot and knew how to turn a profit in any situation. For my purposes, though, a young prostitute would be a better choice.


    "Forgive me, sir," the woman said suddenly, "but why now? It¡¯s rare for anyone to visit a brothel in the morning."


    "Why not? At least I¡¯ll avoid the lines," I joked.


    She laughed, a genuine sound, it seemed.


    "Polite, with a sense of humor. Fine qualities!" she said with a smile. "I like you, young man, so I¡¯ll give you a gift: an hour with a girl, on the house."


    It took the girl longer than the promised minute to "freshen up." In the meantime, I finished my tea and gathered my thoughts. And it¡¯s a good thing I finished the tea ¨C otherwise, I might have choked when I saw the red-haired "beauty queen." The damn thugs from Fairburn¡¯s crew looked more appealing.


    No, it wasn¡¯t as if the girl was poorly dressed. Her dress was presentable, her hair styled in neat curls, her eyebrows plucked, and her lips painted. But something about the whole picture just didn¡¯t come together.


    What can I say? I¡¯m a country boy through and through. I prefer sturdy girls ¨C not fat ones. This girl clearly wasn¡¯t watching her weight, and her waist was maintained solely by the corset she wore. Pencil-thin, drawn-on eyebrows, lips painted into a bow shape, and thick eyeshadow made her look more like she was masking an illness than enhancing her beauty.


    Nevertheless, I made a titanic effort and smiled.


    "Miss," I said politely.


    She blushed as red as a poppy. The brothel madam made some sort of gesture to her and disappeared, leaving the girl to take my hand and lead me upstairs in silence.


    In a tiny bedroom, the first thing she did was unfasten her voluminous skirt and spread her legs wide, revealing herself through the open slit in her pantalettes. It was a silent demonstration of what she assumed I had come for.


    Dear God, save me.


    Despite my revulsion, I felt a stirring of desire. What the hell was this?


    The girl, convinced she was being enticing, stepped forward and tried to take my bag off my shoulder.


    "Hold on, hold on! Just a moment, miss!" I exclaimed, pulling away from her grasping hands.


    "Don¡¯t worry, sir, I can be gentle," she said with a laugh.


    What the hell is going on?! I find her repulsive!


    "The tea!" I suddenly realized. Bloody hell, and damn my carelessness. "What was in the tea?"


    The girl¡¯s expression shifted. She was clearly inexperienced, judging by how poorly she masked her reaction. They must train young ones like her on idiots like me in brothels like this.


    "What are you talking about, sir?" she asked, feigning innocence.


    "I see," I sighed. "Take a seat for a moment."


    "But¡­"


    "Sit!" I ordered, reaching into my satchel.


    If the tea had been spiked with a stimulant, I needed the antidote ¨C second formula. Thank God I hadn¡¯t left it at home. Without looking, I pulled out a vial of cloudy liquid, uncorked it¡­


    "Maybe you don¡¯t need to?" the redhead squeaked, fear flashing in her eyes. "The tea had plenty!"


    "It¡¯s an antidote," I reassured her.


    "But why?" she asked, confused. "It was just a regular aphrodisiac. So inexperienced clients wouldn¡¯t feel awkward."


    I nearly choked on the potion.


    "I am not inexperienced!" I snapped, then immediately felt ridiculous. Who was I even trying to convince? And why?


    Suppressing my indignation, I glanced around the room, estimating the size of the curtained window, and cautiously peeked out. The window overlooked the street ¨C not ideal for an escape. Still, I didn¡¯t see any of Fairburn¡¯s men. Wait ¨C there was one, standing and smoking. Well, smoke yourself to death, for all I care.


    "Where do the back doors lead?" I asked, making the prostitute even more nervous.


    "Are you planning to run?! Beatrice will bury me alive!"


    "Want five pounds?" I offered, but she shook her head desperately.


    "Ten? ¡­ Twenty? ¡­ You¡¯ve got to be joking, miss!"


    "I¡¯d rather work it off!" she said firmly. "Even for a hundred. You¡¯ll enjoy it, I promise."


    "My dear, I hate to disappoint you, but I didn¡¯t come here for pleasure. I came to lose a tail. Come here."


    I gestured toward the window and pointed. "See that big guy with the cigarette? He¡¯s waiting for me."


    "Who are you?" the girl asked, suddenly alarmed. "The satchel¡­ the potions¡­"


    "I¡¯m someone whose death on your doorstep would be very inconvenient," I replied, deciding fear might motivate her. "Though there¡¯s always the question of who will end up killing whom first¡­"


    "You should speak to Beatrice," the girl stammered.


    "I don¡¯t like her," I admitted. "Too cunning."


    "I don¡¯t make decisions," the redhead protested. "Beatrice bought me from my parents for three hundred pounds. Until I work it off, I¡¯m her slave."


    "I could buy your freedom," I offered.


    "And then what?" she asked bitterly. "Will you take care of me? Provide me with a life? I don¡¯t want to rot as a laundress like my mother, find some drunkard for a husband, give birth to his kids, and endure his beatings¡­ This is better than that."


    "That¡¯s a shame," I replied, pulling another vial from my bag and a dagger from the inner pocket of my jacket. I held both in my right hand while my left grabbed her by the hair, turning her away from me. I pressed the blade to her throat.


    "Quiet," I ordered. "I¡¯m truly sorry that it¡¯s come to this. I don¡¯t intend to kill you, but the only way I can ensure your loyalty is like this."


    I released her hair, shifted the vial to my left hand, and kept the dagger steady.


    "Take this," I said, shoving the vial into her hand. "Drink it."


    "V-Willie¡­"


    "You won¡¯t make it. Nobody screams with a slit throat."


    "Beatrice won¡¯t forgive you¡­"Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "Don¡¯t be an idiot. Drink!"


    The prostitute cautiously removed the cork and poured the contents into her mouth, swallowing it in small sips as if afraid she¡¯d cut herself by gulping too quickly.


    "Good girl," I said, lowering the tension in my voice slightly. "Now, about what you just drank. It¡¯s poison. If you want to live, you¡¯ll do exactly as I say. I have the antidote with me. Feeling dizzy yet?"


    "Y-yes," she stammered, her voice trembling.


    "Perfect." I pulled the dagger away from her neck and slipped it back under my jacket.


    "Don¡¯t scream," I advised. "The poison works quickly, and there are plenty of vials in my bag. Some of them contain things far worse than what you just drank."


    "I-I feel sick!" she cried, sinking to the floor.


    "Close your eyes, lift your head, and open your mouth," I ordered. Once she complied, I dripped a few drops of the antidote into her mouth.


    "This will buy us a little more time. You¡¯ll get the rest later. Now, where do the back doors lead?"


    "To the inner courtyard," she murmured weakly.


    "Is there a way out from there?"


    "Only through the other buildings," she admitted.


    As I suspected, this block was tightly packed and closed off.


    "Do you have an attic?"


    "Yes¡­ I feel awful¡­ Really awful¡­"


    "Then answer faster!" I snapped. "Is there roof access?"


    "I don¡¯t know," she groaned.


    "Are there windows in the attic?"


    "Yes¡­ Give me the antidote¡­ the poison¡­" she whimpered, her head lolling forward as she collapsed onto the floor.


    "Relax," I said with a sigh. "It¡¯s just a sleep potion."


    I lifted her from the floor and laid her on the bed. After one last check for any sign of a tail outside, I quietly opened the bedroom door.


    Two flights of stairs later, I found myself under a ceiling hatch with a pull-down ladder leading to the attic. The damn thing creaked like crazy. Apparently, the brothel workers on this floor were too exhausted to investigate the noise.


    Contrary to my expectations, the attic was clean and tidy, with four triangular windows. Two of them faced the street, and the other two overlooked the inner courtyard. Unfortunately, the windows were tightly secured, with only small vents that could be opened.


    I had to use the dagger again to break the frame, pull out the nails, and remove the panes. After a few minutes of effort, I climbed onto the red-tiled roof and took in my surroundings.


    The inner courtyard below was quiet, with three chestnut trees growing in the center, a couple of flowerbeds, a few tables, and even a sandbox for children.


    I couldn¡¯t find any suitable way down. The drainpipes looked far too flimsy, but two houses on the opposite side of the block had balconies, and I decided to make my way toward them. The risk of slipping and tumbling off the tiles was high, and meeting the cobblestones below could be fatal. Even if I managed to activate stone skin in time, there¡¯d still be the risk of internal injuries ¨C and fractures. Especially fractures.


    I kept my dagger out, using its tip to anchor myself and gain some traction on the hard, slick tiles. Fortunately, all the buildings in the block were built flush against each other and at the same height. After twenty tense minutes, I reached the house I needed and paused to assess my options.


    I could drop down onto the balcony and exit through the door, but that might lead to an unpleasant encounter with the owner. Alternatively, I could climb down the balconies on the outside, but that would attract the attention of everyone on the street ¨C and possibly the police. Then again, the owner might call the constables anyway. And if the owner was armed...


    Fine. If the constables caught me, I¡¯d tell them the truth ¨C I escaped from a brothel.


    Still, I decided not to push my luck too far. Once I reached the roof ridge, I stopped to look around. The streets below were free of police officers. Moving quickly would have been ideal, but I chose to act cautiously instead. Note to self: pack a rope next time.


    I slowly worked my way to the edge of the roof and dropped down onto the first balcony. Amazingly, only a few passersby noticed me, and that was only when I climbed to a lower balcony. Despite the attention, I descended the rest of the way without incident. No one approached me, and the dagger in my hand likely discouraged any curiosity.


    Once I reached the ground, I slipped the blade back into its sheath and tucked it inside my jacket. My hand was still gripping the hilt when my eyes caught sight of a passing cab, and a surge of anger flared through me.


    "Wait a second!"


    The woman sitting in the backseat was most definitely not Simon.


    The cab turned a corner and disappeared from sight, and I let go of the dagger¡¯s hilt, immediately sprinting after it like a hunting hound on a fresh trail.


    I rounded the corner just in time to see two identical cabs turn in different directions.


    Which one?


    I reached for my dagger again, thinking quickly, but it was too late ¨C the vehicles vanished from view.


    "Bollocks!" I swore under my breath, only to notice a familiar face just three meters ahead.


    It was Cap, the little street rat from yesterday. He stood frozen in place, clutching the same leather pouch in his hands. He was obviously on his way to deliver the loot to the pawnshop, following orders from his leader.


    "You!" I pointed the dagger at him. "Don¡¯t move!"


    But the brat didn¡¯t listen. He spun around and bolted.


    "Stop!" I roared, chasing after him.


    Never before had I encountered a child so fast. Despite all my physical training and the grueling drills my grandfather had put me through, I only caught up to him after three blocks. By then, Cap was screaming at the top of his lungs:


    "Ellie!"


    He darted behind the back of a petite girl carrying a basket, using her as a shield. I almost bowled her over in my pursuit.


    "My apologies, miss, but I need that little thief!" I said, pointing my dagger at a terrified Cap.


    "And what exactly do you plan to do with him?" the girl demanded, her tone sharp and unyielding. She showed no fear of the blade I had foolishly forgotten to conceal during the chase. Her firm voice snapped me out of my adrenaline-fueled haze.


    I glanced at the dagger in my hand, realizing how threatening I must have looked, and laughed awkwardly.


    "Forgive me, that was an accident." I slid the blade back into its sheath beneath my jacket. "Better now?"


    "Nathan, give him back what you took!" the girl ordered sternly, her tone brooking no argument.


    She was pretty¡ªround cheeks, a small upturned nose, and a long black braid draped over her shoulder. Now that was the kind of lady I wouldn¡¯t mind meeting at a brothel.


    "I didn¡¯t steal anything!" Cap squeaked, his voice indignant.


    The girl shot him a fierce glare.


    "Really!" he protested.


    "Then why were you chasing him?" she asked, turning back to me.


    "I had my reasons. Isn¡¯t that right, Cap?" I said, staring at the boy.


    Cap avoided my gaze, shrinking further behind the girl.


    "Speak, or leave," she said, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.


    "Young lady, my dear," I began, irritation seeping into my voice, "what exactly are you going to do? Call a constable? Your little thief here is carrying a pouch full of stolen valuables."


    Nathan ¨C or Cap ¨C shrank under the girl¡¯s stern gaze, awkwardly hiding the pouch behind his back.


    "Why call a constable¡­" the girl said, her tone hardening. "I can handle this myself."


    Her eyes flared orange, glowing with a predatory intensity. She shoved her basket into Cap¡¯s arms, and in one swift motion, she ripped off her skirt.


    Before my mind could wander to inappropriate comparisons with the brothel, I saw she was wearing sturdy gray trousers and laced-up hiking boots. Her legs ¨C strong and shapely ¨C momentarily distracted me. Was this still the tea talking, or was it just me?


    I took two cautious steps back. A fight with a shifter wasn¡¯t in my plans.


    But the girl was young ¨C at first glance, my age or perhaps younger. This was likely the first year of her merging with her spirit, the stage where they often lost themselves in their newfound power. Full mastery would take another five to ten years, but during this early phase, they often became drunk with confidence until someone put them in their place. My grandfather had used me more than once to teach shifters such lessons.


    But back then, I had time to prepare ¨C to study my opponent¡¯s habits and anticipate their moves. Now I was walking blind into a confrontation.


    Retreat wasn¡¯t an option. Showing weakness would ruin the small authority I had over Cap, which was the only thing keeping him somewhat obedient.


    I really hoped I wouldn¡¯t get my ass handed to me.


    First, I reached for the corundum in my stone skin ring, ready to activate its protection. Then, under the girl¡¯s watchful gaze, I plunged my hand into my bag and pulled out a vial of potion.


    She allowed me to uncork it with my teeth and pour the contents down my throat. Big mistake ¨C she should have attacked immediately.


    The battle elixir surged through my veins, sending a rush of energy and agitation through my body. My ears rang unpleasantly for a moment before my system adjusted.


    "I suggest you stand down," I said, my voice roughened by the potion¡¯s effects.


    Only now did the girl realize she had waited too long to react. She launched her attack. In my defense, I¡¯d never seen a move like it before. She leapt into the air, coiling herself like a spring, and then struck me with both feet square in the chest, her body snapping straight as if parallel to the ground.


    The impact sent me flying backward, skidding three meters across the pavement.


    Damn it ¨C I¡¯d spent the stone skin charge out of sheer reflex, but at least it softened the blow. Simon¡¯s bullets had stung worse.


    The girl didn¡¯t land gracefully either ¨C she fell flat on her backside and looked as stunned as I felt.


    I was on my feet first and closed the distance instantly. She was still getting up when I kicked her in the solar plexus. My aim was slightly low, but it still sent her sprawling.


    Thank God for cousin Sally, who had long ago beaten any stereotypes about female weakness out of my head. Otherwise, I might have been the one lying flat on the pavement.


    The girl struggled to rise again, but I closed in and landed another blow to her solar plexus ¨C the physical counterpart to the spiritual core. This time, my aim was dead on. She let out a grunt and collapsed into a fetal position.


    And, of course, that¡¯s when I heard the police whistles.


    Two constables in tall helmets, truncheons in hand, were rushing toward me.


    "Bollocks! Just perfect!" I muttered. Couldn¡¯t they have shown up a minute earlier?


    I glanced toward Cap and saw the little bastard spring away again, leaving the girl¡¯s basket and skirt abandoned on the pavement.


    "Stop!" I barked, taking a step to chase after him.


    But¡­ damn it, the constables¡­


    "Catch the thief!" I shouted, pointing toward where Cap had fled, but the officers ignored me entirely.


    "Face down on the ground, now!" one of the constables ordered, his bristling mustache making him look even more intimidating. He raised his truncheon threateningly.


    "Be more polite, sir," I snapped back, my frustration and the battle potion¡¯s lingering effects boiling over into misplaced irritation. "Or I¡¯ll shove that baton down your throat to the handle! The lady shifter struck first ¨C I¡¯m the victim here. And on top of that, you just let a thief slip away! So, for the love of all that¡¯s holy, mind your manners!"


    The constables were taken aback by my sharp response, and the fact that I wasn¡¯t trying to flee, threw them even more off balance. They exchanged uncertain glances, clearly unsure of how to proceed.


    In truth, I had no intention of causing further trouble. Adding the police to my growing list of enemies was a terrible idea. Less than an hour from now, the effects of the potion would wear off, leaving me with a nasty backlash in the form of debilitating weakness. I needed to resolve this situation before that happened.


    "The witnesses will scatter if you don¡¯t act fast!" I reminded them.


    The mustachioed constable, the one who had been threatening me with his baton, nodded to his younger colleague, signaling him to handle the crowd. Then he turned back to me.


    "You¡¯re the¡­ ah, pardon me, sir. We might¡¯ve overreacted in the heat of the moment."


    "It happens," I said magnanimously, though I wasn¡¯t feeling particularly charitable.


    The constable, however, showed no signs of letting me off the hook.


    "If you¡¯d be so kind, we¡¯ll need you to come down to the station. You as well, miss."


    He turned to the girl, who was still dazed and shaky on her feet. With a surprising amount of care, he helped her stand.


    "You won¡¯t resist, will you?" he asked her firmly.


    The girl shook her head.


    "Good," he said, summing up the situation with an air of satisfaction. Then he shouted to his younger colleague, "Johnny, if the statements match, we¡¯ll need three of them for the report. Let¡¯s go, miss."


    The girl obediently followed the constable, her movements sluggish and defeated.


    "Wait a moment!" I called out, suddenly remembering something. I bent down to pick up the basket and skirt Cap had left behind.


    "This is hers," I explained, holding them up.


    The constable gave me a dubious look but didn¡¯t object, and I carried the items over to where the girl was waiting. She glanced at the basket, her expression a mix of surprise and embarrassment, before quietly taking it from my hands.

 Chapter 9

    As we walked, I wanted to explain my version of events to the constable. The fact that the girl seemed too shaken to gather her thoughts worked in my favor, and I planned to take advantage of her subdued state to get her to confirm my story. Not the most noble tactic, I admit, but sometimes you have to play dirty. Unfortunately, the constable dashed my plans by stating that both parties had to be questioned separately.


    At least the nearest police station was in Pubset, only four blocks away.


    The moment we crossed the threshold, the constable promptly handed us off to the desk sergeant with all the deference of a man ridding himself of a headache. Not that he disappeared entirely ¨C he relayed the situation and stayed on as our escort ¨C but he made it clear that he wasn¡¯t making any further decisions.


    The sergeant, a middle-aged man with tired, beady eyes, looked us over before pulling out two wooden boxes and placing them on the desk.


    "Personal belongings, valuables, and weapons go in here," he grumbled.


    The girl slipped off an unremarkable ring, unclasped her pendant, emptied a handful of coins into the box, and set her basket on top.


    I removed my pistol from its holster, which made the constables visibly tense. Without missing a beat, I ejected the magazine and racked the slide to eject the chambered round. My actions were accompanied by a running commentary.


    "FN Model 1910, seven-round magazine, .45 caliber, artifact-modified. Reservoir stone fully charged. Rounds in the magazine - " I slid the ejected round back into the magazine - "seven. First round artifact-modified for armor penetration. Reservoir charge ¨C full."


    Okay, "fully charge" might¡¯ve been an overstatement, but the tiny shard of corundum embedded in it was no joke.


    "The dagger¡­" I hesitated. It was a warlock¡¯s blade, but its owner was dead. I wasn¡¯t capable of using its powers, and calling it anything else might lead to unforeseen complications. "Hunting dagger, sheathed. And a satchel¡­"


    I noticed the constables and the girl watching me with a mix of suspicion and unease. Especially the girl ¨C she was probably imagining what might have happened if I¡¯d gone for the pistol instead of the vial earlier.


    "Sergeant," I said, snapping him out of his stupor, "aren¡¯t you supposed to document this?"


    "Later," he muttered dismissively.


    "Now, if you don¡¯t mind," I insisted, my voice firm. "And I¡¯d like a copy of the inventory, signed by you."


    The sergeant¡¯s expression darkened as he remembered who held the power in the room ¨C or thought he did.


    "Listen here, boy," he barked. "You think you¡¯re something special because you bought yourself some fancy toys?!"


    "I think the police are obligated to follow the law!" I shot back, raising my voice to match his. "Write the inventory. Or give me a written refusal to do so!"


    "Are you some duke¡¯s bastard?" the sergeant retorted, his tone still hostile but now laced with caution. "Or did that rotten brew of yours mess with your head?"


    "Brew?! A rotten brew?!" He had the nerve to call Aunt Ailie¡¯s work a rotten brew?! If Uncle Bryce ¨C or anyone from the clan, even Feron ¨C heard this, they¡¯d make mincemeat of this idiot.


    "Second-category combat tonic," I replied icily. "Market price: ten pounds a vial."


    The room fell silent. After hearing that figure, the constables and even the girl began looking at me with renewed curiosity. A man in a brown civilian suit, who had been observing from the side, finally decided to intervene.


    "What¡¯s going on here?"


    "Nothing much," the sergeant said, waving dismissively in my direction. "Just some rich country boy throwing his weight around."


    What the hell was it about my clothes that made people assume I¡¯m a country boy?


    "Detective Inspector John Sunset," the man introduced himself, flipping open his jacket to reveal a badge pinned to his vest.


    "A pleasure, Inspector. My name is¡­" I hesitated. Too many people were watching, and rumors had a way of spreading. The chances of anything reaching Simon were slim, but I didn¡¯t want to take any risks. "Magnus," I said finally, using my middle name.


    The pause didn¡¯t escape the inspector¡¯s notice.


    "The constable refuses to document my belongings," I explained.


    "Who cares about his junk?" the sergeant muttered dismissively.


    Without thinking, I reached into my bag and pulled out a dual-compartment vial. The liquid in one compartment was designed to mix with the powder in the other when it reached the mouth.


    "Are you familiar with this marking?" I asked, holding the vial out toward the detective. Sunset raised an eyebrow in curiosity, his expression turning sharp. I pressed on. "I didn¡¯t provoke the fight. I didn¡¯t make the first threat. And I certainly wasn¡¯t the one who hit first!"


    "Nathan is just a child!" the shifter girl protested.


    "A pickpocket and a gang member!" I shot back.


    "Quiet," the detective ordered firmly, silencing both of us.


    "It¡¯s been a bad day," I said, letting some of my frustration seep into my voice. "I don¡¯t want to risk my valuable possessions, especially considering the negligence your sergeant has demonstrated."


    The sergeant flushed with anger, his face reddening, but Sunset¡¯s stern gaze forced him to bite his tongue.


    "Clarke, take the box," Sunset instructed. Then, turning to me, he asked, "Will you be satisfied if your belongings remain within your sight at all times?"


    "Completely," I replied with a curt nod.


    "Your bag as well," the detective added.


    I slung the satchel off my shoulder and placed it into the box, which the mustached constable took into his hands with a scowl.


    "Continue," Sunset said, gesturing for me to proceed.


    With an audible sigh, I removed my rings, turned out my pockets, and set the contents in the box. However, I left the string with the amulet and baronial ring around my neck untouched, and I saved my passport for last.


    As expected, Sunset took the document immediately. I braced myself, unsure of how he¡¯d react, but all he did was let out a soft hum of acknowledgment.


    "Let¡¯s move to my office. You too, young lady," he said, motioning to the girl. "Clarke, stay close to¡­ Magnus."


    I was led upstairs to a modest office, where I was invited to enter first. The box was placed on the windowsill, and Clarke was stationed outside the door.


    Sunset walked over to a bookshelf and pulled down a thick tome titled The Register of Aristocratic Houses of Duthigh. Flipping through the pages, he found what he was looking for.


    "So, what brings the great-grandson of the Earl of Bremore to Farnell?" he asked. "Last time I¡¯ve seen a potion like that during my army days, Lord. Are you here to wage war?"


    "First of all, I¡¯m the nephew of the new Earl, not his great-grandson," I corrected. "He hasn¡¯t had a great-grandson yet. Secondly, that potion is just something left over from my student days."


    "Interesting education you had, Lord Loxlin," Sunset remarked, his tone skeptical. "And what exactly was the dispute with the young lady about?"


    "Only my education is the reason I managed to make it to the station on my own," I said with a dry chuckle. "As for the young lady ¨C she¡¯s a shifter."


    I gave him an abridged version of events, starting with Cap, but left out the true reason I¡¯d been chasing the boy. Sunset listened attentively but made no comment.


    After the conversation, I was unceremoniously ushered out of the office with my box while the girl was invited in. Just as I stepped out, the second constable arrived with statements from witnesses.


    Not long after, the detective returned and informed me I was free to go.


    The timing couldn¡¯t have been better. The effects of the combat potion had worn off, leaving me drained and unsteady. I staggered out of the station, running on sheer willpower.


    Thankfully, Pubset was the entertainment district. The first caf¨¦ I spotted was conveniently located across from the police station. It was a no-frills establishment, the kind of place frequented by policemen, which likely meant cheap and decent food.


    Inside, the lunchtime rush had already ended, leaving the caf¨¦ quiet with only a handful of patrons. I chose an empty table near the window and motioned for a waiter.


    "Do you have black pudding?" I asked.


    "Blood sausages," the waiter replied. "Filling without liver."If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "Blood ¨C just what I needed for recovery." I thought to myself as the waiter confirmed they served blood sausages. I¡¯d heard that some forward thinkers advocated banning its consumption, claiming it made us too similar to bloodsuckers. But in the clan, black pudding was considered a traditional recovery dish.


    It was a pity the sausages didn¡¯t include liver, but to compensate, I added two large, greasy pork chops to my order, followed by an apple pudding for dessert and a massive cup of strong black tea with milk. I barely managed to finish it all. By the end, I wasn¡¯t sure if the sweat beading on my forehead was from the potion¡¯s aftereffects or from the sheer exhaustion of chewing. Still, I had filled my stomach with sustenance and my body with natural energy. I ordered a second cup of tea and pulled out my notebook and pen. Turning to a fresh page, I jotted down the day¡¯s date and quickly summarized the events. Only then did I finally turn my full attention to the bigger questions.


    The main thing gnawing at me was the identity of the woman in the taxi. Ferrish had clearly wanted her dead just as badly as Simon. The moment was fleeting, and I hadn¡¯t fully grasped the connection, but it seemed even the reward for her was the same. This meant the spirit didn¡¯t care specifically about Simon; what mattered to it was whatever tied this woman to the Ferons. And most likely to the vampires Uncle Bryce had encountered during the war.


    But how was I supposed to find them? Wander the streets with a dagger in hand?


    I pulled the dagger out of my pocket and glanced at the other patrons in the caf¨¦. Then I turned my gaze out the window toward the street...


    And froze.


    The shifter girl ¨C Ellie ¨C was walking along the pavement with another woman.


    Wasn¡¯t she supposed to be punished?


    Huh. This was the perfect chance to ask a few questions. She wouldn¡¯t dare start another fight right here in front of the station. Worst case, if things really went sideways, they¡¯d send me packing in the most personal way imaginable. I wouldn¡¯t be thrilled about it, but who knows? Maybe it¡¯d work out. The key was to ask the right question... now I just had to figure out what that question was.


    "Waiter! The bill, please, quickly."


    "One moment, sir."


    "I¡¯m in a hurry, my good man. Will a quarter cover it?"


    "Uh... yes."


    "Here. Keep the change. Good day."


    At this rate, I¡¯d be broke in no time. Stories about young men squandering their inheritance in the city suddenly made a lot more sense. I needed to start budgeting better.


    Before approaching, I decided to observe the girls from a distance. My eyesight was sharp enough for it. Ellie¡¯s companion was taller than her ¨C possibly taller than me, thanks to her heels. She had a slender figure wrapped in a green dress, walked with confident poise, and laughed with a bright, ringing voice. Her fiery red hair cascaded down in thick, cloud-like waves.


    She was stunning. My eyes lingered a little too long on her.


    Interesting... but wait, that wasn¡¯t a dress.


    The skirt appeared to detach, just like Ellie¡¯s had. Another shifter, perhaps?


    Taking advantage of the fact that they hadn¡¯t noticed me yet, I applied some concealment-revealing ointment to my third eye.


    Ellie¡¯s spiritual core bloomed on her back like a green flower. Unfortunately, the ointment didn¡¯t allow me to see the spirit at its center ¨C such clarity required an entirely different level of preparation. The redhead¡¯s spiritual core, by contrast, was poorly developed, not much better than mine. However, her elemental source, situated lower¡­ in her body... well, it blazed bright red.


    A fire elementalist.


    What was I getting myself into?


    Calm down. The station is still in sight.


    That reassurance helped settle me, and I decided to act before they turned the corner. Wiping the ointment from my forehead, I quickened my pace. Strangely enough, the vision it provided didn¡¯t immediately fade; it seemed to have absorbed into my skin.


    Ellie flinched slightly and turned her head. Could she sense the mark? I assessed the distance between us. Her senses weren¡¯t as sharp as Logan¡¯s, thankfully.


    The girls paused and exchanged a few words as I approached.


    "Good afternoon, ladies," I greeted, my tone polite.


    "Good afternoon, sir," the redhead responded. "Are you following us?"


    "In a manner of speaking. But I¡¯m not after you," I said, directing a meaningful look at Ellie. "If I¡¯m not mistaken, your name is Ella..."


    "It¡¯s Ellie," she corrected me.


    "My apologies. Shall we sit somewhere and talk? My treat."


    "You''re quite bold, mister!" the redhead laughed, her voice bright and mocking. "Or is this some clever move? Beat up a girl first, then invite her on a date?"


    A few passersby turned their heads in surprise, clearly intrigued by the exchange.


    "Oh, no need to worry this time," I said lightly, keeping my tone calm. "I simply want to know why the shifter lady decided to attack me."


    "And if we refuse?" she asked, her eyebrow arched. "Are you going to drag us there by force?"


    "I¡¯ll just return to the station, have a little chat with Detective Inspector Sunset, and perhaps file an official report about the assault," I said with a faint smirk.


    "Fin," Ellie tugged at the redhead¡¯s sleeve, her voice low and urgent. "Let¡¯s not. I¡¯ll agree."


    But Fin was already riled up, and she wasn¡¯t calming down anytime soon. I saw the air around her right hand shimmer as crimson energy began to swirl and condense into a vortex.


    "You think some papers will save you?" she began confidently, thrusting her glowing palm forward.


    I stepped closer, without hesitation, and jabbed my index finger directly into the molten core of her fire vortex. Channeling a small drop of my personal energy, I disrupted the unstable magic. The swirling power around her hand erupted, bursting outward in a wave of scorching heat. The acrid stench of singed hair filled the air, and pain shot through my burned finger like lightning. It took every ounce of my willpower not to yelp, though I was already planning to rub ointment on it later.


    "Keep your temper in check," I said, my voice firm, pointing to the police station behind me. "You¡¯re both going to end up in there."


    "Fin, stop it!" Ellie said sharply, and it seemed to finally have an effect.


    Fin, however, wasn¡¯t ready to let it go. She shoved her clenched fist in my face, displaying a tiny gold signet ring on her ring finger.


    "You sure you want to pick a fight with the Flowers?" she asked with a cocky grin.


    "Is that an official declaration?" I asked, keeping my tone measured.


    "Spark, don¡¯t you dare!" Ellie barked, her voice snapping with authority.


    "Shut it, Goat," Fin shot back. "Yeah, boy, this is for real."


    Calmly, I reached under my collar and pulled out the string holding my amulet and baronial ring. Under the watchful eyes of both girls, I untied the knot and slid the ring off the cord.


    Their expressions shifted as I slid the signet ring onto the little finger of my left hand, claiming the role of head of my house and bearer of my title.


    "I seem to have forgotten my manners," I said evenly, letting the weight of my next words sink in. "Lord Loxlin. My clan hasn¡¯t hunted elementalists in quite some time."


    "You''re an idiot," Ellie muttered to Fin before the redhead could respond. She quickly turned to me, her tone suddenly conciliatory. "Perhaps we can still come to an agreement?"


    "We could¡¯ve done that from the start," I said with a trace of superiority, letting my newfound leverage show. Not my proudest moment, but the sense of control was intoxicating.


    "There¡¯s a pastry shop nearby," Ellie offered, her tone more composed.


    "Lead the way," I said, then paused, remembering my manners. "May I carry your basket for you?"


    "Thank you," Ellie replied softly, handing me the basket while shooting a pointed glare at Fin.


    The pastry shop exceeded all my expectations. The cakes and tarts were absolutely delicious, though the sob story about Nathan and Clint Sparrow left a bitter taste in my mouth.


    It turned out Cap (Nathan) and Knuckles (Clint) were brothers. The moment I heard their story, I regretted my earlier decision to use them. Years ago, their family, headed by Esquire Sparrow, had lived in the old city district, near the families of Lord Flower and mister Sheridan ¨C Ellie¡¯s father. The children had grown up as friends.


    But seven years ago, tragedy struck. Esquire Sparrow¡¯s wife fell ill and passed away. Consumed by grief, Sparrow drowned his sorrows in alcohol and quickly lost his law practice. Within a year, he had hanged himself in a drunken stupor.


    Even in death, the man found no peace. His spirit began haunting his children, visiting them as a ghost. Meanwhile, the authorities took an interest in the orphans. With no close relatives to claim them, the boys were sent to an orphanage. Their haunted family home was sold for a pittance, the money funneled into the institution that had taken them in. But Nathan and Clint escaped at the first opportunity. They found refuge in the slums of Smuggler¡¯s Bay, surviving through petty theft and other illicit activities.


    Ellie Sheridan seemed to have developed either a maternal instinct or a big sister complex toward Nathan. She fed him regularly, much to the delight of the boy and his older brother, Clint. Finella Flower, Ellie¡¯s fiery redheaded friend, had also gotten involved in this little charity project. From their perspective, I wasn¡¯t the victim in this situation ¨C I was the thief, and they were merely defending the innocent: Ellie protected a helpless child, while Finella stood guard over her younger friend.


    Wearing the skin of a thief was an uncomfortable role, one that nearly pushed me to give in to emotion. There was a brief urge to confess my intentions outright, but I smothered it before it could fully form.


    "I have no real interest in your boys," I admitted at last. "They tried to rob me, and now I believe they owe me a debt. But it¡¯s a debt you ladies can repay, if you¡¯re so inclined."


    "How much?" Finella asked boldly, her tone sharp.


    I chuckled and shook my head.


    "Money isn¡¯t what I¡¯m after."


    "Then what?" Ellie asked, her brow furrowed in confusion. "What could a couple of homeless orphans possibly have that you¡¯d want?"


    "Information," I replied, my tone as serious as stone. "Let¡¯s make something clear, ladies. If you decide to take on the Sparrow brothers'' debt, you don¡¯t get to ask why I need this information. In return, I¡¯ll forget about your¡­ indiscretions." I let my gaze rest pointedly on Finella. "And you¡¯ll do everything in your power to get me the answers I¡¯m looking for. Or you¡¯ll direct me to someone who can."


    I gave them a moment to consider my offer and used the time to slip my signet ring back onto the string with my amulet.


    "And if we refuse?" Finella challenged, her green eyes narrowing.


    "Spark!" Ellie hissed, clearly exasperated.


    "Is this a family feud?" Finella pressed. "I haven¡¯t seen anything about it in the papers yet."


    The redhead¡¯s unusually serious demeanor surprised me.


    "No," I said simply. "It¡¯s a hunt. For one man. But he may very well be connected to others ¨C less pleasant and far more dangerous individuals."


    "What chance do two orphans have against those kinds of people?" Ellie asked, her voice tinged with concern.


    "Oh, come on now. Don¡¯t make me out to be some kind of villain," I retorted. "Street kids like them already know a lot. And for the record, I was planning to pay them. Honestly!"


    "Name your clan," Finella demanded, her voice firm.


    "Look it up in the Register of Houses," I shot back, irritation creeping into my tone.


    "And what if we just pass your questions along to them?" Ellie suggested.


    "Then what use are you to me?" I countered. "If you¡¯re involved, I expect a personal contribution. Ask your family, your friends¡­ My questions aren¡¯t exactly top secret. I¡¯m new to Farnell, while you¡¯ve lived here and know this city inside out."


    "Fine!" Ellie agreed, her tone resolute.


    "And who¡¯s the idiot now?" Finella scoffed. "You didn¡¯t even negotiate."


    "This isn¡¯t a market stall, Spark," Ellie snapped. "Ask your questions, Lord."


    I glanced meaningfully at the redhead, silently prompting her to agree.


    "Oh, fine," she said begrudgingly. "I¡¯m already stuck in this now."


    "What do you know about vampires in the city?" I asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.


    "I told you," Finella said with a smirk, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

 Chapter 10

    There were three official vampire nests in Farnell, each home to about a dozen bloodsuckers. Most of them were women. Their numbers leaned female due to the physiological limitations that vampirism imposed on male vampires. Their regular blood flow ceased entirely, and certain pleasurable aspects of mortal life only became accessible after a proper feast. Sure, blood could be bought at most butcher shops and slaughterhouses, but overindulgence could send even the most disciplined vampire spiraling into dangerous mental instability.


    Even so, two of the city¡¯s three ''parents'' were men, all of them wealthy bastards. Accumulating a fortune wasn¡¯t exactly hard when you lived for three centuries, two of them spent in a prosperous city. Rumor had it that this system had been designed by a certain illustrious ancestor of the current Duke of Farnell. He personally selected three mature vampires from rival princes and permitted them to lead the city¡¯s blood-drinking community during Farnell¡¯s most explosive period of development. Before this, vampires had caused endless problems, but the newly anointed ¡®patriarchs¡¯ quickly divided the city into territories, drove out other bloodsuckers, and established their nests.


    Various lords and governors had tried to overturn the system, but it proved surprisingly resilient, satisfying both aristocrats and state officials. Predators took on the roles of businessmen, patrons of the arts, and connoisseurs, but they didn¡¯t fundamentally change their nature. Blood still flowed in the darkness of the night, and when it became too frequent, the holy brothers could ¡®confess¡¯ a vampire or two. About a century and a half ago, this led to one of the patriarchs being replaced. Only a miracle, along with the Duke¡¯s support, allowed his successor to hold onto their position.


    ¡°How many of these brothers are there in the city?¡± I asked the girls. Honestly, I¡¯d kind of overlooked the combat orders of the clergy. In my defense, my family wasn¡¯t exactly pious. Though I think Father Martin was a member of¡­ what was it again? ¡°The Coulier Order?¡±


    ¡°There are plenty of Hospitaliers, and a few operatives of the Righteous Hand,¡± Ellie said.


    ¡°Vicar Max Coulier, if I¡¯m not mistaken,¡± Spark added. ¡°He borrowed some empty fire stones for exorcisms from my brother about a year ago.¡±


    ¡°Was someone possessed by a fire spirit?¡± I asked.


    ¡°A year ago, there were fires breaking out all over Rapsey. Then, just like that, they stopped,¡± Ellie said.


    ¡°The timing matches,¡± Spark confirmed.


    ¡°Where does he live?¡± I asked.


    The girls shrugged in unison, but Spark went a step further. ¡°He serves at St. Paul¡¯s Cathedral, right on the border between Rapsey and the Old City. You might want to ask him about the bloodsuckers. The Church definitely keeps an eye on them. Plus, he probably has connections with the Hands of Righteousness.¡±


    ¡°Fine. That settles this question. What¡¯s the deal with Harry Smith and the Fairburns?¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s Smith?¡± Ellie asked, looking puzzled.


    ¡°Sledgehammer Harry,¡± Spark clarified.


    ¡°Oh, him¡­ There hasn¡¯t been any news about him for a year now.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because few people know the truth. I heard it from my brother. Turns out, the guy¡¯s a genius.¡±


    ¡°Not surprising, considering he restored James¡¯s sight,¡± Ellie added. ¡°Though you wouldn¡¯t guess it from his reputation.¡±


    ¡°What reputation?¡± I couldn¡¯t resist asking.


    ¡°Well, he¡¯s knocked out a lot of teeth. Literally.¡±


    ¡°About seven years ago, when Harry first settled in Farnell, he didn¡¯t leave much of an impression,¡± Spark began. ¡°Kind of like you, actually¡­ no offense. Maybe worse. He didn¡¯t have a clue about manners. An older, penniless rural wizard without a title or connections, willing to work for whatever he could get. But a mage is a mage, and there¡¯s always work for one. He churned out basic enchanted artifacts, summoned spirits, banished spirits, set up protective barriers on houses, brewed potions, and dabbled in healing. At first, no one took him seriously. But when wealthy clients started seeking him out, his competitors tried to squeeze him out. And that¡¯s when the teeth started flying. Did I mention his lack of manners?¡±


    "So, the conflict with the Fairburns..."


    "No! The Fairburns are a whole other league. Their clients are exclusively the wealthy ¨C the elite. Do you want the backstory first, or should I jump straight to the conflict?"


    "Start with the backstory." I was curious to know more about the man whose house I¡¯d stayed in. Sure, Harry had given me quite the terrifying welcome, but later he turned out to be intelligent and surprisingly sociable.


    Spark leaned back in her chair, clearly enjoying the chance to recount some drama. "After the competitors came the criminals, offering him ''protection.'' I can¡¯t say for sure if any vampires got involved, but after a couple of heated clashes, Harry wound up in the lockup. That¡¯s where he caught the attention of de Camp¡¯s people."


    "And de Camp is¡­?"


    "His Worship, Mayor de Camp. He asked Harry to track down the Butcher of Smuggler¡¯s Bay. There¡¯s always some sort of madness happening there, but this particular werewolf had really gone off the rails."


    I just nodded. My family had often taken contracts to hunt werewolves. Lycanthropy was a terrifying affliction that corrupted the spiritual heart, reshaped both the physical and subtle bodies, and twisted the mind of the host. Vampires were a similar case, but the root of their transformation lay in the elemental source. They gained power much more slowly, which might explain why they lost their minds less often. Vampires typically reached mastery at around three hundred years of age, but a werewolf, if fortunate enough to feed on strong hearts, could match them in as little as a decade.


    "Harry tracked him down," Spark continued, "and flattened him. Literally. De Camp pulled some strings and got him a knighthood, and Harry bought that manor himself."


    "How was it even up for sale?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "If it¡¯s sitting on a nexus?"


    Nexuses were intersections of at least three ley lines, the magical veins of the planet, where new places of power could form. Older, naturally occurring places of power could sit on far more ley lines. The Ancient Stones rested on seven ley lines, while the Royal Source in the capital sat at the junction of thirteen. In Bremor Forest, three out of five of our places of power were natural, while the other two were shaped by my ancestors. Bald Hill, a lightning place of power, was the youngest ¨C only a century and a half old.


    "There wasn¡¯t a nexus there before," Spark said with a smirk. "But there were three ley line intersections in nearby neighborhoods, all unsuitable for activation. Harry pulled them into his own property."


    "He what?!" I sat up straight. "Is that even possible?"


    I knew ley lines weren¡¯t stable. Over time, they could shift, literally redirecting to other places of power. I also knew places of power could be sealed off, but I¡¯d never heard of anyone controlling the process.


    "I hadn¡¯t either," Spark admitted. "But somehow, he did it."


    "Three intersections," I calculated aloud. "That¡¯s six ley lines, right?"


    "Four," Spark corrected. "They overlap each other."


    "And the Fairburns?"


    "They had their sights on a nexus of their own. The grandfather of the current baron bought the land decades ago, where a third line was slowly converging toward a stable intersection. It would¡¯ve been ready in about five to ten years¡­"


    "Let me guess," I interrupted, "one of the lines Harry redirected was theirs."


    "Exactly. And it veered away from their land."


    "So why didn¡¯t they kill him?"


    I was starting to realize Harry was tougher than he looked, but he was still just one man. And a place of power meant money, influence, and potentially a new title for the family.


    "De Camp," Ellie explained. "He¡¯ll get certain benefits if Harry succeeds. Plus, the Fairburns already have one place of power. A second one would make them too influential. And since Harry has no heirs, if he finishes before he dies¡­"


    "The place of power will go to the state," I guessed.


    "To the city, to be exact," Ellie clarified. "That¡¯s why the Fairburns aren¡¯t going all-out. Not too much, at least. If they¡¯re not careful, their own place of power might end up reverting to the city under certain conditions."


    I needed to get out of Harry¡¯s place, and fast.


    ¡°Ladies, my dear friends,¡± I began, trying to sound polite. ¡°I need a house.¡±


    ¡°To buy?¡± Ellie asked, her eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hairline.


    ¡°To rent!¡± Buying would be like throwing money into the wind, though I did have enough for that. Three thousand would cover it ¨C maybe even twice or three times if I settled for a shabby house. But settling here wasn¡¯t my goal. ¡°Something modest, maybe just a room, but with landlords who won¡¯t stick their noses into my business. And a quiet neighborhood ¨C someplace without a lot of visible crime.¡±


    ¡°The Wilcox house,¡± Ellie said immediately. ¡°It¡¯s near us in Old Town. After her husband passed away, old Mrs. Wilcox moved in with her son in New High, but she doesn¡¯t want to sell the place.¡±


    ¡°Perfect. Shall we go see it?¡± I jumped to my feet, already reaching into my pocket for some cash to cover the tea.


    ¡°Hold your horses!¡± Ellie waved me back down into my chair.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Oh, my apologies,¡± I said, misinterpreting her protest. ¡°Go ahead, finish your tea.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not that,¡± she dismissed with a sigh. ¡°Are those all your questions?¡±


    ¡°Not at all,¡± I admitted. I didn¡¯t have any more at the moment, but who knew what I¡¯d want to know later?


    ¡°Then ask them now.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve already satisfied my curiosity for the time being.¡±


    ¡°For the time being?¡± Spark cut in, her voice sharp. ¡°You planning to keep using us indefinitely?¡±


    ¡°Until I¡¯ve sorted out my situation,¡± I confessed.


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t the deal,¡± Spark snapped.


    I hesitated. She had a point; I was pushing my luck, and it wasn¡¯t exactly honorable or fair.


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I said after a moment. ¡°Help me find a place to stay, and we¡¯ll call it even.¡±


    ¡°Now, that¡¯s more like it,¡± the girls said, smiling as they drained their cups.


    I paid the bill, leaving a few extra coins as a tip, and waited while Ellie made a phone call to Mrs. Wilcox at her son¡¯s apartment from a nearby telephone booth. Once she confirmed the place was available, I flagged down a cab.


    Old Town was a patchwork of mismatched styles, each block starkly different from the next. The dense, drab apartment blocks of Pubset with their tiny courtyards stood beside centuries-old mansions, while further down the street were rows of quaint little houses with neat lawns and tidy porches. Yet, for all its eclecticism, the neighborhood exuded charm and order. The streets were clean, flowers spilled from window boxes and planters, and bursts of color adorned the balconies and pavement in decorative pots.


    The Wilcox house caught my eye immediately. It reminded me of my grandfather¡¯s home back in the clan¡¯s enclave in Avoc. A well-kept, two-story house surrounded by a thin strip of lawn and enclosed by a white picket fence no higher than my knee. Across the fence stood the larger Sheridan residence, and a little further down the street was the Flower estate, which Spark shared with her older brother.


    The cab dropped us off at the Sheridan house. Ellie quickly ran inside to retrieve the key to the Wilcox house, which Mrs. Wilcox had entrusted to her family, and then led me to the house.


    Inside, the place was just as charming as it looked on the outside, and it was clear the previous owner had an eye for comfort. However, the air was thick with the musty smell of age ¨C old carpets and furniture steeped in the scent of bygone years. I figured I could deal with that easily enough. I still had some air stored in an amethyst, and the formula for a cleansing spell would take me no more than an hour to calculate.


    What intrigued me more, though, was the subtle signal from the amulet on my chest. It hinted at secrets hidden within the house, stirring my curiosity.


    We were standing in the kitchen, and I was about to say yes when I noticed Ellie¡¯s sudden tension. She stood as still as a statue, her head slightly tilted, elongated ears straining to catch a sound. Then it struck me ¨C her ears! They were rolled into a shape like... a horn, a tube. She wasn¡¯t a predator at all. What kind of animal had ears like that? A goat?


    Wait a minute... was "Goat" not just a friendly insult, but an actual nickname?


    I gestured for Spark to pay attention and drew my pistol. Ellie immediately waved her hands, signaling for me to put it away. I shook my head firmly and mimed hitting with the pistol¡¯s butt instead of shooting. Then I gestured to ask where the sound was coming from.


    Reluctantly, Ellie pointed to the door leading to the backyard.


    I crept up to the window on tiptoes. Doing this in city shoes wouldn¡¯t have worked nearly as well ¨C and they had the nerve to call my country attire out of place! Carefully, I peeked past the curtain. Aside from a small table beneath an apple tree, nothing else came into view.


    I gripped the door handle, threw a glance at Ellie, and yanked the door open. My eyes swept the yard in an instant, but no opponent was in sight. Stepping out, I pivoted sharply, ¡°Freeze!¡± I barked, leveling my pistol at the figure pressed against the wall under the window.


    ¡°Knuckles?¡± I blurted, lowering the barrel but not holstering the weapon.


    ¡°Clint?¡± Ellie echoed in surprise, her ears returning to their normal form. ¡°What are you doing breaking into houses now?¡±


    ¡°Goat!¡± Clint began, his voice brimming with emotion as he abruptly stood up. But my raised pistol quickly reminded him to calm down.


    ¡°Cap¡¯s been taken,¡± he said, his words spilling out in a rush.


    ¡°What?¡± Ellie and I said in unison, though our tones couldn¡¯t have been more different.


    ¡°He went to Pubset and got caught on his way back. He wandered into Hunchback¡¯s turf, and they grabbed him.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll take his money and let him go,¡± I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. ¡°Or what, are they demanding ransom now?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s worse,¡± Clint growled, his eyes narrowing. ¡°Wait ¨C how do you know about the money?¡±


    ¡°I saw him in Pubset with your loot pouch,¡± I said flatly. ¡°Now tell me, why worse?¡±


    Ellie jumped in, her voice concerned. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t kill him, would they?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re gonna offer him up!¡± Clint hissed. ¡°Damn it, you don¡¯t even know what¡¯s been going on, do you? For the past two months, people have been disappearing in the slums ¨C mostly old folks, cripples, and other outcasts. But here¡¯s the weird part: drunkards and junkies are left alone.¡±


    ¡°Vampires?¡± I asked instinctively. It fit their pattern.


    ¡°Hell if I know,¡± Clint said, throwing his hands up. ¡°Whoever it is, they only hunt on Friday nights.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s tonight¡­¡± Spark muttered, then voiced the most important question of all: ¡°How does this... offering work?¡±


    ¡°I only know the rumors,¡± Clint admitted, pacing nervously. ¡°Hunchback dragged out an old pillory cage ¨C one of those medieval ones they used to put criminals on display in so people could throw rotten food at them. At night, they lock the victim inside, slap a padlock on the door, and leave the key nearby. They¡¯ve done this three times already.


    ¡°The first time, they threw in some cheap whore ¨C she cursed like a dockworker until something came for her. She screamed, though... like a pig at slaughter."


    ¡°Second time, it was an old addict. Nothing touched him, but someone opened the cage. The fool was so overjoyed, he got high on opium and died of an overdose before next morning.


    ¡°The third time, it was a homeless guy, a newer face. He kept quiet, but the cage was empty by sunrise.¡±


    ¡°Let me guess,¡± I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. ¡°No bodies were ever found?¡±


    ¡°Fucking right,¡± Clint confirmed bitterly.


    ¡°Language,¡± I said instinctively and waved my pistol for emphasis.


    Vampires were the most likely culprits, but there were other possibilities: possessed individuals, werewolves, and a whole host of rarer nasties like okami, wraiths, and rougarou. But one thing was clear ¨C this wasn¡¯t the work of a deranged human playing monster. Those types craved attention, often mimicking their supernatural idols to the letter. Whoever this was, they were careful and calculated, leaving no bodies behind to provide clues about their motives ¨C whether it was blood, a specific organ, or death itself.


    ¡°I¡¯ll call a cab!¡± Ellie said, snapping out of her thoughts.


    ¡°Freeze,¡± I ordered, instinctively raising my pistol toward her. Realizing what I¡¯d done, I immediately lowered it. ¡°Sorry. But think this through ¨C If you take Cap back, someone from Hunchback¡¯s gang will have to die.¡±


    ¡°Let them all die!¡± Clint barked, his face red with anger.


    ¡°That¡¯s one way,¡± I said, nodding. ¡°Otherwise, they won¡¯t forgive you. Sooner or later, they¡¯ll come for you and your brother.¡±


    ¡°Fuck them!¡± Clint snarled, but his bravado rang hollow.


    I pointed at Clint with the barrel of my pistol. "One more outburst, and I¡¯ll knock you out!" Then I turned to the girls, adding, "Your friend here isn¡¯t thinking straight. Maybe you two have a clearer head? Take Cap away from that cage, and the blood of the next victim will be on your hands."


    "And if we don¡¯t, it will be Cap¡¯s blood!" Ellie shot back, her voice sharp with emotion.


    Spark placed a calming hand on her friend¡¯s shoulder. "Do you have a better idea?"


    I nodded. "Catch the bastard. That cage is the perfect bait ¨C whatever monster¡¯s behind this, it¡¯s trained to see it as a free meal. It won¡¯t expect an ambush. I¡¯ve pulled off something like this before.¡±


    "Oh yeah? And how many monsters have you killed?" Clint sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. He didn¡¯t care about my motives or anyone else¡¯s life ¨C he only wanted to save his brother.


    It was the kind of question you couldn¡¯t avoid answering, and the timing didn¡¯t help. The girls were hesitant, and I was pitching a risky plan, unsure myself why I felt so compelled to help. Sure, I might¡¯ve played a minor role in Cap wandering into enemy territory, but what was driving me to hunt? I¡¯d always been cautious, overly so, according to my grandfather.


    Maybe that was the point. Back in the woods, I¡¯d always known someone was watching over me, ready to step in if things went south. But here¡­


    Who knows? It didn¡¯t matter now. I needed to answer, and more importantly, I needed backup.


    "Vampires," I sighed. "I¡¯ve had excellent training on the subject, joined a dozen hunts for dangerous forest creatures ¨C but there, I had experienced hunters covering my back. I¡¯m still adjusting to city life, and if we¡¯re talking urban monsters, I¡¯ve only taken down one fledgling vampire."


    A vampire who had once been my grandfather. But I wasn¡¯t about to say that out loud.


    "That¡¯s¡­" Spark started, hesitating before finishing, "One more vampire than us."


    A heavy silence hung in the air for a moment.


    "Fine," Clint finally said, his voice sharp with challenge. "Let¡¯s hear it, mighty hunter. What¡¯s the plan?"


    "First, let¡¯s talk payment," I said coolly. "What are you willing to offer in exchange for your brother¡¯s life?"


    "We could just go grab him ourselves!" Clint snapped, his anger flaring as he took a threatening step forward ¨C though not close enough to take a swing.


    "They," I said, motioning to the girls, "could do that. But you? You¡¯re in no position to do anything but beg for help."


    "We¡¯ll help!" Ellie scoffed, glaring at me as if I¡¯d turned into a greedy villain.


    "You¡¯ve already helped once today," I reminded her. "And that landed you in a police station. Your friend over here nearly started a war. Now you¡¯ve taken on someone else¡¯s debts, and the person who should¡¯ve paid them doesn¡¯t even know about your little act of charity. From his perspective, it was all for nothing. And now he¡¯s dragging you even deeper into trouble. Sure, go ahead ¨C rescue Cap. Maybe in a week or two, some vagrant will stab you in the street with a rusty, poisoned knife. There are plenty of cheap but effective ways to get even in this city."


    "What debts?" Clint asked, visibly taken aback.


    "You didn¡¯t repay me for the little ¡®incident¡¯ the other day," I said dryly. "The girls covered your debt."


    "He¡¯s right," Spark chimed in unexpectedly, crossing her arms. "You¡¯re always dragging Ellie into your messes. If you want to save your brother, then quit your life of crime. That¡¯s the price."


    "Spark!" Ellie exclaimed, outraged.


    "Goat, it¡¯s only fair," Spark insisted.


    "And what are we supposed to live on? Want us to go back to the orphanage?" Clint snarled.


    "Find honest work. Dockhands start at thirteen."


    "And drop dead by forty."


    "In the slums, you won¡¯t live to see thirty!" Spark snapped back.


    "Fine! I¡¯ll quit," Clint growled through gritted teeth. "Happy now?"


    "I¡¯m serious, Clint," Spark warned, her voice firm. "You don¡¯t get to walk back on this promise. I¡¯ll make sure you stick to it."


    "Yeah, yeah, I get it," Clint muttered before turning to me with a scowl. "And you, son of a bitch hunter, what the hell do you want for your help?"


    I stepped closer and drove my fist into his gut. Clint doubled over, collapsing onto the ground, gasping for air.


    "My mother," I said coldly, "was a wonderful woman. Remember, you¡¯re the one asking for a favor. Arrogance and insults have no place here."


    "I¡­ understand¡­ sir," Clint wheezed, clutching his stomach. "What do you want?"


    "A favor in return," I said. "Equal to the one I¡¯m giving you. And I promise I¡¯ll take your skills and abilities into account."


    "I don¡¯t¡­ understand," Clint admitted, blinking up at me in confusion.


    "This might not be my last hunt in Farnell."


    "No!" the girls protested in unison, their voices sharp and firm.

 Chapter 11

    Knuckles agreed. What choice did he have? The girls were still glaring at me like wolves, but Grandfather used to say that life was worth exactly as much as people were willing to pay for it. And Knuckles needed this price just as much as I did.


    ¡°Perfect,¡± I nodded. ¡°Keep in mind, I don¡¯t forgive betrayal. And as for hunting... well, you¡¯ll see for yourself. Let¡¯s not stand out here like fools. Let¡¯s head inside, make some tea. We¡¯ve got a lot to discuss. Don¡¯t get fidgety!¡± I snapped at Knuckles as he opened his mouth to speak. ¡°We¡¯ve got time until sunset.¡±


    I asked Finella to take care of the tea, and told Ellie to call old Lady Wilcox to arrange renting the house for the next month. While the girls were busy, I questioned Knuckles about the Hunchback¡¯s base and the girls about their abilities. Naturally, they didn¡¯t tell me everything, but Finella did mention she was skilled with fire. She preferred ordinary fireballs but could also unleash a concentrated beam. Her fire shields worked well against magical attacks but were somewhat weak against physical ones. A heavy pistol round could break through them about half the time. Ellie, like any shifter, had enhanced regeneration, excellent hearing, and quick reflexes. Her spirit wasn¡¯t a goat, as I had initially thought, but a roe deer, which gave her incredible speed over short distances and the ability to leap a four-meter fence without a running start. Her kicks were lethal.


    Knuckles couldn¡¯t boast of such skills, but he was a decent fighter for back-alley brawls.


    Once the tea was poured into cups, Ellie handed me a few sheets of paper and a pencil, while Knuckles helped draw a map of the neighborhood.


    ¡°First of all, we need to think about escape routes.¡±


    ¡°We could use the basements ¨C they¡¯re all interconnected,¡± Knuckles suggested.


    ¡°That¡¯s an option, but I wasn¡¯t talking about that. I mean injuries, wounds. We¡¯ll need transport.¡±


    ¡°A horse and carriage?¡±


    ¡°Horses are afraid of me, and they might panic at the beast. What about your buddy¡­ Talbot? His cab might do.¡±


    ¡°He won¡¯t agree.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s asking him? Although¡­ do you think I should talk to him?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    ¡°Fine, we¡¯ll handle that right after the planning. Is the cage big? Will I fit inside?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll be tight. It¡¯s one of those hanging cages they used to put on poles. Looks more like a birdcage.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s no good. We need a larger cage. Any ideas where to get one?¡±


    I asked more out of habit than expectation. Locking myself in a cage as bait was too risky. The mark ¨C damn it ¨C could ruin the whole plan. Who knows what kind of beast it was and how sensitive it was to etheric traces?


    ¡°The zoo?¡± Ellie unexpectedly suggested.


    ¡°As if they¡¯d just lend it to you,¡± Finella snorted.


    ¡°We could buy one¡­¡± I mused, calculating how much time and money it would take, including transport costs. ¡°No, too conspicuous.¡±


    I turned back to the sketch. The building surrounding the courtyard with the cage was shaped like a ¡°U,¡± similar to the alley where Knuckles and his gang had tried to corner me.


    ¡°Draw the roads and the neighboring buildings,¡± I asked.


    Knuckles quickly scratched out some crooked lines and squares. I picked the one across the street from the house and asked:


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°A three-story box, like everything else around here.¡±


    ¡°I take it everyone will be hiding in their homes like mice tonight?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Knuckles nodded.


    ¡°Finella, can you extinguish fire?¡±


    ¡°More like suppress it,¡± she replied.


    I checked my watch. Half past five. And so much still to do¡­


    ¡°Listen carefully, girls. Buy about three liters ¨C no, a liter and a half ¨C of kerosene and pour it into bottles, then change into something fit for the slums. Fin, hide your hair. Wait for Knuckles and me here. Oh, and some healing potions wouldn¡¯t hurt, but only if possible. Knuckles, can you buy a rifle and rounds at the ¡®Commode¡¯? I need a good one!¡±


    ¡°The f¡­ if I know¡­ I mean, I don¡¯t know. Nothing good in ¡®Commode.¡¯ If it¡¯s something like ¡®death arrows¡¯ or specialty rounds... There are a few places, but the prices there¡­ Whew! They might not even let me in.¡±


    ¡°Nothing illegal. A standard military Enfield will do. A shortened barrel is fine, as long as it shoots straight. Keep in mind, I¡¯ve only got two hundred on me.¡±


    ¡°Then why the hell are you asking me? If it¡¯s nothing illegal, just walk into any weapons shop.¡±


    ¡°Not just any, I need a reliable one.¡±


    ¡°Not my thing. In Pubset, there¡¯s ¡®The Royal Stag,¡¯ ¡®Thunder Bear,¡¯ and something like ¡®Powder Some-sort-of-shit.¡¯ I haven¡¯t been to any of them, though.¡±


    ¡°Ellie, be a dear and call us a cab.¡±


    The name ¡°Thunder Bear¡± caught my attention. With minimal information and limited time, it seemed as good a choice as any. Turns out, I wasn¡¯t wrong.


    The weapons shop was spacious, with the latest, including automatic, long-barreled models mounted on the walls. Under glass on the shelves lay an assortment of pistols and blades. The cheapest SMLE Mk2, with rifling still intact, cost me a tenner. After that, the salesman tried to sell me a branded ¡°Thunder¡± bullet, but it turned out to be carved from ivory. Sure, it looked impressive, but a true Thunder bullet is carved from Thunderbone.


    I had a few pistol rounds made of the real thing in my satchel, so I pulled one out for comparison. That¡¯s when things escalated. I raised my voice, called for the owner, and caused a bit of a scene. To my surprise, the owner actually showed up ¨C a gray-haired man with thick white mustaches who had been working in the repair shop attached to the store. He apologized for the fake bullet and, in an attempt to smooth things over, tried to give it to me as a gesture of goodwill. I wasn¡¯t having it. I told him I¡¯d only take a real one, and that¡¯s where he dug his heels in. In the end, I had to cough up an extra ten for the genuine round.


    Now I had a bullet imbued with the powerful paralyzing essence of lightning. A shot to the chest with this would kill instantly, though I wasn¡¯t planning to kill outright.


    A few more pounds bought me a holster, a box of basic cartridges, two coils of sturdy rope, and a pair of thick leather gloves.


    The next task was tracking down Talbot.


    It turned out this weasel had a legitimate job as a porter at the docks, where he¡¯d honed his skill for reading people and sharpened his nose for profit. But, like any respectable scoundrel, he didn¡¯t foul his own nest. Time was running short, so I slipped on my signet ring, turning the seal to the inside.


    We found Talbot resting under one of the columns in the central hall. We carefully flanked him, which was the right move because the bastard¡¯s first instinct, as soon as he saw me, was to run. I frowned, pulling back my coat to reveal the pistol holstered at my side.


    ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it, Johnny,¡± Knuckles hissed menacingly.


    ¡°You got a lot of nerve, punk.¡±


    ¡°Enough,¡± I ordered. ¡°We don¡¯t have time to convince you. Apologies in advance. Knuckles.¡±


    The boy smirked and, with a short swing, drove his lead-weighted fist into the porter¡¯s ribs.


    ¡°B-bastards,¡± Talbot wheezed, collapsing to his knees. ¡°I¡¯ll kill you brats.¡±


    ¡°I need a vehicle and a driver for the night,¡± I said. ¡°After that, we¡¯re even. Or, we can have Clint beat you to a pulp first, then head to the police and tell them how you¡¯ve been forcing starving homeless folks to rob travelers. Your choice.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you bastards!¡±


    ¡°Knuckles,¡± I prompted.


    The next punch sent the porter sprawling onto the floor.


    This didn¡¯t go unnoticed by the port police. One officer called out to his partner, and they both started heading towards us.


    ¡°Put away the knuckles and don¡¯t move,¡± I told Clint, then turned the signet ring outward to display the crest. ¡°And here come the noble guardians of order. Your choice, Talbot. With this situation, you won¡¯t just lose your job.¡±


    ¡°Fine!¡± he barked.


    ¡°Gentlemen,¡± I greeted the approaching officers, making sure they noticed the ring. ¡°Apologies for this minor incident. The porter was careless with a fragile package, and it upset me.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t give you the right to hit people!¡± one officer declared boldly.


    ¡°Do you think it would¡¯ve been better for me to file a complaint and get him fired?¡±


    ¡°Boy?¡± the constable addressed the porter.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, guys. Really, no big deal¡­¡± Talbot got to his feet and dusted himself off.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    The conflict was resolved. John took the rest of the day off, and we went to the pier to test the rifle. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore muffled the shots perfectly, and I finished before the golden hour, using that time to fetch the girls. I left the rest of my money ¨C except for some small change ¨C at Finella¡¯s house. They¡¯d already tried to rob me in the slums once before.


    With the last rays of sunlight, we arrived in the slums.


    I couldn¡¯t figure out why this district was so run-down compared to the overall wealth of Farnell. It wasn¡¯t even that the buildings were particularly old. As it turned out, before the Big War, this area was home to dock workers and craftsmen. But in ¡¯15, a fierce battle took place here. The enemy had used a caustic gas that dissolved lungs. Supposedly, wizards and healers had dealt with the aftermath, but every cough and sneeze here was still blamed on that poison. Only those with no other choice agreed to live here.


    I spent some of my pocket cash to rent a room on the third floor of a building across from the courtyard with the cage. That¡¯s where I stationed a noticeably shaken Talbot and Knuckles, whose role was to keep an eye on him. The car was left parked directly below.


    Naturally, there were people who decided to try their luck stealing such a valuable vehicle. After all, it wasn¡¯t that late yet. We were fortunate ¨C they turned out to be members of the Hunchback¡¯s gang. The girls were still downstairs and were the first to confront the audacious thieves. Finella didn¡¯t feel like ¡°lighting things up¡± and instead let Ellie stomp her hoof. The pair folded immediately, but by the time I came down, they had already crawled away.


    ¡°Well, ladies, shall we have some fun?¡± I asked. ¡°Ellie, flash your eyes when I say so. Finella, light a flame just enough for the Hunchback to see it. Make sure he sees it, and then snuff it out. Stay one step behind me and let me do the talking. I think I¡¯ve figured out how to handle this lot.¡±


    Our trio walked straight up to the central door of the building. I knocked.


    The door was opened by a skinny, hedgehog-haired guy who looked like a smaller version of Knuckles. This one was a bit shorter and had lost one of his front teeth somewhere along the way.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Certainly not you, my good man. Call the Hunchback.¡±


    ¡°What, you think the Hunchback¡¯s some errand girl? If you want him, you go to him yourself.¡±


    ¡°Then lead the way, or am I supposed to search the whole house myself?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t get lost, then!¡± the young thug sneered, darting inside the stairwell.


    As I stepped in, he had already dashed up the creaking stairs to the next landing.


    The interior of the building looked even worse than its exterior. The plaster had peeled off the walls decades ago. The wooden floors and beams were rotting. Some steps on the staircase were missing, and the ones that remained didn¡¯t inspire much confidence.


    ¡°Are you sure you¡¯ve figured it out?¡± Finella teased.


    ¡°I¡¯m starting to doubt it.¡±


    By the time we reached the second floor, our guide had sprinted down the hallway and disappeared behind one of many doors.


    The lighting here came exclusively from the surprisingly intact windows at either end of the corridor. The density of door frames gave the impression of a beehive ¨C an abandoned one. My vision allowed me to pick out the most dangerous spots where the floorboards had rotted or dried out.


    ¡°Step where I step,¡± I told the girls. ¡°Any guesses where they are? Ellie, can you tell?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t hear anything,¡± Ellie replied.


    ¡°Gentlemen!¡± I shouted. ¡°Don¡¯t waste my time.¡±


    One of the doors ahead opened.


    ¡°Lost your way, eh? Heh-heh,¡± the gap-toothed guide jeered and immediately ducked back inside.


    ¡°Follow my steps,¡± I reminded the girls, sidestepping the worst spots on the floor.


    Behind the door was a tiny, narrow room, but the adjacent wall ¨C made of thin wooden planks and plaster ¨C had been completely smashed through, forming a spacious passage into the neighboring room.


    There, lounging in a decent old armchair, was the Hunchback. Judging by his appearance, he could have been anywhere from twenty to thirty years old. His stern, and at times, almost attractive face was clean-shaven, his clothes neat, but the hump over his right shoulder ruined the impression. His right arm was significantly thicker than his left, the fist nearly one and a half times larger, and the old revolver in his hand looked like a toy.


    Of course, he had minions. Four of them, to be exact, armed with rusty cleavers and bats. They were significantly younger ¨C somewhere between fourteen and sixteen years old.


    Judging by the thick, uneven layer of fine debris on the floor and the smell of dust in the air, the wall had been broken recently. Notably, in our room, someone had thoughtfully spread an old carpet over the dust, but the tracks leading into the neighboring room stuck close to the wall. As trappers, these bandits were hopeless amateurs.


    I stopped just short of the carpet, leaving room for the girls to stand behind me.


    ¡°Esteemed¡­ scumbags,¡± I said. ¡°Allow me to introduce Lady Ellie¡­¡±


    I didn¡¯t see her flash her eyes, but I did notice how the bandits flinched.


    ¡°And Lady Finella¡­¡±


    This time, the reaction was even more dramatic.


    ¡°Now then,¡± I continued, drawing my pistol and cocking the hammer. ¡°Should I take this step forward?¡±


    The Hunchback paled and aimed his revolver at me, but said nothing. His minions fidgeted, casting nervous glances at their leader.


    ¡°Seriously?¡± I asked. ¡°I¡¯m wearing a Stone Skin ring. If you don¡¯t lower your gun, I¡¯ll shoot.¡±


    ¡°Bullshit! I¡¯ve got one too!¡±


    The Hunchback proudly displayed the ring on his right hand, his revolver''s barrel tilting upward to show it off. I drew my gun and fired, quick and precise, just as I had done countless times at the target range. Thanks, Grandpa. You were right ¨C It came in handy.


    My bullet struck his revolver. The weapon discharged as it flew out of his hand. The enemy¡¯s bullet lodged itself in the wall above us, while his revolver bounced off and smacked one of the boys square in the forehead.


    ¡°Freeze!¡± I said calmly.


    The Hunchback clutched his right hand with his left, stunned. His ring hadn¡¯t helped. Or rather, judging by the red streak on his cheek, it had helped ¨C but just barely. Who knows how¡­ Did my bullet ricocheted off the revolver?


    It meant he was still under the ring¡¯s protection, but the shock left him unable to use it.


    Slowly, I holstered my pistol and motioned for the bandit to approach with my finger.


    ¡°Come here. Come on, don¡¯t be afraid.¡±


    The Hunchback obediently rose to his feet. He took a few hesitant steps forward and froze at the edge of the carpet.


    ¡°Don¡¯t stop now,¡± I encouraged him. He took a step sideways.


    ¡°Straight!¡± I ordered.


    The Hunchback muttered a curse under his breath and stepped forward quickly.


    Under his weight, the carpet suddenly puffed up, folding around him to the point where it swallowed him whole before his body completely fell through the hidden hole beneath.


    Only his unnaturally strong right hand flashed above for a moment, trying to grab onto the wooden planks. His nails scraped uselessly against the old wood before slipping off.


    I approached the edge and looked down at the bandit sprawled awkwardly on the carpet below.


    ¡°Do not dig a pit for someone else¡­ Ever heard that saying?¡± I asked.


    The Hunchback didn¡¯t answer, but that was fine by me. He turned his head toward my voice, and that was enough.


    ¡°Here¡¯s what we¡¯re going to do next,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯re going to hand over Nathan Sparrow to me, and you¡¯re going to give the ladies a room on the third floor of either the right or left wing of the building, closer to the street.¡±


    ¡°I only control the central wing,¡± the Hunchback muttered.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯ve got five minutes, and then I¡¯ll get offended. I¡¯ll be waiting outside.¡± I stood up and glanced at the Hunchback¡¯s terrified minions. ¡°Toss me that piece of junk,¡± I told the gap-toothed kid, pointing at the revolver.


    He obeyed, though he picked it up with two fingers, as if it were the corpse of a venomous snake.


    The girls and I stepped outside.


    ¡°You know,¡± Finella said, ¡°you really pulled it off.¡±


    Nathan was brought out two minutes later. He immediately ran to hug Ellie but kept glancing at me with apprehension.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± I said, cutting the touching reunion short. ¡°Time¡¯s up.¡±


    ¡°Nathan, listen to Magnus. It¡¯s important!¡±


    Magnus? Oh, right, I¡¯d introduced myself using my middle name. Fine. If this works, maybe I¡¯ll start using my first name again.


    ¡°Come on, kid,¡± I ordered. ¡°I¡¯ll take you to your brother. Just don¡¯t run off.¡±


    ¡°Go,¡± Ellie instructed him.


    ¡°Here.¡± I shoved the revolver into the boy¡¯s hands to calm his nerves.


    While we talked, the Hunchback¡¯s minions dragged another homeless kid out into the street and locked him in the cage. Cap turned pale, the girls tensed, and the boy started to raise the revolver.


    ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it,¡± I hissed. ¡°It¡¯s not time yet.¡±


    I won¡¯t lie ¨C I wasn¡¯t entirely emotionless myself. I¡¯d have loved to crack a few heads, but I kept my composure and, in doing so, tested the girls. Even soft-hearted Ellie managed to hold herself back from doing anything rash.


    The unfamiliar kid screamed, sobbed, struggled, and even bit, but none of it helped. The thugs shoved him into the cage and locked it with a large padlock. They placed the key on a wooden tray about two meters away, closer to the building entrance.


    I glanced up at the window of the rented room.


    The cage was positioned with its door facing the building entrance and secured to the old asphalt with metal stakes. This blocked the view of the tray from the window. I couldn¡¯t turn the cage around to position the lock toward the window, but I could move the tray.


    ¡°Ellie, grab the key and try to open the cage. Make a scene,¡± I instructed, pulling out one of the paired vials from my pouch.


    Ellie must have misunderstood me because she genuinely started trying to unlock the cage, and I nearly had to wrestle the key away from her.


    ¡°Cap, bring me the tray,¡± I said.


    While everyone was watching the boy, I discreetly uncorked the vials and dripped a bit of two-component adhesive onto the key¡¯s head. I placed the tray between the cage and the right wing of the building, securing myself a good vantage point.


    The girls moved to their new position, while I returned to the room in the building across the street.


    I pulled out my dagger and carefully removed the slats holding the largest pane in the window frame. Missing glass was less suspicious than an open window. Even so, I didn¡¯t close mine completely, just enough to leave it ajar.


    I set a table in the middle of the room and tied one end of the rope to its leg. On top of the table, I set up a firing position, loaded the SMLE with a Thunder bullet, and smeared the ointment across my third eye. I slipped on a thick leather glove over my left hand.


    After half an hour of staring into the darkness, even my eyes were struggling to distinguish shapes. I had to mix a night vision potion with a drop of prolonger. This slightly weakened the original potion¡¯s effect but extended its duration. The lower intensity didn¡¯t matter much to me.


    A few minutes later, a figure emerged from the shadows near the wall. A man.


    My hand moved to touch the dagger, but it remained silent. A shame.


    The stranger moved slowly around the courtyard, approaching the tray but still staying out of sight of the captive.


    Absolutely silent, he darted toward the tray, lowered his hand, and his fingers brushed the key. But the adhesive held it firmly to the wood. The tray shifted slightly and scraped against the asphalt. The shadow froze in surprise, and I pulled the trigger.


    In the small room, the gunshot roared like a cannon blast. The enchanted bullet sliced through the darkness in a bright flash of lightning and struck the stranger¡¯s leg, erupting in a shower of blue sparks. The electric discharge arched the shadowy figure¡¯s body violently.


    I leapt over the table and kicked the window frame with my foot. A bit too hard. Even though the window was already open, the frame was sent flying out into the street.


    Still gripping the rifle in my right hand, I grabbed the rope with my left and swung out through the window. The leather glove screeched from the friction as I slid swiftly to the ground.


    From the third-floor window of the right wing of the building across the street, three bottles of kerosene flew out in quick succession, shattering on the asphalt below.


    I ran, leaping over the spreading kerosene puddles just in time to avoid the fireball that crashed down from above, igniting them in a blaze of hot flames.


    In the flickering glow of the fire, the vampire bared its fangs at me.

 Chapter 12

    It¡¯s hard to make a vampire talk when they don¡¯t feel the upper hand. And, as Grandfather used to say, this works both ways. Bloodsuckers become chatty either when their own power intoxicates them or when someone else¡¯s power breaks them in half.


    This one wasn¡¯t broken yet. Brought down to three limbs, sure, but not broken. And he didn¡¯t try to run! Was it the kerosene blaze behind him that held him back? Or was he a fledgling vampire? Maybe he¡¯d started believing in his own strength, still clinging to illusions and having never faced a worthy opponent. To someone who didn¡¯t know better, I might have seemed like just such a foe. That¡¯s what I was counting on. Close combat wasn¡¯t for me.


    Bloodsuckers are disturbingly resilient, almost impossibly so. As I ran, I chambered another round and fired from the hip, unloading the shot into the bastard¡¯s stomach. The vampire doubled over. I chambered the next round, closed the distance a little, and fired at his chest, but somehow the bloodsucker dodged and lunged at me, pushing off the ground with his hands and his uninjured leg.


    There wasn¡¯t time to work the bolt. I switched my grip on the rifle, grabbing it by the barrel, and swung upward like a golf club, aiming to strike the side of his head with the stock.


    The Enfield shuddered under the impact of his clawed hand, which barely missed tearing it from my grasp. The vampire¡¯s leap overshot its mark, and I wasn¡¯t standing still either, but he sprang upright on his good leg, thrusting a hand toward my jacket.


    I widened the distance just in time. These creatures aren¡¯t as strong as shifters, whose grip can crush bone, but even so, it would have been enough to end me. If not for his injured leg, half a step closer and he would¡¯ve caught me.


    I swung the Enfield again, aiming the stock at his good leg, but before the blow could gain momentum, I let go with my right hand and reached for my pistol.


    The vampire crouched and grabbed the stock before the strike landed. He yanked the rifle toward himself, and I let go with my left hand. Without resistance, the bloodsucker fell backward onto the ground but quickly sat up, pointed the rifle at me, and pulled the trigger to no avail.


    His right hand jerked toward the bolt, but I had already drawn my pistol, aimed, and fired. The bullet, enchanted for armor-piercing, tore through his right shoulder joint. His hand fell away from the bolt and dangled like a whip.


    The vampire snarled in pain and rage, switching the rifle to his left hand. Even with only one good arm, he had enough strength to swing it like a club, but I didn¡¯t give him the chance. Carefully aiming, I shot through his left shoulder joint.


    A regular bullet didn¡¯t go all the way through, but it forced him to drop the rifle.


    The situation had improved, but I couldn¡¯t forget the creature¡¯s insane regeneration. To be safe, I fired four more shots, shattering his elbows and wrists. Only then did I back away to a safe distance, refreshed the ointment on my forehead, pulled a pack of cartridges from my bag, and began quickly reloading the empty magazine.


    ¡°Ladies,¡± I called out.


    Ellie leapt from the third-floor window, making a lightning-quick dash in true shifter style, and appeared beside me. She was carrying a coil of rope, but I shook my head.


    ¡°Drop that for now. Take the rifle, cycle the bolt, and press the barrel to his head. If he so much as twitches, shoot him,¡± I ordered. ¡°And you, my dear friend, lie on your stomach.¡±


    The vampire¡¯s blood-filled eyes glinted as he growled, ¡°I¡¯ll drink your blood!¡±


    Did my position not seem dominating enough to him? I aimed the pistol at his last intact limb and fired the only round left in the chamber. No point leaving it there ¨C It was bad safety practice anyway.


    ¡°On your stomach!¡±


    Whimpering from the pain, the bloodsucker rolled onto his stomach but didn¡¯t stop running his mouth. Grandfather was right ¨C It really does loosen their tongues.


    ¡°You have no idea who you¡¯re messing with! My brothers and sisters will hunt you down! They¡¯ll gut your entire family!¡±


    Not a loner, then¡­ I stifled a yawn and inserted a fresh magazine into the pistol. It wasn¡¯t exactly good news, but it wasn¡¯t the end of the world, either. At least I¡¯d fought an overconfident fledgling. First, because I wouldn¡¯t have stood a chance against an experienced vampire, and second, because they wouldn¡¯t have made such rookie mistakes.


    ¡°Am I supposed to be scared? Of whom? You¡¯re more pitiful than anything else ¨C you just make me feel contempt and pity.¡±


    Unexpectedly, the vampire fell silent. A shame. I¡¯d hoped he¡¯d actually try to scare me by dropping the names of his relatives. Ideally, even his father¡¯s name. If he¡¯d done that, I could¡¯ve taken him to his father instead of the police. The nest would disown him ¨C he was too much of a liability. And that would¡¯ve greatly minimized any negative consequences for me.


    Finella burst out of the building, and I pointed her toward the fire.


    ¡°Boys,¡± I called and gestured to the Sparrow brothers, while pulling out my dagger. I pried the key off the tray, unlocked the cage holding the terrified child, and pointed to the open window I¡¯d just descended from. ¡°You can stay there for the night.¡±


    A few minutes later, Knuckles was covering the kerosene puddles with sand he¡¯d prepared in advance, while Finella ensured he didn¡¯t miss a single ember. The vampire remained silent, and I didn¡¯t want to interrogate him here.


    I asked Knuckles and Finella to handle tying him up. Using a fire sorcerer as a torch might¡¯ve been an over-the-top move, but my mind was elsewhere.


    My first solo hunt had left a bitter aftertaste. So many mistakes, so much overconfidence, and sheer dumb luck. Bollocks ¨C luck was the only reason I was still alive!


    How?! How had the idea of facing an unknown beast head-on even occurred to me? Why did I assume it would try to run? And what if it had been a werewolf? Well, fine, werewolves don¡¯t like fire ¨C I¡¯d prepared for that. I might¡¯ve gotten burned, but I¡¯d have survived.


    But my face? Why hadn¡¯t I thought about wearing a mask? I¡¯d put myself and the girls at risk. This was going to come back to haunt me ¨C If not with the bloodsucker¡­


    A gunshot rang out.


    I instantly drew my pistol and aimed it toward the sound.


    The vampire lay with a bullet hole in his head, while Ellie stood over him, trembling.


    Shock was frozen on the faces of both Finella and Knuckles. A few large drops of foreign brain matter slowly slid down the boy¡¯s face as he stopped, trying to realize if there still was any need to tie the vampire¡¯s hands.


    ¡°H-he twitched!¡± the shifter girl stammered.


    I smacked my forehead with my left hand and tiredly rubbed my face. I wanted to say a lot, most of it unfit for a lady¡¯s ears. But the truth was, there was no point blaming Ellie. This mistake was on me. I should¡¯ve known better than to trust her with a gun.


    ¡°In our current situation,¡± I said, ¡°tying him up is no longer necessary.¡±


    ¡°I-I didn¡¯t mean to¡­¡± Ellie whimpered, on the verge of tears. She was a city girl, probably had never even seen how chickens are slaughtered.


    ¡°Do you feel sorry for him? A bloodsucker who went off the rails and killed children?¡±


    Ellie let out a loud sob and froze. I¡¯d struck the right chord in her soul.


    ¡°Or were you planning to scold him and let him go after all this?¡±


    ¡°What were you planning to do with him?¡± the shifter girl asked.


    ¡°Take him to the nest so his father could deal with him. But now that¡¯s irrelevant. Knuckles, load the body into the trunk.¡±


    Ellie drifted into a strange semi-trance and couldn¡¯t seem to snap out of it. I sent her to fetch Cap and Talbot, though I could¡¯ve just called for them myself.


    ¡°How old are you?¡± Finella suddenly asked.


    ¡°Seventeen.¡±


    ¡°How do you manage to stay so calm?¡± Finella asked. ¡°I¡¯m a year older than you, I¡¯ve also been trained as a fighter, and I can barely¡­ Look, even Clint is shaking.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not shaking!¡± Knuckles snapped, but Finella waved him off and repeated her question.


    ¡°How?¡±


    I don¡¯t know what compelled me, but I answered honestly, saying what was in my heart.


    ¡°I was raised by a very wise grandfather, supported by decent people. And I try to be at least a little like them.¡±The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Family?¡± Finella asked. I nodded. She sighed bitterly.


    ¡°I only have my brother. But he¡¯s a decent person too!¡±


    ¡°Lucky you!¡± Knuckles sighed enviously. Well, of course, his father wasn¡¯t exactly someone you¡¯d want to emulate.


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t your mother a good person?¡±


    ¡°She was!¡± he answered sharply.


    ¡°Then you also have an example to follow. Speaking of examples, Fin, can you keep an eye on Ellie?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, she¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    ¡°Then we¡¯ll drop you off at home.¡±


    ¡°And the body?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to know.¡±


    Finella didn¡¯t press the matter.


    We dropped the girls off in the Old City. Finella took Ellie to her place, and we headed for the remote pier at Smuggler¡¯s Bay. Talbot nearly fainted when he saw what was in the trunk. The scoundrel tried to bolt, so we had to scare him again. I left the job of intimidating him to Cap. For that, we handed him the revolver we¡¯d taken from the Hunchback, making sure to unload it first. Lesson learned from recent mistakes.


    The good thing about vampire corpses is that they don¡¯t bleed. Knuckles and I completely stripped it, going through every piece of clothing, but found not a single piece of jewelry, paper, or anything that could lead us to a clue. Evidently, this creature did have a brain and had prepared for its nighttime outings more thoroughly than I¡¯d expected.


    We dragged the body to the edge of the pier, tied a rock from the shore to its feet, and dropped it into the water. We double-checked the clothes before burning them on the beach. I wasn¡¯t under any illusions, but it should buy us a few quiet days. Similar thoughts seemed to cross Knuckles¡¯ mind as the fire crackled.


    ¡°A favor in return,¡± he asked. ¡°When and what? My brother and I need to split before the bloodsuckers catch us. And honestly, you should do the same.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m staying.¡±


    I understood the risk, but I didn¡¯t see another option ¨C I¡¯d left too many traces behind. The chain of events set off by my mistakes was only beginning. At least two people knew my real name. One of them was a government official. He struck me as a steadfast man, and everything would depend on who asked him about me and how. Harry was simpler ¨C he¡¯d practically isolated himself from the world.


    Now that was an idea.


    For the Sparrow brothers, staying in the city really was dangerous unless it was in a magic-fortified mansion under the supposed protection of His Worship himself. Harry had clearly been bored and had let his house fall into disrepair. Two hardworking boys might come in handy for him ¨C If they were hardworking. The taste of easy money stolen from someone¡¯s pocket has a way of killing people¡¯s desire to work.


    ¡°How do you feel about honest work?¡± I asked Knuckles.


    ¡°What kind of work?¡±


    ¡°Whatever needs to be done: dusting, sweeping the floor, washing dishes, cleaning toilets.¡±


    I added the last part intentionally, remembering how the older folks used to talk about the disgust criminals felt toward such work. Those who embraced the rotten thief¡¯s code saw cleaning toilets as beneath their dignity ¨C as if people with their lifestyle could even have dignity.


    ¡°Cleaning toilets? That¡¯s the favor you¡¯re asking in return?¡±


    I thought about saying ¡°no,¡± but instead, I replied differently.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°For how long?¡±


    ¡°A year. Every day.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll at least feed us, right?¡± Knuckles grumbled.


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°The debt is mine,¡± declared the older brother. ¡°Don¡¯t drag the kid into this crap.¡±


    ¡°So, you agree?¡±


    ¡°Do I have a bloody choice?!¡± Knuckles snapped.


    ¡°There¡¯s always a choice,¡± I countered. ¡°The options just might not look very different.¡±


    ¡°I promised the girls I¡¯d straighten up.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s worthy of respect.¡±


    Knuckles flinched as though I¡¯d spat in his face, clenched his fists, but held himself back.


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep my word, but I won¡¯t stand for humiliation!¡± he warned.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t even think of it. I genuinely mean what I said. I only mentioned cleaning toilets to gauge what you¡¯d agree to. So, what do you think about working as household staff? If the master agrees, no one will dare lay a finger on you in that house. Let¡¯s be upfront ¨C I¡¯m no angel. I still have business in this city, and you might come in handy for it. I want to keep you close so I can call in that favor when needed.¡±


    ¡°What kind of house is this, where even vampires¡­¡±


    ¡°A wizard¡¯s house. He¡¯s currently absorbed in a long-term project and hasn¡¯t left the mansion in ages. Competitors have been trying to interfere and have scared off all the staff. There¡¯s no protection outside the gates, but inside, you¡¯ll be entirely safe. The downside? You¡¯ll mostly have to eat the awful potatoes he grows in the garden.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the least of my worries,¡± Knuckles waved dismissively. ¡°Food isn¡¯t exactly gourmet in the slums. What¡¯s his name?¡±


    ¡°Harry Smith.¡±


    ¡°Sledgehammer Harry? We¡¯re in!¡±


    ¡°You agreed quickly¡­¡±


    ¡°The guy¡¯s got a reputation!¡± Knuckles said with conviction.


    ¡°Perfect.¡± I scraped together the coins in my pocket, coming up with a pound and three pence. ¡°Now, focus. Where can we buy some good bacon at this hour? It would put him in the right mood.¡±


    ¡°With that kind of money? Nowhere. Besides, didn¡¯t you say he only eats potatoes¡­ Oh, fine! Got a knife?¡±


    ¡°What for?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a tenner sewn into my collar. For a rainy day.¡±


    I used my dagger to cut the ten-pound note from Knuckles¡¯ collar, and we went shopping for meat and grains in Pubset. For the Hunchback¡¯s old revolver, Patrick from the Commode made some calls to a butcher and a grocer he knew. The butcher bled us dry immediately, asking eleven pounds for a pork haunch that had caught my eye and two pounds of bacon.


    Knuckles scratched his head, then cut open his brother¡¯s collar and pulled out a sibling to his own tenner. We bought the haunch, bacon, two dozen eggs, a sack of grain, and a crate of canned food, spending every last penny.


    Talbot dropped us off at the mansion well past midnight. We quickly unloaded the carefully sorted supplies and slipped through the gate before the Fairburn goons showed up.


    After walking a few meters into the park, I stopped the brothers, smeared Third Eye ointment on my forehead, slung the haunch over my shoulder, tucked the package of bacon under my arm, and ran to the house.


    ¡°Harry!¡± I yelled as soon as I stepped through the door.


    ¡°Stop shouting!¡± growled the surly wizard. ¡°Who did you bring?¡±


    ¡°New servants.¡±


    ¡°And what the hell do I need them for¡­ Is that a haunch? Pork?¡±


    ¡°And here¡¯s some bacon.¡±


    Harry noticeably swallowed but didn¡¯t move from his spot, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.


    ¡°What¡¯s the occasion?¡±


    ¡°A bribe for hiring. There are two boys, brothers, homeless. Hear them out, and in the morning, if you don¡¯t like them, kick them out. It¡¯s a complicated situation, not one you can figure out right away. In the meantime, put a frying pan on for the bacon, and I¡¯ll fetch the eggs. Should I bring the boys in?¡±


    ¡°Bring them, but they don¡¯t come inside. Wait on the porch.¡±


    A few minutes later, I returned to the nervous pair. I pulled out a tin of ointment from my bag since the supply in my ring had run out, and smeared it on their foreheads.


    ¡°This will let you see traps. Look over there ¨C fire runes trap. It¡¯s bright. Do you see it?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Cap answered immediately.


    Knuckles stayed silent for a while, long enough for me to think the ointment wasn¡¯t working on him.


    ¡°Looks like nonsense to me. Like a red puddle or something.¡±


    I was about to reply, but Cap beat me to it, describing the rune in precise detail.


    ¡°There are three rings of bright red symbols.¡±


    ¡°I just see a smudged puddle,¡± Knuckles muttered.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± I said. ¡°Just remember ¨C they¡¯re dangerous. A red one will burn you alive, a gray one will drown you, and a white one kills instantly.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a maniac!¡± Knuckles said, almost admiringly.


    Getting him into the house turned out to be a challenge. He could see the bright runes, but the dark ones were completely invisible to him. Luckily, Cap kept an eye on his brother and made sure he didn¡¯t lose any limbs.


    At the porch, Harry didn¡¯t hold us up for long. He recited a few spells from a book, checked the food and items we¡¯d brought, and invited us into the kitchen.


    While bacon sizzled in a frying pan and the Sparrow brothers practically drooled, I leisurely recounted the day¡¯s ¡°adventures.¡±


    ¡°So,¡± Harry summarized, ¡°you killed a vampire, dragged into this the only sister of Blind Fire and the daughter of Bison, and then brought me two petty thieves instead of servants because you hope to use them later?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know who Bison or Blind Fire are, I only plan to use the older one, and otherwise ¨C yes, that¡¯s correct.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re just like your uncle,¡± Harry said with a snort.


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t a compliment,¡± the wizard waved dismissively and transferred the last pair of eggs onto a fourth plate. ¡°Now then, you little devils.¡±


    Harry set down the wooden spatula, extended his hands, and performed the same trick on the brothers as he had on me during our first meeting. The boys shot out of their chairs, flipped mid-air, and hung upside down. Cap¡¯s cap fell off, revealing a streak of gray hair, and a pair of lead knuckles tumbled out of Knuckles¡¯ pockets.


    ¡°I grew up poor myself,¡± Harry said. ¡°There were times I stole too ¨C when my family was starving, and there wasn¡¯t enough work. But I started working properly, like a man should, when I was ten. By twelve, I¡¯d set my sights on becoming a wizard, and I opened my Third Eye at thirty. My first spell was sheep shearing. So don¡¯t expect any pity from me! You¡¯ll work hard, and I¡¯ll judge you harshly. Understood?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± the brothers said in unison.


    ¡°Do you wish to decline?¡±


    ¡°No, sir!¡± Knuckles barked, with Cap echoing him.


    Harry waved his hands again, and the boys flipped upright and were set gently back on the floor.


    ¡°I won¡¯t pay much. The younger one gets half a pound a week, the older one ¨C one pound. Food¡¯s on me.¡± Harry placed plates of eggs and bacon in front of the boys. ¡°How much did you pay for all this? Well?¡±


    Knuckles glanced at me uncertainly.


    ¡°I¡¯m your employer,¡± Harry reminded him. ¡°You answer to me!¡±


    ¡°Twenty-one pounds three pence,¡± Knuckles muttered.


    ¡°I¡¯ll return it tomorrow,¡± Harry said.


    ¡°No need,¡± I interjected. ¡°Consider it my thanks.¡±


    ¡°You said it was a bribe,¡± Harry pointed out.


    ¡°Not from them, for them,¡± I corrected.


    ¡°The whole moral lesson goes downhill!¡± Harry grumbled.


    ¡°Sorry about that.¡±


    I returned the money to the boys as soon as I got to my own stash.

 Chapter 13

    The morning started closer to ten o¡¯clock. Sunlight pierced through the curtains and hit my face, shining through my closed eyelids. My body demanded another hour or two of sleep, but my mind cruelly flashed an image of vampire brains splattering in all directions.


    ¡°Bollocks!¡±


    I was awake now, though I had no desire to get up. Problems and tasks poured into my heavy head, grinding gears of intellect into motion. My brain could have used a bit of lubrication in the form of a strong cup of tea. I should¡¯ve bought some yesterday now I¡¯d have to settle for chamomile tea again. And I needed to clean myself up, swing by the bank¡­ Damn trifles. Better to deal with them now, before they rolled into a massive snowball and crushed me.


    While I¡¯d been snoring, the Sparrow brothers had already started their new duties. They lacked skill, but they certainly had enthusiasm. Knuckles was trying to sweep the floor in the hall, but his overly sharp movements had kicked up a cloud of dust. He grumbled but stubbornly kept swiping the broom.


    ¡°Good morning,¡± I greeted, yawning wide and stretching contentedly.


    ¡°Morning,¡± Knuckles muttered, fully focused on the dust.


    I could¡¯ve offered him some advice ¨C Grandpa and I used to clean the house ourselves ¨C but that was clearly not what the boy needed. He¡¯d figure it out on his own. It wasn¡¯t hard, and he¡¯d get a taste of honest work along the way.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Harry?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Locked himself in,¡± Knuckles said, nodding toward the door where I¡¯d once seen the chaos of elemental forces. ¡°Doing magic.¡±


    ¡°And the kid?¡±


    ¡°Scrubbing frying pans. There¡¯s breakfast for you, but it¡¯s cold now.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡±


    Breakfast consisted of oatmeal and a couple of boiled eggs. While I ate, I watched Cap struggle with a thick layer of black soot on a pan, scrubbing it with sand. That gave me a simple idea.


    ¡°You won¡¯t scrape that off by tomorrow. Want to make a deal?¡±


    Cap eagerly agreed. Harry had shown them around the estate first thing in the morning, familiarizing them with their duties, and all I needed was a proper bath. Harry¡¯s plumbing had been shut off along with the water supply, so despite the mansion¡¯s two luxurious bathrooms, Harry himself used the servants¡¯ bathroom because it was easier to fill and drain manually.


    For his help with the bath, I gave Cap half a vial of universal solvent. A few drops cleaned the pan instantly, and the boy cheerfully moved on to a filthy pot.


    After changing into a fresh shirt, I first recharged the empty stones and my Stone Skin ring. The Stone Skin bracer turned out to have a scratch right across one of the runes, making it unsafe to use anymore. I didn¡¯t notice when it happened. The sleeves covering it were untouched, so I suppose it must have occurred when I jumped out of the window in the slums. I probably caught on some glass shards while sliding down the rope.


    The mansion¡¯s Place of Power hadn¡¯t yet formed, but there was still enough energy lingering in the air for free use. I inspected my cash. Out of more than three thousand, I had two thousand seven hundred eighty-four left. And near a hundred at Finella¡¯s. I split a hundred eighty into smaller bills and tucked them into various pockets. For another sixteen hundred, I made a hidden pouch out of scraps from an old torn shirt and tied it around my waist under my clothes.


    The remaining thousand, along with a note asking for safekeeping, I left with Harry. After all, I wasn¡¯t immune to being robbed either. I didn¡¯t leave a note in my room since the boys would likely get to it while cleaning, so I handed it straight to Knuckles.


    ¡°Give this to Harry. If all goes well, I won¡¯t be back here anytime soon.¡±


    Knuckles nervously swallowed, staring at the wad of cash that could guarantee him and his brother at least four year of comfortable living.


    ¡°Not afraid?¡± he asked.


    ¡°You gave your word,¡± I replied, barely suppressing a laugh. It was the same kind of joke my grandfather used to make. Only now did I understand it. Clearly, the old man had about as much faith in me back then as I have in Knuckles now.


    The thing is, circumstances mostly force Knuckles to act honestly. There are traps all around the mansion, and the city is no safer for them. Let him think his actions are really about keeping his word ¨C It¡¯ll help him get used to holding onto it. He isn¡¯t completely rotten yet. Look how tightly he clings to his brother.


    ¡°Uh, all right, uh¡­¡± The boy¡¯s hand was visibly trembling as he took the money and note.


    I left the mansion gates with my travel bag in hand, making sure to wave it conspicuously toward the house where I knew observers were watching. Then I gave them a friendly wave and headed to the nearest taxi stand.


    Surprisingly, they didn¡¯t try to stop me, though they did set a tail on me. I noticed another cab trailing mine all the way to the Duthigh Royal Bank branch in Pubset. After depositing sixteen hundred pounds into the care of such a reputable institution, I felt much calmer.


    The decently dressed older gentleman waiting for me outside the bank didn¡¯t raise any alarms at first.


    ¡°Young sir,¡± he said, doffing his hat. ¡°My name is Henry Taskwich, a representative of the law firm Queens & Co., acting on behalf of Lord Fairburn. Could I trouble you for a moment of your time?¡±


    ¡°It would be a sin not to spare a moment for such a polite man,¡± I replied. ¡°Magnus Loxlin.¡± The name was becoming more natural each time I used it. ¡°But perhaps we should choose a more pleasant setting? A tearoom or a restaurant?¡±


    ¡°That is exactly what I was about to suggest. Would you agree to meet Sir Augustus at the restaurant across from the bank? Queens & Co. guarantees your safety. It will be merely a conversation.¡±


    He thinks I should be afraid. How should I play this? Should I act scared, or¡­ No, I¡¯ve already shown his family¡¯s goons that I¡¯m not.


    ¡°No need to keep Lord Fairburn waiting, Mr. Taskwich.¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­ Sir Augustus is the son of Lord Fairburn.¡±


    ¡°Ah, my apologies for the oversight.¡±


    I didn¡¯t bother to watch Taskwich¡¯s reaction too closely. Let him think I truly didn¡¯t care.


    Augustus Fairburn immediately struck me as an arrogant and vain man. A real man wouldn¡¯t wear such thin little mustaches, let alone waste time grooming them. Augustus, however, looked as though he¡¯d just stepped out of a barbershop. His manicured hands were adorned with expensive rings, his crisp white shirt sported oversized jeweled cufflinks, and his entire demeanor screamed that this restaurant was beneath his status.


    I had half a mind to do something crude and vulgar just to spite him. But the only thing I allowed myself was to sit down before being invited to.


    Taskwich had already introduced us, but the dandy continued to glare at me with a stony expression.


    ¡°My apologies, sir,¡± I said. ¡°Shall we begin? I have a busy day ahead. Waiter!¡± I called out. ¡°Take a seat, Mr. Taskwich.¡±


    ¡°Oh no, I¡¯ll be at that table.¡± Taskwich smiled and gestured to a table by the wall, already occupied by two burly men in respectable suits. ¡°Enjoy your meal, gentlemen.¡±


    ¡°How may I serve you, gentlemen?¡± the waiter chirped as he approached.


    I couldn¡¯t resist a small act of mischief. No matter how much Grandpa tried to beat the silliness out of me, some of it remained.


    ¡°Do you have haggis?¡± I asked, taking satisfaction in the disgusted grimace that flashed across Augustus¡¯s face. A direct hit. Coarse, rustic food made from sheep¡¯s stomach and liver couldn¡¯t possibly appeal to someone like him.


    ¡°Will you have haggis, Sir Arthur?¡± I added.


    ¡°My apologies, gentlemen, we don¡¯t have haggis,¡± the waiter replied, cutting me off.


    ¡°Tea. No milk,¡± Augustus blurted out quickly. ¡°That will suffice.¡±


    ¡°What about blood sausage? Black pudding?¡± I pressed, unwilling to give up so easily.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Nothing of the sort!¡± the waiter snapped. He didn¡¯t call me ¡°sir¡± or ¡°mister,¡± showing his own lack of respect. Fine, no tip for him.


    ¡°Well, if you don¡¯t have it, you don¡¯t have it. I¡¯ll have tea too, no sugar. And a few rolls with butter and jam. Now, what did you want, Sir Augustus?¡± I asked before the waiter could leave. ¡°I¡¯ve rented a new house and moved out of Harry¡¯s. What else is there to discuss?¡±


    ¡°Last night, you brought him two men and delivered a certain¡­ package.¡±


    ¡°A package? Ha! That¡¯s one way to put it. I brought him meat and grains. After you lot boxed the poor man in, he¡¯d been living on nothing but potatoes.¡±


    August blinked in surprise.


    ¡°You¡¯re not afraid to make such claims?¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s true. I¡¯ll say it again if I need to. You really shouldn¡¯t push him.¡±


    August blinked again, clearly taken aback, but I continued.


    ¡°I¡¯m not getting involved in your squabbles anymore. And I suggest you stay out of my business as well.¡±


    ¡°Clearly, no one ever taught you manners, young man.¡±


    ¡°Our ideas about manners differ, it seems. Say what you came to say, and I¡¯ll be on my way. I¡¯ve got things to do.¡±


    August ground his teeth, clenched his jaw, then placed a small box on the table.


    ¡°I want to make peace with Harry. Will you deliver this?¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s inside?¡± I pulled the box closer and unceremoniously opened it. ¡°A bomb?¡± I asked, pulling out a steel sphere the size of a large apple, inscribed with runes and adorned with energy-storing gemstones.


    ¡°It¡¯s just a universal energy storage sphere!¡± August snapped irritably.


    ¡°Sure it is. Looks exactly like a bomb. Why don¡¯t you deliver it yourself?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s assume I can get past the traps. He¡¯s mad, though. Who¡¯s to say he won¡¯t whack me with an air hammer before I even get the chance to talk? Anyway, just tell Harry that I¡¯ll shield him from my father if he shields us from His Worship. I¡¯m not promising a lovefest ¨C just peace.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not getting involved in your mess,¡± I said, waving dismissively. Whether he was lying or telling the truth, lugging this thing to Harry was the height of idiocy.


    ¡°One hundred pounds,¡± August offered.


    I needed to update my wardrobe. It was unclear who people thought I was based on my current attire. Though there were advantages to that ¨C Fairburn clearly didn¡¯t suspect I had an education. If this sphere was a trap, it was crucial to him that I deliver it to Harry. It would need strong idiot-proofing, so it probably wouldn¡¯t just explode on its own. Might be worth examining.


    ¡°Three hundred,¡± I countered. ¡°And I¡¯m not taking it right away. I¡¯ve got other places to visit first, so I¡¯ll deliver it closer to evening.¡±


    Fairburn laid three crisp hundred-pound notes on the table. I took them along with the box, stuffed it into my travel bag, and set off to find a place in town that served haggis. And, of course, to check if I was being tailed.


    Surprisingly, there was no visible surveillance ¨C or if there was, it was far more professional than before. Or perhaps the sphere itself was acting as a tracker.


    After lunch, I found a bookstore and bought three books on runes and artifact crafting, which I remembered included information about complex, multi-layered storage devices. For an extra couple of pounds, the shopkeeper promised to tell anyone inquiring about my purchases that I¡¯d been shopping for women¡¯s romance novels.


    With this haul, I headed to St. Paul¡¯s Cathedral, on the border of Rapsy and the Old City, and asked for Vicar Max. He wasn¡¯t there, so I followed the directions the priest gave me to his home. Max Hamish Wood lived on the third floor of a typical four-story red-brick building five blocks from Harry¡¯s place.


    I knocked on the door.


    It was opened by a man in a rumpled pajama set, with the face of a boxer and the hands of a laborer. There wasn¡¯t a whiff of piety about him, but the smell of cigarettes and cheap whiskey was unmistakable. His expression clearly conveyed a strong desire to tell me to go to hell.


    ¡°Mr. Wood?¡± I asked.


    The vicar didn¡¯t reply. Instead, he leaned toward me and loudly sniffed the air.


    ¡°Having trouble with spirits?¡±


    ¡°With one, yeah. But I¡¯m here about a vampire problem.¡±


    ¡°Heh, now I¡¯m curious. Come in,¡± the vicar said, opening the door wider.


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t look like a grieving relative, boy. So, what¡¯s got you interested in those creatures damned by God? And why come to me? I¡¯m more of a specialist in the incorporeal. There¡¯s no tea ¨C I had a sleepless night ¨C so get to the point. You can sit there.¡±


    Wood gestured to the only chair by a round table piled high with theological books and very scientific-looking studies on lesser etherial beings. Alongside the books were an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts, an empty gin bottle, and a lone glass.


    ¡°You¡¯re a Coulier, and I happen to know one of yours.¡±


    ¡°Not much of a reason.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough, but I need information,¡± I said, settling into the chair and setting my travel bag down beside me.


    ¡°Planning to take a couple out?¡±


    ¡°Not if I can help it¡­¡±


    ¡°You said that like it¡¯d be easy for you... Though¡­¡± The vicar leaned forward and sniffed me again. ¡°Already did, huh? Good job! Just don¡¯t get cocky. Taking out the older ones is much harder. How¡¯d it happen?¡±


    ¡°Pardon me, what are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t play dumb. The etheric mark might mask the vampire scent, but your subtle body still reeks of its death. Spill it!¡±


    The vicar disappeared into the next room, returning with a chair and a cigarette between his teeth. Digging through the books, he found a pack of matches, struck one, and took a deep drag with obvious relish.


    ¡°You¡¯ve heard about the bloodsuckers running rampant in the slums?¡±


    ¡°They always have, but yeah, they¡¯ve really gone wild lately. Heard the Righteous Hand is planning a raid.¡±


    ¡°Last night, I ran into one.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t feed me that. If you¡¯d just run into one, we wouldn¡¯t be talking right now.¡±


    ¡°The bandits started putting kids in cages as offerings. I set up an ambush.¡±


    ¡°And now you¡¯re wondering what the fallout will be?¡±


    I nodded. The vicar exhaled a stream of smoke toward the ceiling.


    ¡°It¡¯d be a sin not to help a man after such a godly act. I¡¯ll cleanse your aura, but that¡¯s all I can do. Everything else depends on how many tracks you left behind.¡±


    ¡°Can you tell me about the nests? Mostly about the parents.¡±


    ¡°Sure. We¡¯ve got three of them ¨C everyone knows that. Two fathers and one mother. Noah Valentine and Nina Gratch are the old ones; Lukas Lindemann is a bit younger. His predecessor got a bit too full of himself and lost his head,¡± the vicar grinned, ¡°literally.


    ¡°All three of them are absolute pillars of the community, shining examples of piety. Feed the hungry, heal the sick, even donate to the church. Though not in person, of course ¨C their arses burn just stepping onto holy ground.¡±


    ¡°And do they single out any humans?¡±


    ¡°Not sure what you mean.¡±


    How do I ask about Simon without raising suspicion?


    ¡°Do they have humans who are especially important to them?¡±


    ¡°You mean as food or as servants? Because all that feeding and healing isn¡¯t out of the goodness of their hearts. Livestock needs to be healthy. As for servants¡­¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Simon might be a jerk, but he wouldn¡¯t lower himself to servitude. ¡°I mean favorites. People who can control vampires.¡±


    ¡°Control them? Never heard of that. It¡¯d ruin a parent¡¯s reputation and stir up trouble in the nest. But yes, they do have favorites. How could they not? Nina parades a new boy around town every week. The men are more cautious ¨C they only mess around with female bloodsuckers to avoid tearing someone apart in a moment of lust. They¡¯re only functional after a meal, after all.¡±


    ¡°You said Nina brings them out. Where to?¡±


    ¡°Out into society. But if you¡¯re asking for specific places ¨C well, theaters, the opera, clubs. Most often, she¡¯s seen at The Golden Tear. I wouldn¡¯t recommend going there. Seriously, don¡¯t show your face there.¡±


    ¡°Is it a private venue?¡±


    ¡°Why would it be¡­? It¡¯s open ¨C If you¡¯re a pretty girl, a walking moneybag, or some bastard with a title. The souls of some regular patrons there carry more sin than the bloodsuckers themselves.¡±


    Sounds like the kind of place Simon would love. I absolutely have to check it out! But not before cleansing my aura¡­ and figuring out this sphere.


    ¡°Sir, would you mind if I used your table a bit longer?¡±


    ¡°For what?¡±


    ¡°Someone asked me to deliver this little trinket, and I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s not what it seems.¡± I pulled the box out of my bag and opened it.


    The vicar didn¡¯t stand on ceremony. He grabbed the sphere and sniffed it.


    ¡°It reeks of death. Not directly, mind you ¨C ether, iron, and earth are the dominant elements ¨C but underneath it all, there¡¯s death.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s about what I expected. If I may?¡±


    I pulled out my notebook, copied down the runic engravings, applied the ointment to my forehead, and started examining the sphere again, this time noting the hidden symbols. That gave me two formulaic chains from the sphere and one from the box. The box¡¯s rune was just a tracking mark, easily recognizable without calculations. The first chain from the sphere took me about half an hour to decipher.


    It confirmed that the sphere indeed charged empty storage units for earth, metal, and ether, but nothing more. The second chain took me another half-hour to crack. It overloaded storage units. I couldn¡¯t see any trace of death energy, but I doubted destroying the storage units was the sphere¡¯s ultimate purpose. With this device, you could easily conceal two or three additional layers of engravings and a few large energy reservoirs ¨C say, made of opal. The result would be a massive destabilizing energy release. Something like this wouldn¡¯t kill Harry, but me? Easily. What a playful little trickster that Augustus Fairburn is.


    I quickly jotted down my conclusions in the notebook. So, what could I do right now? Should I deal with the Fairburns later? Either way, I¡¯d deliver the box to Harry ¨C they needed to see that I kept my word.


    ¡°Sir,¡± I said to the vicar, ¡°this thing really does seem dangerous. Could you pass it on to Inspector Sunset at the Pubset station?¡±


    ¡°Do I look like a courier to you?¡±


    Finella had mentioned he¡¯d recharged firestones for her brother, so he likely used similar tools in his work. And with his frequent dealings with spirits, he probably relied heavily on ether. I rummaged through my supplies and pulled out a topaz filled with energy.


    ¡°Well, if it¡¯s for a godly cause, why not help? Let¡¯s just hope I don¡¯t end up behind bars for too long.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll write a note ¨C It¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    In the note, I described the facts, my suspicions, and even suggested that His Worship might be quite pleased with this little device. If he gave that family a good shake, I certainly wouldn¡¯t lose any sleep over it.

 Chapter 14

    From the vicar¡¯s, I headed straight to Finella¡¯s. I figured a young, attractive girl would know far more about clubs than a strong-willed priest. The door was opened by her older brother, whose clouded, pupil-less eyes were as murky as smoke. They were mesmerizing, and in contrast, the rest of his appearance seemed utterly forgettable.


    ¡°Yes?¡± the baron asked, staring past me with those blind eyes.


    ¡°Lord Flower?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s me. And to whom do I owe the honor?¡±


    ¡°Magnus Loxlin. Your new neighbor. I rented the Wilcox house yesterday. Lady Finella and Lady Ellie helped me out, so I came by to express my thanks.¡±


    ¡°Come in, young man.¡±


    It was obvious he used the phrase to emphasize the difference in our social and age status, aiming to press down on me with his authority. Finella¡¯s brother looked to be about twice my age, though maybe it was his eyes that made him seem older. Still, Cousin Evan was even older than Flower, and his children were older than me too, and it didn¡¯t affect how we interacted.


    ¡°Thank you, Lord,¡± I said, entirely unshaken.


    ¡°Tea?¡±


    ¡°No, thank you.¡±


    ¡°I insist,¡± Flower said calmly, in a tone that brooked no refusal.


    ¡°Well, in that case, I suppose I don¡¯t have a choice.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t keep any servants, so you¡¯re welcome in the kitchen.¡±


    Flower took charge of the kettle and motioned for me to sit down by a small dish of cookies. The baron never once glanced at the things he touched ¨C like a true blind man ¨C but his movements were swift and precise.


    He placed the kettle under the tap, and while it filled, he measured dried leaves into a ceramic teapot. But instead of setting the full kettle on the stove ¨C which was right there ¨C Flower rolled up his sleeves, extended the kettle in front of him, and placed his left palm beneath its base.


    His hand turned blinding white, glowing like molten steel ready to pour. The kitchen grew uncomfortably warm, and within a minute, the water had boiled.


    Was I supposed to feel intimidated? I had no idea why he¡¯d done that. Was there a specific purpose behind it, or was he just saving on gas?


    Flower poured the boiling water into the teapot and set two cups on the table.


    ¡°While we have a few minutes, let¡¯s talk about how you plan to thank my sister, young man.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t decided yet,¡± I admitted.


    ¡°A basket of chocolate cookies will suffice.¡±


    The tea finished steeping, and silence settled over us. I stared into the baron¡¯s cloudy eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening. The hostility in the air was palpable.


    ¡°You don¡¯t seem to like me very much,¡± I noted.


    ¡°About as much as one might dislike a young stranger with the troubling mark of a higher etherial on his subtle body, sealed energy nodes, magically enhanced weapons, combat amulets, and a bag full of elemental stones. Did I miss anything?¡±


    He did miss something. I also had first-class potions on me.


    ¡°Are you afraid I¡¯ll drag Lady Finella into trouble?¡±


    ¡°I know my sister. Trouble finds her on its own. I fear, young man, that you are one of those troubles. No offense. I don¡¯t know you, and until something compels me otherwise, I¡¯ll stick to that assessment.¡±


    ¡°Will you not let me meet with her?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°In that case, the tea was unnecessary. Good day, Lord Flower.¡±


    ¡°And the same to you, young man.¡±


    Flower was a bit harsh, but at least he was honest. I¡¯m not sure I¡¯d allow my sister to associate with someone as suspicious as me, either. But understanding his motives didn¡¯t bring me any closer to solving my own problems.


    Ellie? I wasn¡¯t sure she¡¯d even want to see me after last night¡¯s hunt.


    The door to the Sheridans¡¯ home was opened by a tall, muscular young man, about my age or a little older. This time, I cut straight to the point ¨C I didn¡¯t want to sit through another round of unnecessary tea. If Ellie¡¯s family were also shifters, they¡¯d sense the mark on me.


    ¡°Good day. May I speak with Lady Ellie?¡±


    ¡°Is it because of you she¡¯s been so gloomy all morning? And who are you, anyway?¡±


    ¡°Magnus Loxlin. We only met yesterday. I¡¯m your new neighbor.¡±


    ¡°The Wilcox house?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Got it. I¡¯m Garfield. Come on in, neighbor.¡±


    He led me to a door on the second floor, knocked, and announced, ¡°Sister, you¡¯ve got a visitor.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± murmured Ellie as she opened the door. ¡°Hello, Magnus.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± Garfield asked, curious.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you feel it?¡± she replied, then clarified, ¡°Gar¡¯s a shifter too.¡±


    Now it was my turn to explain.


    ¡°The etheric mark ¨C It¡¯s a ¡®gift¡¯ from an ancient spirit. It scares off prey and puts predators on edge.¡±


    "Oh¡­ I¡¯m not really anywhere on that spectrum. I¡¯m bonded to a warhorse spirit. Caught him last year near a cavalry unit in the south while visiting family. No fear whatsoever," Garfield said.


    ¡°No emotions or intellect, either,¡± Elllie added.


    ¡°Well, of course goats are so intelligent,¡± Garfield shot back.


    ¡°I¡¯m a deer! A roe deer!¡± Ellie yelled, smacking her brother on the shoulder.


    ¡°Run,¡± he advised me. ¡°She does this a lot.¡± Then he fled himself.


    ¡°Come in,¡± Ellie invited. ¡°If you¡¯re here about last night, I¡¯m perfectly fine.¡±


    I stepped into a small room.


    ¡°Hello,¡± said Finella.


    ¡°Unexpected,¡± I greeted the redhead, ¡°but very fortunate! Forgive me, my dear,¡± I said to Ellie, ¡°don¡¯t think me heartless, but I didn¡¯t come to check on your well-being. Last night, you killed a monster who¡¯s not worth mourning. And it affected you so deeply only because it was your first.¡±


    ¡°Was it the same for you?¡±


    I thought of the hares Grandpa brought back from hunting trips. My acquaintance with death began at ten, when I helped skin hare carcasses. Aunt Mary, Logan, and I plucked chickens together. Then came my first lessons in hunting: the hares shot from a distance, the chickens I had to slaughter myself. Hunting larger game, slaughtering livestock¡­ No, damn it, it started even earlier ¨C with fishing at Thunderloch. Clan children were taught slowly and deliberately.


    But the first sentient being I ever killed was Grandpa. And I have no idea what would¡¯ve happened to me if he hadn¡¯t already been dead for some time before that.


    ¡°No, it was different for me.¡±


    ¡°Then why are you here?¡± Finella asked. ¡°Oh, I have your money,¡± she remembered.


    ¡°Yes, but I¡¯m also here to ask for your help. Have you heard of The Golden Tear?¡±


    ¡°Are you joking?¡± Finella¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°It¡¯s the most exclusive club in Shine! I¡¯ve only been there once. It¡¯s incredible!¡±


    ¡°And it all ended terribly. I had to lie to my parents and your brother, saying you¡¯d gotten food poisoning from some pastries, while you were puking in the garden,¡± Ellie remarked. ¡°And James still found out about everything, and¡­¡± She stopped at the juiciest part of the story.Stolen novel; please report.


    ¡°I heard it¡¯s a den of sin.¡±


    ¡°Pfft,¡± Finella snorted.


    ¡°Alcohol, cigarettes, opium, and paid love,¡± Ellie confirmed.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t even been there!¡± Finella protested.


    ¡°But you reeked of all of it,¡± Ellie snapped.


    I stared at the blushing redhead in surprise. Ellie immediately realized she¡¯d said too much and tried to salvage the situation.


    ¡°Except for the ¡®love,¡¯ of course!¡±


    ¡°And I didn¡¯t smoke opium either, Goat!¡± Finella shot back.


    I imagined how¡­ Never mind.


    ¡°So, how does one get in? Any hidden pitfalls? Is wearing a ring enough?¡±


    ¡°In that outfit, they won¡¯t let you in even with a ring,¡± Finella said. ¡°And you¡¯ll need a charming companion.¡±


    ¡°No, Spark,¡± Ellie said firmly. ¡°Bad idea!¡±


    ¡°Brilliant idea,¡± the redhead disagreed, looking at me like a cat sizing up a mouse. ¡°I¡¯ll dress you properly, and you¡¯ll take me with you. Get your wallet out, lord, we¡¯re going shopping!¡±


    ¡°No need. I have a suit.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure we¡¯ve already seen your impeccable taste.¡±


    ¡°Fine, I think I can spare twenty pounds for this.¡±


    Finella laughed.


    ¡°One hundred. Minimum.¡±


    ¡°What!? That¡¯s clothing, not golden armor!¡±


    ¡°What you¡¯re wearing is also clothing, and in it, you won¡¯t get past the entrance.¡±


    I looked at Ellie, hoping for a more reasonable estimate.


    ¡°I think we can manage with fifty or seventy,¡± she said, offering some relief.


    ¡°Back home, I had a suit tailored for fiver!¡±


    ¡°Magnus, Farnell may not be the capital, but the prices are just as high.¡±


    ¡°Duncan,¡± I sighed. ¡°My real name is Duncan Magnus Kinkaid, Baron of Loxlin from the Clan of Bremor.¡±


    ¡°And what should we call you?¡±


    ¡°Magnus Loxlin. Let¡¯s keep it secret for now.¡±


    There was no escaping it. The girls hauled me to one of the local ready-to-wear shops, which conveniently had in-house tailors, flagged down a sales assistant, and started pulling suits off the racks. Even Ellie couldn¡¯t help but be entertained by the whole ¡®dress-up doll¡¯ routine.


    As for me, I was absolutely horrified when they got to their fifth suit and didn¡¯t seem remotely close to stopping.


    ¡°What are you doing!? Ellie, white!? Seriously? Every stain will show on it. Fin, what is this pink nonsense?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a cravat,¡± Finella replied, feigning innocence.


    ¡°A cravat!? No cravats, no bow ties ¨C just a normal tie! Madam,¡± I turned to one of the sales assistants, ¡°please put all this back and call a man. Someone who doesn¡¯t wear this nonsense!¡± I gestured at the cravat for emphasis.


    ¡°One moment, sir.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s just great. You¡¯ve gone and ruined the mood,¡± Finella pouted.


    Nevertheless, I¡¯d made the right decision. The gray-haired manager turned out to be an experienced man; he understood what I needed with barely a word and quickly picked out a blue suit with a subtle black sheen, a striped gray vest, and a purple tie. He also insisted I get a dark gray fedora and polished black shoes with mirror-like toes. Even the girls were impressed, and the whole ensemble only cost 42 pounds.


    I fought back a tear for my dwindling inheritance, added five pounds as a tip for the manager''s understanding, and didn¡¯t regret it. Unexpectedly, I learned the shop¡¯s tailor could adjust the suit to fit perfectly, which cost me an extra three pounds.


    I would¡¯ve loved to buy the girls some gifts, but after blowing the equivalent of ten to twenty weeks¡¯ wages for an average laborer, I simply couldn¡¯t part with another penny.


    Still, the girls had plenty of fun and didn¡¯t seem offended. Besides, they had Finella¡¯s outfit planning to look forward to, for which I entrusted the entire Wilcox house to their whims. Meanwhile, I grabbed my satchel with the box and headed for Harry¡¯s. Naturally, no one stopped me from entering.


    The first thing I noticed was the clean, damp floor in the foyer. Knuckles had managed to get the job done.


    ¡°Harry!¡± I called out.


    ¡°Stop yelling,¡± came his reply from behind a closed door, where he was busy working his magic. ¡°I¡¯ll be out in a moment.¡±


    The noise summoned Knuckles. My appearance clearly made an impression ¨C he even straightened up like a proper servant ¨C but it didn¡¯t last long. His words ruined the effect.


    ¡°Holy shit, what¡¯s this getup? I mean, uh¡­ What a fine outfit, sir.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t clown around,¡± I said. ¡°Looks like you managed to clean up.¡±


    ¡°Just one room,¡± Sparrow complained. ¡°And I¡¯m beat, like I¡¯ve been unloading freight all night.¡±


    ¡°One step at a time. Let¡¯s head to the kitchen.¡±


    The kitchen was still filthy, so the cleaned dishes sparkled all the more against the grimy background. We had just managed to brew some chamomile tea by the time Harry appeared. Once again, I¡¯d forgotten to buy proper tea.


    ¡°What¡¯s with the fancy getup?¡± the wizard asked instead of saying hello.


    ¡°I¡¯m heading to The Golden Tear tonight.¡±


    ¡°What the hell is that?¡±


    ¡°A club for the rich and powerful. According to one vicar, it¡¯s a real den of sin.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not your guy for sleazy places.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not why I¡¯m here. I met with Augustus Fairburn today. He says he wants to make peace.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not that crazy,¡± Harry snorted. ¡°Trusting that snake would be a death sentence.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not wrong. Look at this.¡± I pulled out my notebook, flipped to the formulas, and handed it to Harry. ¡°He wanted to give you a gift.¡±


    ¡°Th-this¡­¡± Harry muttered nervously. ¡°Judging by the fact that we¡¯re still alive, you had enough sense to leave that thing somewhere else.¡±


    ¡°I sent it to the police with a note. I only brought the box with the ¡®trace¡¯ rune.¡±


    ¡°Get it here! Now!¡± Harry barked.


    Startled, I quickly opened my satchel and tossed him the box, which immediately floated in midair, held by Harry¡¯s telekinesis. After a few tense minutes, he threw it into the fireplace and sighed with relief.


    ¡°That was reckless,¡± he said.


    ¡°I examined it. Used my ointment.¡±


    ¡°Your ointment¡¯s crap. If someone really tries, they can carve runes so subtle, you¡¯ll never notice. Consider yourself lucky this time, but don¡¯t bring me any more of that garbage.¡±


    ¡°I just wanted to make him nervous.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not always a good thing,¡± Harry said. ¡°A cornered rat will attack the cat. I¡¯d know ¨C I¡¯ve been in that role. But anyway¡­ thanks. Thanks for not selling out. He must¡¯ve promised you the world.¡±


    ¡°Nah, he¡¯s a cheapskate. Only gave me 300 pounds.¡±


    Knuckles, who had been quietly sipping tea in the corner, choked.


    ¡°Get used to it,¡± Harry said. ¡°You¡¯ll get offers too.¡±


    ¡°Speaking of money,¡± I said to the wizard. ¡°Do you have any amulets for sale? I can¡¯t bring a bag of potions into the club ¨C I¡¯ll need replacements. And we need to do something about this mark. I don¡¯t want to attract attention. That place is going to be crawling with predators. Grandpa and I made a small amulet once, but it doesn¡¯t last long.¡±


    ¡°Show me,¡± Harry said.


    I did as he asked, explaining the principle and jotting down the formulas. After examining it, the wizard dismissed the token as ¡°clumsy work.¡± We¡¯d spent months on that thing!


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a few blanks lying around, and I can whip something else up quickly. But let¡¯s start with the combat stuff. I take it you¡¯re mostly worried about vampires?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Vampires... Stealthy, treacherous, stabbing you in the back. Let¡¯s take a look¡­ You¡¯ll be useful too,¡± Harry added, pointing at Knuckles. ¡°Grab the carbine you brought in yesterday.¡±


    The carbine in question had been used to shoot... at me. Harry was teaching me how to use the new cufflinks and the ring. A perfectly normal practice, though Knuckles was only aiming at my legs. Still, I took the precaution of removing my suit ¨C living tissue is easier to mend than dead fabric.


    The ring featured a perfect square of pyrite hidden within chrysoprase. The combination of metal and ether elements created an invisible, bulletproof wall in the air. This ring was leagues ahead of the ones crafted by the clan masters, consuming energy far more efficiently. Unlike my Stone Skin ring, this one wasn¡¯t limited to a single charge. After taking five shots from the Enfield, it had only drained about ten percent of its charge. However, that was when Knuckles was firing at an angle. Shots fired head-on drained energy faster, so Harry recommended always keeping the wall tilted. He had thoughtfully designed it to be easily repositioned with a simple flick of the fingers and a touch of willpower.


    ¡°Now for the cufflinks,¡± Harry said. ¡°They¡¯re tri-elemental: ether, blood, earth. They work autonomously and activate half a meter from your body. The closer they are, the less energy they use. Fully drained, they¡¯ll last about three days. Think you can figure out the settings?¡±


    I took the hexagonal cufflinks in my hand. Each contained three tiny triangular energy cores: nephrite for ether, onyx for earth, and aquamarine for blood.


    ¡°Blood,¡± I sighed. ¡°You¡¯ve tied everything to blood. How kind of you¡­¡±


    I held out my index finger to him. Harry smirked and lightly dragged his knotted finger across my fingertip, leaving a shallow cut that welled up with blood. I pressed a bloody fingerprint onto the stones. The blood immediately disappeared from the nephrite and aquamarine but stubbornly clung to the onyx, which I had to wipe clean.


    I felt an invisible connection form between me and the cufflinks, like a second wind I could always tap into.


    ¡°They¡¯ll soften the first hit, but it¡¯s better if you draw the blood manually to avoid overdraining. Ready?¡± Harry asked.


    ¡°Go ahead,¡± I confirmed.


    Harry struck like a cat pawing at its prey, slicing my leg with his nails and his favorite telekinetic trick, leaving four curved, deep gashes. The power of blood surged through my body, rushing to my leg and filling the wounds. The cuts began to close slowly, but as soon as I focused, I seized control of the flow, directing it to a single wound, which healed almost instantly, leaving behind a pink scar.


    ¡°Shut it off!¡± Harry commanded. ¡°You¡¯ve already got too much raw energy in your body!¡±


    He was right. The power was flooding my body blindly, pooling around the wounds. It took me a moment to locate the invisible ¡°valve¡± to stop the flow. Keeping it shut while healing myself with the residual energy proved tricky. The energy dissipated quickly, and I didn¡¯t have enough left to close the last cut.


    ¡°Poor control,¡± Harry commented as he closed the remaining wound with a wave of his hand. ¡°Absolutely terrible. Let¡¯s see how you handle rune burning.¡±


    The wizard didn¡¯t let me into the room where he worked his magic, but the earth energy pulsing through the door was enough. I instinctively delved into my inner world, found the charred rune in my seal, and began pouring energy into it.


    ¡°Typical shifter technique,¡± Harry said. ¡°Kid, you¡¯re not charging an energy node that you pump until it¡¯s about to burst. Don¡¯t dump a flow onto the rune ¨C force it to absorb. Watch.¡±


    His will crashed into my inner world like a battering ram. With just a touch, the earth-colored rune flared so brightly it made me nauseous.


    ¡°This won¡¯t speed up the seal¡¯s destruction,¡± Harry continued, ¡°but it will cut down the time you spend on practice. And it¡¯ll help you use amulets more efficiently.¡±


    ¡°Damn it, Harry, I¡¯ve got a hornet¡¯s nest to stir up soon, and I¡¯m barely standing as it is.¡±


    ¡°Go lie down. I¡¯ll cast a few spells on you, and you¡¯ll be back to normal in no time. In the meantime, I¡¯ll recharge your amulets and come up with something for the mark.¡±

 Chapter 15

    The car taking us to the club was a Royal. A luxurious ride, shiny as a candy and long as a fanatic¡¯s prayer. One trip cost me a small fortune, but our arrival at the Golden Tear didn¡¯t go unnoticed. The sour expression on my face, born of today''s expenses, passed for aristocratic arrogance, while the lacquered shine of Finella¡¯s hair in the electric lights and her dress made entirely of glitter drew all attention away from me. We were let in without questions ¨C didn¡¯t even have to flash the ring. I¡¯d slipped it on with the monogram turned inward, just in case. The bouncers at the door even managed something resembling a bow.


    The club welcomed us with the gentle clink of glassware, the thunder of a jazz orchestra, and the sultry voice of a dark-skinned singer crooning that her love wasn¡¯t for sale. My concealment-revealing amulet went haywire, and I regretted bringing it along.


    Couples swayed on the dance floor in slow rhythm, champagne sparkled at the tables below, and those who preferred watching sat perched on the balcony. I unbuttoned a few buttons of my jacket, slipped my hand into the pocket where my dagger rested, and let Finella lead the way. She flagged down a waiter and demanded a table for two. The only one available was on the balcony, right by the edge. That suited me just fine, though Finella looked disappointed ¨C despite my earlier warning that dancing with me might cost her some toes.


    She ordered a glass of champagne for herself and a gin and tonic for me. We¡¯d taken a drop of anti-alcohol antidote in advance.


    ¡°You won¡¯t get out of dancing,¡± the redhead promised.


    ¡°We¡¯ll see,¡± I replied, sipping my drink, my hand once again brushing the dagger. My gaze wandered over the bar with its cluster of men, skimmed the floor below, and settled on a glittering gaggle of girls by the counter across the room. The dagger flared with anger just as I scanned the dance floor.


    Who the hell are you?


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Finella asked, referring to my hand under the fold of my jacket.


    ¡°Can I skip explaining?¡±


    ¡°Mister Loxlin, Lady Flower,¡± came a voice. August Fairburn greeted us. The wizard appeared so suddenly that both Fin and I startled, bracing ourselves for a fight. I almost drew my dagger, while she extended her right hand, ready to unleash something fiery.


    ¡°Sir Fairburn,¡± I greeted the dandy, decked out in a lilac cravat, white leather gloves, and, of course, a cane.


    August snapped his fingers, and a waiter produced a third chair. Fairburn plopped himself down without so much as a ¡°by your leave.¡±


    ¡°It seems we had an agreement, Magnus,¡± he said.


    Magnus¡­ I don¡¯t recall giving anyone permission to call me that.


    ¡°For you, dear August,¡± I spat his name like venom, ¡°it¡¯s Lord¡­ Magnus.¡± Names paired with titles are rarely used, and I nearly said ¡°Loxlin¡± instead. I caught myself just in time. Now he could puzzle over whether the title matched the surname or not. To eliminate any doubt about my claim, I raised my left hand, spun the ring with my thumb to display the seal on the outer side, then turned it back inward. ¡°I don¡¯t recall inviting you to my table.¡±


    Fairburn looked momentarily taken aback but quickly regained his composure.


    ¡°Would you allow me the honor of learning your full name, my lord?¡± he asked.


    ¡°No,¡± I snapped.


    ¡°We had an agreement, my lord.¡±


    "I''ve fulfilled it. Harry met me in front of the house. Your gift absolutely delighted him," I smiled. "He promised to repay you as soon as he figures out how."


    August''s cheek twitched nervously.


    "It¡¯s time for you to leave," I said.


    August''s cheek twitched a second time.


    "I heard Patrick Lindemann disappeared recently," he said.


    Lindemann ¨C the surname of one of the vampire patriarchs. I hoped I didn''t flinch. I replied as calmly as possible.


    "Should that concern me?"


    "How should I know? His brother is looking for three young people: a very insolent dark-haired guy, a red-haired fire sorcerer girl, and a brunette shifter¡­ Good day to you, Lord... Magnus." August rose with dignity, tossed his cane into the air, caught it, and pointed it downward. "And there he is, by the way, along with his sisters."


    Finella and I simultaneously looked down to see a young, broad-shouldered man in a gray suit and two brunettes in tight black dresses. When we raised our heads, August was already turning his back.


    Finella downed her champagne in one gulp.


    "He..."


    "Is talking nonsense!" I said, putting on a stern face. Then I touched my earlobe. Finella understood and fell silent; wizards have many ways to eavesdrop. I once again touched the hilt of my dagger and looked down. The Ferrish bloodsuckers didn''t interest it.


    Damn it.


    I sighed in annoyance and relaxed my hand, but then it burned. Who? Where!?


    The singer? No way! Although, come to think of it, after the brothel, the dagger reacted precisely to the woman in the cab. I hadn''t noticed the color of her skin, just a silly hat and long hair.


    "She sings well," I approved. "Do you know who she is?"


    The singer was just crooning about the night after a day when her lover worked like a dog, and only her embrace brought him peace. Quite a famous song, but I''d never heard it performed like this.


    "You don''t follow social life at all, do you? Jariz Sardu. All the newspapers wrote about her grand tour in Duthigh."


    "And she''s..."


    "A vampire," Finella confirmed. "From Lusonia."


    "How interesting."


    "Uh... Magnus, look."


    I followed Finella''s gaze and once again landed on the bloodsuckers from the Lindemann nest. This time, the trio was staring right at us, with August standing beside them, waving cheerfully.


    What a slippery bastard!


    "We need to go," Finella said.


    "No way! Let''s dance."


    "Have you lost your mind?"


    Fleeing could easily trigger the vampires'' hunting instinct. We might still be under surveillance, and I wasn''t about to voice my real motives, but I could try to scare the opponent.


    "Are you afraid of bloodsuckers? Fin, if anything happens to us, my family will burn their nest to the ground."


    "Aren¡¯t you very self¡­" Fin noticed me rubbing my earlobe and continued in a different tone. "Well, James wouldn''t stand aside either."


    "Agreed, your brother is a terrifying man. He even tried to intimidate me, by the way."


    "That sounds like him."


    "So, will you teach me to dance?"


    I was bending the truth a little when I said I couldn''t dance. My grandfather had insisted I master the basics of classical dance, but close embraces mixed with leg throwing and spinning your partner were far from either waltz or folk dances. Finella picked a few basic moves and tried to teach me. I wouldn¡¯t say they were particularly difficult, but jazz was far too unpredictable. It didn¡¯t have the steady rhythm of a waltz, and every time I prepared one move in advance, the music shifted into something entirely unexpected.


    The redhead, on the other hand, moved flawlessly to the music, performing seductive steps. I might have appreciated it more if I weren¡¯t busy keeping an eye on the room through my peripheral vision. The vampire Fairburn had been speaking to put down his glass of whiskey and headed straight toward us. I discreetly slipped my hand under my jacket and unclipped the loop on my pistol holster.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    "Don¡¯t panic," I whispered to Finella just before the brute grabbed her hand and pulled her toward him. I had expected him to shove me aside.


    "Care to dance, sweetheart?"


    He was so cocky he completely missed the moment I pulled out my pistol. The sound of the hammer cocking was drowned out by the music, but my words cut through loud and clear:


    "The lady is occupied, sir," I said, leveling the muzzle of my pistol straight at his eye.


    The dancers faltered, and an open space formed around us almost instantly, but the musicians kept playing as if nothing had happened.


    "Oh, the little guy''s got a big toy. Does it make you feel like a man?" the vampire sneered, the whites of his eyes filling with blood.


    I smiled.


    "Are you sure you remember what that feels like? I heard your brother¡¯s been having some issues with that."


    "Let go before I break your hand," Finella snapped.


    "Sweetheart..."


    Flames ignited around Spark¡¯s hand, and the vampire recoiled, his hand scorched. Behind him, two black dresses appeared, but before things could spiral out of control, a pair of bouncers in suits emerged from the crowd.


    "Put the weapon away, sir," one of them ordered.


    "Do you guarantee the safety of me and my companion?"


    "Without fail."


    I took the risk. What other choice did I have?


    With a deliberate show, I uncocked the pistol and slid it back under my arm. The vampire was livid, but before he could take another step, the hands of his sisters landed silently on his shoulders.


    "Mr. Lindemann, leave the premises," one of the bouncers said.


    "First..." the bloodsucker began, wincing in pain. His sisters tightened their grips and drove their claws through the fabric of his jacket and into his shoulders.


    "He¡¯s already leaving, Jeffrey," one of the sisters said.


    "Thank you, miss."


    I thought they¡¯d kick me out as well, but the bouncer settled for a polite apology and complimentary drinks on the house. Finella and I pretended to be satisfied with that, had a quick gin and tonic, and quietly slipped out in the first cab we could find.


    The direct route home ran through the City, but I instructed the cabman to take a long detour through New High, Castle Rock, the train station district, and enter Old City via Pubset.


    "Do you think we¡¯re being followed?" Fin whispered.


    "No idea. But caution never hurts."


    For a while, we fell silent, each lost in our own thoughts. I found myself leaning more and more toward the conclusion that the situation was spiraling out of control. I couldn¡¯t handle it on my own, and, like in childhood, I¡¯d have to call for the help of the grown-ups. It was a disgusting feeling.


    Finella¡¯s thoughts were far more rational. As we entered Pubset, she asked, "How are you planning to sleep tonight? The Wilcox house doesn¡¯t have protective wards, and vampires are masters at creeping in under cover of darkness."


    "I¡¯ll go back to Harry. There¡¯s no point in maintaining good relations with the Fairburns after this stunt."


    "What was that agreement about?"


    "He tried to use me to deliver an artifact that could¡¯ve disrupted Harry¡¯s ritual ¨C and killed me in the process."


    "What a bastard!"


    "I completely agree with you. You¡¯ll tell your brother everything. About tonight, and about the slums."


    I wasn¡¯t going to call my uncle. For now, the girls¡¯ relatives could protect them. That would buy me at least a few days.


    "Why?!" Finella asked, alarmed.


    "Because the games are over. That bloodsucker meant business. Either you and Ellie tell him yourselves, or I will."


    "James will kill you."


    "Depends on how I frame it. I could say that you dragged me into this..."


    "What?!" The redhead caught my smirk. "Not funny!"


    "Do it, Fin. Spin it however you like, but make sure Ellie does the same."


    A red roadster with the top down roared past us on the left, forcing the cabman to swerve sharply and mutter an unprintable comment about the high morals of the speedster¡¯s mother. The convertible sped ahead by about ten meters, screeched its tires, and skidded to a halt, blocking the road. The cabman slammed on the brakes, sending Finella and me hurtling against the glass partition. The impact stunned our amulets, but I managed to brace my hands against the glass. My nose touched it but remained intact.


    "Son of a...!" the driver cursed. "You two all right back there?" He turned to check on us just as a man in a gray coat jumped out of the convertible and aimed a submachine gun with a massive drum magazine straight at us.


    "Get down!" I barked, shoving Fin to the floor and dropping on top of her.


    The cab shuddered as the thunder of bullets filled the cabin, accompanied by a rain of shattered glass. Judging by the massive drum magazine, it was a hundred-rounder. Damn hundred cursed rounds that could chew through my shield in a matter of seconds, so I didn¡¯t even try to fire back. The one saving grace was that the Cooper¡¯s frame was sturdy enough to stop the heavy, blunt-nosed bullets. I would¡¯ve preferred a BAR fitted with high-caliber rifle rounds with armor-piercing cores. Fewer bullets ¨C only twenty ¨C but far better penetration.


    The shooter was a lousy marksman, firing in long, wasteful bursts instead of controlled shots. That alone might¡¯ve worked to our advantage, if not for the etheric deflection charm on my cufflinks, which redirected the bullets away from us.


    The driver let out a scream as a stray bullet hit him, and a ricochet struck me in the back, draining the earth charge in my cufflinks by less than a quarter. The etheric charge ran out completely, and the bullets began flying straight again.


    I grabbed the door handle, hesitated, and froze. The driver was still moaning, but the gun had gone silent. Had the bloodsucker emptied his drum, or had he simply stopped shooting?


    I shoved the door open and rolled onto the road, immediately diving to the side. In a flash, I was on my feet, a shield spell ready and my pistol drawn.


    The vampire hurled the detached drum magazine at me, forcing me to duck to avoid the heavy chunk of metal smashing into my face. The bloodsucker grabbed a smaller drum from the seat, and I pulled the trigger. The enchanted armor-piercing bullet tore through the bastard¡¯s gut and the car door behind him. The drum flew from his hands.


    Pain twisted the vampire¡¯s features for a moment, freezing him in place, and I sent another bullet straight at his head. My aim was as true as ever, but instead of brains splattering onto the asphalt, golden sparks of protective magic burst forth. The vampire dropped the submachine gun and, with a single leap, vaulted over his Martin.


    I charged after him, but just as I rounded the car, a hand holding a revolver appeared above the door and fired blindly. Three shots rang out in quick succession. Two of them hit my shield, deflected at an angle just as Harry had taught me. I dropped to the ground and fired at his legs ¨C or rather, at the shadow visible beneath the roadster¡¯s undercarriage.


    The vampire cursed, and the shadow shifted behind a wheel, but his next three shots mirrored my strategy, coming in low. The first bullet struck my ankle, sending a blinding flash of sparks through my vision and dropping me to the ground. Thank God, the other two missed.


    A ringing sound echoed at the edge of my awareness. Instincts screamed at me to attack immediately, but I could barely lift my injured leg. It took me a moment to realize the ringing was spent casings hitting the asphalt, ejected by the revolver¡¯s extractor.


    I surged forward, but my injured leg buckled, and I collapsed again. Forced to roll aside, I raised my shield just as the vampire reloaded his revolver and, rising above the car, started emptying it in my direction. Bullets whined, harmlessly ricocheting upward off my shield, but the reservoir charge was draining fast, and I was now dangerously exposed, too close to the bloodsucker.


    Four shots later, the vampire froze, but he didn¡¯t lower his weapon. We locked eyes through the shimmering veil of the shield, each calculating who would move first when the shield charge ran out. I could have dropped the shield myself, but going head-to-head with a vampire in terms of speed ¨C without a potion ¨C was pure folly.


    The vampire jerked left and leaped five meters in a single bound. A tiny fireball slammed into the Martin¡¯s door and erupted in flames. Finella¡¯s entrance into the fight was both dramatic and effective. Her hands were engulfed in fire, the flickering flames playing a beautiful dance across her hair and shimmering dress. The fiery fairy was magnificent in her fury.


    The vampire spent his last two bullets on her. I threw my shield in the way, but the distance to the target drained the reservoir almost instantly. I managed to deflect the first bullet, but the second shattered into molten lead only centimeters from Finella¡¯s face.


    Unexpectedly, it turned out our fiery warrior didn¡¯t need protection ¨C so much the better. Without my shield, my only option was to attack.


    Finella growled like a tigress, spreading her flaming hands wide. She seemed to pluck two massive chunks of fire from the air itself. Crossing her arms, she unleashed two long, thin streams of superheated flame. For a moment, they hovered in the air on either side of the vampire. Then, with a sharp motion, she snapped her arms apart, the blazing streams slicing together like scissor blades.


    But the bastard somehow anticipated their movement and leaped into the air. The fiery blades sheared off the hem of his stylish coat, leaving glowing scars on the door and hood of the burning Martin.


    I fired two shots at the airborne figure with no apparent success. The vampire landed on the edge of the car door, balancing above the flames, used it as a springboard, and launched himself straight at Finella.


    I emptied the last rounds in my pistol, golden sparks erupting from the bastard¡¯s head as the bullets struck his enchanted defenses.


    Spark summoned another fireball in her hands, but the bloodsucker flung his empty revolver at it. The sphere detonated on impact, the explosion blasting Finella backward.


    The first explosion was followed by a second. The fuel tank of the beleaguered Martin blew. The hood split cleanly along the seam left by the fiery beam. A large chunk of the car¡¯s bodywork flew over my head, while a smaller piece caught up with the vampire, who had just landed, and slammed into his back.


    The searing piece of metal caused the bloodsucker far more trouble than my bullets ever had. The vampire arched in agony.


    I did the impossible ¨C I was behind him in a flash, without even realizing how I¡¯d switched from my pistol to my dagger. Grabbing the bastard by the face, I wrenched his head back and slashed the blade across his throat.


    The enchanted dagger hadn¡¯t lost its edge since the day of its consecration. Seventy years ago, my grandfather had honed it to razor perfection. The steel sliced effortlessly through skin and muscle, tore open the vampire¡¯s throat, and scraped against bone.


    The vampire broke free. He was disoriented, his head lolling on his spine and the remaining strands of muscle. But his spinal cord was intact. The bastard lashed out blindly, like a drunkard.


    I swept his leg out from under him, and he collapsed onto his back, landing on the jagged shard lodged in his spine. Under the weight of his body, the piece of bodywork drove deeper into his flesh, its tip puncturing through his abdomen and protruding out the front.


    The creature''s body still fought against its second death.


    With a sharp kick, I rolled him onto his stomach and drove the tip of my dagger into the base of his skull.


    The crunch of bone and the vampire¡¯s death throes were accompanied by a wave of approval emanating from the dagger.


    It had been a good fight. Ferrish was pleased. But not enough to lift the seals.

 Chapter 16

    The first thing I did was rush to Finella. Her hair was untouched by the flames ¨C not that you could say the same about her dress, which now had holes revealing glimpses of her undergarments. Her pulse was steady.


    ¡°Fin,¡± I called. ¡°Spark?!¡± I had to slap her lightly across the face. She groaned, began to stir, and I lost interest.


    What interested me more was what was happening around us. In the heat of battle, I¡¯d focused on surviving and had stopped paying attention to the surroundings.


    There were far too many witnesses to what had just happened. People stared at us from the windows of nearby buildings and through the glass of cars forced to stop nearby. Luckily, there weren¡¯t many of the latter. Right before my eyes, several cabs on either side of the street turned around on the straightaway and drove off. The bravest driver, behind the wheel of a brand-new Austin, carefully maneuvered around the smoldering wreckage of the Martin and sped away. It wouldn¡¯t take long for news of the incident to spread across the city. We had to get out of here.


    The problem was our cabman had gone suspiciously silent. A few seconds ago, he was still shrieking.


    I yanked open the cab¡¯s front door and looked inside. The driver had slid to the floor and hidden under the seat. Trying to pull him out only triggered another outburst of screaming.


    ¡°Help! They¡¯re killing me!¡± the fool yelled.


    ¡°It¡¯s me, your passenger. Calm down!¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re killing me!¡±


    Unexpectedly, Finella intervened. She opened the door on the other side and threatened the driver with a small flame in her palm.


    ¡°Shut up before I burn your tongue off!¡±


    It worked. The cabman fell silent.


    ¡°Start the car,¡± I ordered.


    ¡°We¡¯re bolting?¡± Finella asked.


    ¡°We¡¯re bolting,¡± I confirmed. The shootout had caught us in the middle of the district of indulgences, and the owners of the nearest establishments had probably already called the cops. ¡°We¡¯re bolting, but first... Can you hide us from prying eyes?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯ll be a lot of smoke... Hard to breathe.¡±


    ¡°Do it!¡±


    Finella turned to the wrecked Martin, made a few gestures with her hands, and the flames died down, replaced by billowing smoke.


    I quickly grabbed the submachine gun and the full drum magazine from the asphalt. This weapon was worth as much as a brand-new Cooper ¨C a small profit, at least, since we weren¡¯t getting any decent loot out of this mess. And the body¡­ no body, no case, as they say. I wasn¡¯t about to deal with the cops; that¡¯s always a long and unpleasant affair.


    The smoke fully concealed us from view, and I grabbed the body by its legs.


    ¡°Fin, open the door.¡±


    ¡°Why do you need that filth?¡±


    ¡°Help me out! Hold his head so it doesn¡¯t come off.¡±


    Together, we stuffed him under the rear seat and sat down on top of it just as I heard the wail of police sirens.


    ¡°Go, go! Rapsy, Longhead Road, seventeen!¡± I barked, giving the only address in this cursed city that I associated with safety.


    The cabman took off, speeding past the smoking Martin, veering into the oncoming lane, and nearly colliding with a car that had dared to peek into the smoke screen. He swerved back into the proper lane just in time.


    Emerging from the smoke, we came face-to-face with the cops. Finella¡¯s hand clenched my shoulder painfully, but in the remains of the smoke, our battered hood and bullet-riddled windshield weren¡¯t as noticeable. The cops stopped, but we, on the contrary, shot forward at full speed.


    We even made it to Harry¡¯s house without any trouble.


    I didn¡¯t touch the gate ¨C I had no idea what kind of contraptions Harry might have set up. Possibly the same kind of alarm spell as on the wicket gate, but even so, it could be the path to the first trap seal.


    I asked Finella to wait, though in truth, I left her to keep an eye on the driver. As for him, I instructed him not to turn off the engine.


    I burst into the mansion like a whirlwind.


    "Har-ry-y!" I shouted.


    "Stop yelling," the wizard replied, sitting in an armchair I hadn¡¯t noticed in the foyer before. Nearby were a couch, a basin of water, a table laden with various potions, and a collection of energy stones. "Who¡¯s injured? What are the wounds?" Smith inquired matter-of-factly.


    "Uh... the driver. We need to get the car inside."


    "Open the gates, bring it into the stables, but make it quick. The seals will only be deactivated for five minutes."


    Five minutes later, the battered Cooper was parked among the long-empty stalls. The Sparrow brothers hovered behind Harry with the basin and potions while the wizard grumbled in irritation.


    "The man only has a few scratches! Why¡¯d you drag him here? I¡¯ve got enough of these two to deal with," he said, pointing at the boys.


    "You asked who was injured, and he was screaming his head off."


    "Oh, he was screaming. And the corpse under the back seat ¨C was it screaming too? Oh, hello, Spark. How¡¯s James?"


    "Good evening, Sir Harry," Finella replied primly, trying to cover the charred holes in her dress. "James is doing quite well. You¡¯ve helped him a lot."


    I didn¡¯t understand what they were talking about and got a bit distracted.


    "It¡¯s a vampire," I said, pointing at the body and handing Finella my jacket. "Do you know him?"


    No one answered. Harry smiled into his beard, then ordered the cabman, "Get that garbage out of the car and leave."


    "Yes, sir!" the man exclaimed in relief and eagerly pulled the body out by its legs. In his excitement, he yanked so hard that the head ¨C already hanging on by little more than a flap of skin and sheer luck ¨C caught on the edge of the front seat and tore off.


    When the driver saw this, he turned green, dropped the body, and ran to vomit into the nearest stall.


    Harry, unfazed, grabbed the head by its disheveled hair, turned it to face him, and peered into its mouth.


    "Well, lucky you. A young one," Harry remarked, tossing the head back onto the body and wiping his hands.


    Suddenly, the car let out two loud sputters and went silent. The cabman stopped vomiting and began wailing.


    "No, no, no, no! God, no!" He rushed to the car and lifted the bullet-riddled hood. "I¡¯m dead!"


    "What happened?" Harry asked.


    "The engine seized from overheating."


    "Why? It was working fine."


    "The radiator¡¯s shot full of holes ¨C like a sieve. The water must¡¯ve leaked out on the way here. My boss is going to kill me. The glass and a new body panels, I could manage, but the engine costs as much as my yearly income!"


    "What¡¯re you talking about?" Knuckles interjected. "You guys make a tenner just in tips every week!"


    "A tenner?!" the driver exclaimed indignantly. "You think everyone tips? These days, only cheapskates take cabs!" He glanced at me warily, then continued in a more pitiful tone, "And on top of that, the landlord squeezes me for rent, I have to eat, dress decently... I¡¯m on my own here! My whole family¡¯s back in the village."


    "Knuckles," I asked, "do you know how much a car like this costs?"


    "A new one? A hundred and fifty, easy. But a wreck like this sewenty, tops."


    "At least a hundred!" the driver butted in, quickly silencing himself.


    "Harry, can you get him out another way? Over the fence, maybe. The front entrance isn¡¯t an option."


    "Well, theoretically, yes. But he¡¯d need to be guided between the seals, and I can¡¯t stray that far."


    "I can do it!" Cap volunteered. "I¡¯ll guide him between the seals. I just need the ointment ¨C I can¡¯t see well without it."The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Right..." I remembered.


    "So, you can see without it?" Harry cut in, pointing at Cap. "Look over here." He held out an empty palm. "What do you see?"


    "An upside-down pyramid," Cap said.


    "That¡¯s a cone," Harry corrected absentmindedly. "Come here."


    The wizard grabbed the boy by the shoulders and stared intently at his forehead.


    "How did I not notice this before!"


    "Care to share with the class?" I asked, noting how suddenly Harry¡¯s mood had improved.


    "The ointment will definitely work better for him. Apply it."


    I opened my ring, smeared some of the ointment on the boy¡¯s forehead, and then turned to the cab driver.


    "Call your boss and tell him I¡¯ll stop by tomorrow to sort everything out. And you ¨C head to the village. First train out." I pulled some cash from my pocket, counted out a fifty, and stuffed it into the stunned cabman¡¯s hands. "You don¡¯t want this guy¡¯s friends¡­" I pointed at the corpse and then at the head, which had rolled a bit away, "asking questions, do you?"


    The driver turned green again and shook his head vigorously.


    "Then I suggest you leave the city as quickly as possible. If anyone asks, you tell them you hid and saw nothing. Then there was smoke, and we escaped. You have no idea where the attacker went. Got it?"


    The cabman nodded so enthusiastically it looked like his head might come off. Harry gave Cap directions on where to lead the driver, then dismissed them both.


    "Let me guess," Harry said, nudging the vampire¡¯s body with his foot. "This scumbag pretended to be dead and then bolted?"


    "You guessed right."


    "Not bad. Have you searched him yet?"


    I shook my head and started rummaging through the vampire¡¯s pockets while Harry instructed Knuckles to dig a hole in the backyard.


    The new batch of loot yielded a fat wallet containing two fifties, a tenner and a handful of change, along with an old photograph showing our corpse, much younger, standing arm-in-arm with the man Ellie had killed. They looked alike ¨C clearly not just nest brothers, but blood brothers before their transformation.


    There was also a pack of cigarettes, a gilded gasoline lighter, an expensive wristwatch, a silver fountain pen, a couple of plain rings, including a signet ring bearing the nest¡¯s crest, a protective magma amulet with a volcanic glass stone on a steel chain, and a worn passport in a brand-new leather cover. The name on the passport read "Connor Lindemann," with a turning year of 1917.


    "Not so young after all," I said, handing the passport to Harry. "He¡¯s been a vampire longer than I¡¯ve been alive."


    "Well, he¡¯s not exactly old either," Harry countered. "You done?"


    "Even checked the lining," I confirmed.


    "Then let¡¯s go."


    Harry grabbed the head and strode forward. Finella followed, and I dragged the body behind them.


    By the time we came, Knuckles had already dug a small patch of earth with a shovel and piled a neat mound of carefully cut turf nearby.


    Harry tossed the vampire¡¯s head into the hole and gestured for me to do the same with the body.


    The pit wasn¡¯t big enough to fit the whole body ¨C arms and legs stuck out awkwardly. Harry used telekinesis to fold them in, the bones cracking as joints broke and twisted unnaturally. I threw the rest of his belongings into the pit on top of the body.


    "I understand you¡¯re a wealthy young man," Harry remarked, "but this seems rather wasteful."


    "Those items could lead the bloodsuckers back to me."


    "I¡¯ll enchant them," Harry assured me. "I¡¯ve got so much metal energy spilling over, I don¡¯t know what to do with it," he added, waving toward the house.


    I reluctantly gathered the valuables, keeping only the cigarettes, the documents, and the empty wallet with the photograph.


    Using telekinesis, Harry carved a circle around the pit, waved his hand, and, just like my grandfather used to do, pulled a thick, heavy book out of a dimensional pocket. It opened on its own and hung in the air. Harry traced his finger over it, and the pages began to flip with a soft rustle.


    "Not this one¡­" Harry muttered, staring into the seemingly blank book. He waved his finger again, flipping through another dozen pages. "Still unfit."


    At first glance, the book appeared half-empty, but I had the idea to apply some ointment to my third eye. Finella jabbed me in the side, demanding a portion for herself.


    Once the ointment took effect, Harry¡¯s figure, along with the book, became wreathed in a dark-blue ether mist. On the open pages, gray geometric patterns glowed faintly, dotted with blotches that I guessed were earth runes.


    Responding to the wizard¡¯s will, one of the patterns, charged with elemental energy, tore free from the page, fell onto the corpse, and stretched itself across the drawn circle on the ground. The blotches expanded, transforming into fully formed runes, while faint shadows of the pattern remained on the book¡¯s pages, awaiting a fresh charge of elemental energy.


    A few more pages flipped backward, and this time Harry extracted a fiery pattern from the book, overlaying it atop the earth rune circle.


    "Knuckles, bring a bucket. Spark, a little fire," he said.


    Finella tossed a small flame onto the corpse, which ignited as if it were a pile of gasoline-soaked straw.


    I jumped back in surprise, but the fire spiraled upward in a twisting column, shooting into the sky and leaving behind nothing but a handful of ash and a perfectly circular scorch mark. Harry waited until the elder Sparrow brought the bucket, then used telekinesis to sweep the ashes into it.


    "Good for potions," he remarked.


    He then tossed another earth rune into the pit, filled it with dirt, packed it down, laid the turf over it, and sealed the area with a dark-green blood ward.


    We hadn¡¯t even stepped away yet when the grass at our feet began to grow lush and wild.


    "Let¡¯s call it even for the servants I owe you," Harry said with a smile in his beard. The book vanished with a flick of his hand, and he picked up the bucket of ash.


    "That¡¯s quite an expensive payment," I remarked.


    "Ah, forget it. I¡¯ve always hated bloodsuckers. But you should think about it ¨C isn¡¯t it time to call your uncle?"


    "Let me get through the night first. My brain¡¯s locked up."


    "And you, young lady? James won¡¯t do anything foolish, will he?"


    "He thinks I stayed at Ellie Sheridan¡¯s, but I¡¯d rather get home before dawn looking like this."


    "No problem. I¡¯ll fetch a cab," I offered.


    "No need, I¡¯ll hop the fence."


    "We¡¯ll worry," I said.


    "Sir Harry, you¡¯re keeping an eye on what¡¯s happening near the gates, aren¡¯t you?"


    Harry nodded.


    "You¡¯ll recognize me if I come to the wicket gate?"


    "Of course."


    "Then here¡¯s the plan. I¡¯ll grab a cab, step out for a moment in front of the gates..."


    "And immediately attract attention," I interrupted, disappointed.


    "Then what if I fireball the fence from the other side?"


    "I¡¯ll feel that too, just don¡¯t overdo it, or you¡¯ll burn out the sensory line."


    Spark created a small flame in her hand. Harry examined it and gave his approval.


    As soon as Cap returned, he was tasked with escorting Finella, while I went off to bed. Or at least tried to. All I could see were nightmares about bloodsuckers. After a night like that, I woke up angry and exhausted, and not by choice.


    "Wake up, Lord!"


    I blinked groggily, anxiety clawing at me. I saw Knuckles before I even reached for the pistol under my pillow.


    "What do you want?"


    "The police are here."


    I came downstairs five minutes later, not in the best mood and wearing less-than-fresh clothes. I had to leave the dagger behind, but I slung the straps of my shoulder holster over my vest.


    Harry¡¯s colorful cursing improved my mood a bit. It was immediately clear that Sir Harry was a man of rich life experience. The way he managed to tie Fairburn¡¯s dear mother to devils and dockworkers in the same sentence with a sexual context ¨C it was nothing short of poetic. And he was swearing at Sunset, who stood flanked by two constables.


    "Don¡¯t give me that bullshit, John. That bastard tried to kill me! Not just scare off a few servants ¨C kill me! And the cops are doing nothing about it!"


    "Why don¡¯t you go¡­ to hell, Harry?" Sunset retorted. "What, you thought you¡¯d get to bite off the juiciest piece of the pie, and no one would say a word? You knew exactly what you were getting into when you started this mess, you senile old fool. And so did August. Who¡¯s going to prove it was him who handed the sphere to the Kinkaid? Want justice? Want to blow this open? Fine, let¡¯s do it. Tomorrow, every paper in the city will print their version of what¡¯s happening. Every single one. But not one ¨C not one ¨C will badmouth the Fairburns. What they¡¯ll do is write about crazy old Sledgehammer Harry and the dangerous, psycho lordling from some backwater dump."


    "I¡¯m from Avoc, sir," I cut in coldly. The moment I heard myself mentioned, the insults became much harder to ignore. "That¡¯s the capital of the county, in case you didn¡¯t know."


    But Harry had already wound Sunset up so much that the man ignored my tone entirely.


    "Even if you were from Exeter itself!" Sunset barked, naming the capital of Duthigh. "You¡¯re an outsider here, boy. And half the city eats out of Fairburn¡¯s hand."


    "I heard he¡¯s having some issues with His Worship?"


    "Issues, sure. But de Camp isn¡¯t an idiot. He needs ironclad proof to start a war, not the word of some boy and a fanatic vicar. What actually happened, huh? Nothing! No one got hurt! Your servants, Harry, claim you¡¯ve stopped paying them. Same with the grocer you had a contract with for food deliveries. And I don¡¯t blame them. You¡¯ve holed up in your fortress, while these people have to live their lives out in the open. They have families to feed, and it¡¯s hard to do that with broken hands, in case you didn¡¯t know!"


    Then he turned to me, jabbing a finger in my direction.


    "And you, boy! I knew you¡¯d be trouble."


    "Lord Loxlin, sir," I corrected him.


    "Or the Earl of Bremor himself, for all I care!" the inspector shouted. "What the hell did you do to piss off the bloodsuckers?"


    "I have no idea. My guess is August Fairburn had something to do with it. He and I had a falling out at The Golden Tear. He asked why I hadn¡¯t delivered Harry¡¯s ¡®gift,¡¯ and I told him Harry had taken it at the doorstep and promised to return the favor. After that, Fairburn had a chat with the bloodsucker, pointing in my direction ¨C he might¡¯ve ordered the hit. The vampire tried to start a fight in the club, but the bouncers stopped him."


    "August? Seriously? You¡¯re just going to pin everything on him now?"


    "Inspector, I¡¯m not here to argue with you. If you doubt my word, I suggest you visit the Golden Tear and ask the staff. Isn¡¯t that what you¡¯re paid to do ¨C investigate this city?"


    "You, boy, don¡¯t tell me how to do my job. I earned my paycheck ¨C I didn¡¯t inherit it."


    That stung. Probably because it was true.


    "Oh yes, I¡¯ve had the pleasure of experiencing the fine work of this city¡¯s police! Robberies, assaults, murders, and people you can¡¯t ¡®touch¡¯ without proof."


    Sunset flushed red, taking a step toward me. But Harry stopped him, placing a hand on his chest.


    "You¡¯re in my house, John. Don¡¯t forget that."


    "Don¡¯t interfere with the police, Harry. I¡¯m arresting this little bastard!"


    "Oh," I said with a bright smile. "So it turns out you can arrest people without proof ¨C or even a reason?"


    "For public disorder and property damage in the city! You fled the crime scene. So I¡¯ll hold you until¡­"


    "I wouldn¡¯t advise that. As a friend, I wouldn¡¯t advise it. Believe me, you don¡¯t want a mob of Kinkaids in your city."


    Harry suddenly let go of Sunset and glanced toward the door, his expression turning wary.


    "What?" the inspector asked.


    "Bloodsuckers at the gate," Harry replied.


    "Goddammit, Harry! This is exactly what I was trying to avoid!"

 Chapter 17

    Sunset tried to curse, but Harry cut him off and told him not to interfere. For a few minutes, the wizard completely withdrew from the conversation, simply closing his eyes. Even I could feel how the magical energy in the room thickened. It became easier to breathe, and my muscles seemed to fill with power and energy, making my fingers twitch involuntarily. A dangerous and deceptive sensation.


    My concealment-revealing amulet went berserk, stabbing into my skin like tiny needles. I had to take it off.


    "There are two bloodsuckers," Harry said, opening his eyes. "A teacher and a master."


    The illusion of power dissipated. A master? Damn it.


    Sunset swore in time with my thoughts. Harry, however, didn¡¯t seem bothered by the guests at all. I imagine they wouldn¡¯t have impressed cousin Evan either ¨C or Logan, for that matter. Well, perhaps a master might. But they were far stronger than me, and I couldn¡¯t afford to overestimate myself.


    Yesterday¡¯s bloodsucker had been nothing but a young fighter, and he¡¯d nearly sent me to the grave. Now we were dealing with a master vampire who could easily have six centuries of experience under his belt. Six hundred years¡­ No, wait. If it¡¯s Lindemann at the gate, didn¡¯t the vicar say their patriarch was younger than the rest? That could mean a difference of a hundred years ¨C or three. Which still doesn¡¯t save me.


    "Cap¡­ um, Nathan!" Harry called, seemingly deciding to avoid using nicknames in front of outsiders.


    The boy darted in from the direction of the kitchen.


    "There are guests at the gate. Escort them to the small sitting room we cleaned up yesterday."


    I didn¡¯t like the idea. They wouldn¡¯t choke on a boy like him.


    "Maybe I should go instead?"


    "They don¡¯t care about him," Harry replied. "And there¡¯s a white flag." Then he turned back to the boy. "Don¡¯t show fear. Learn to keep your composure."


    The boy nodded hesitantly and left.


    "Clint," Harry called again. "There¡¯s an old tea set in the kitchen cabinet. Bring it to the small sitting room and brew some chamomile tea. In the meantime, I suggest we relocate."


    The small sitting room was located on the first floor, in the left-front corner of the mansion. It was a spacious room with an oval table that could seat ten, a couple of empty cabinets too bulky for the previous owners to bother taking with them, and wide windows that flooded the space with morning sunlight.


    The only out-of-place object was a chair by the window overlooking the scruffy park. Still, the faint, poorly wiped traces of a teacup on the windowsill suggested Harry liked to sit there. That was probably why the room had been cleaned.


    "Take a seat," Harry suggested, grabbing the back of a chair facing the door.


    I quickly took the spot next to him, while Sunset chose the seat beside me. He ordered the constables to unfasten the flaps of their holsters and position themselves by the window, close to the door. The inspector was seriously preparing for a fight, white flag be damned. I had a feeling his choice to sit near me wasn¡¯t accidental either.


    "Harry, in honor of old debts," the policeman requested, "let me do the talking."


    "You can¡¯t," I cut in. "Not with bloodsuckers. The person they address must speak. The worst thing you can do is let them sense weakness or fear."


    "Well, you¡¯re the expert on talking, aren¡¯t you?" Sunset snapped.


    "Let¡¯s not, Inspector," I said. "We¡¯ve both said things driven by our own perspectives and goals, but the situation has changed. If the vampires notice any tension between us..."


    "They¡¯ll immediately try to drive a wedge," Sunset finished. "Boy, I don¡¯t need your theory. I¡¯ve been dealing with bloodsuckers since before you could even crawl under a table."


    "Respect, sir," I replied evenly. "Let¡¯s change the tone of this conversation and start with mutual respect."


    Sunset growled in annoyance but took two deep breaths.


    "You¡¯re right, Lord Loxlin. We¡¯ll do it your way this time. I¡¯ll stay silent unless the situation spirals out of control."


    "I have no intention of staying silent!" Smith declared.


    "Then say everything at once, Sir Harry," I suggested. "And try not to make threats prematurely. Just outline the rules the guests need to follow in this house."


    "No problem!"


    "Harry," Sunset pleaded, "just don¡¯t go overboard."


    We managed to calm ourselves and fell silent ¨C at least outwardly. Inside, I was shivering, and I had to keep reminding myself that it was daylight outside ¨C not the most favorable time for bloodsuckers. Even so, I nearly jumped when Knuckles burst into the sitting room, rattling porcelain on a tray.


    But when Cap brought in the vampires, I even managed to force a smile. It nearly froze on my face when Harry greeted them.


    "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked.


    The vampires stopped dead in their tracks.


    The woman in the red dress and wide-brimmed hat with a veil took a threatening step forward but was halted by a hand in a white leather glove.


    The man in a cream-colored three-piece suit adjusted his wide-brimmed hat, removed his large sunglasses, and replied,


    "Good morning to you too, Sir Harry."


    "Don¡¯t give me that crap. You¡¯re not laying a hand on the boy. You can talk, but I wouldn¡¯t recommend any sudden moves."


    "I¡¯ve heard politeness isn¡¯t one of your strong suits..." the vampire quipped.


    "You got the message," Harry retorted, motioning to the chair in front of him.


    "Gentlemen," the vampire greeted, slightly tipping his hat. We nodded curtly in response. He sat down in the indicated chair and lifted his hat into the air in such a way that it cast a shadow over his face, shielding it from the sunlight streaming through the windows. The woman behind him caught the hat smoothly, freeing her father¡¯s hands. She froze in that position, holding the hat steady to ensure the shadow continued to shield his face.


    "We haven¡¯t been introduced yet, young man," the vampire said. "Allow me to introduce myself: Lucas Jordy Lindemann."


    Lying or hiding my identity seemed like a poor choice. My name alone might protect me better than anything else.


    "Duncan Magnus Kinkaid, Baron Loxlin," I replied.


    "Bremor clan?" the vampire said, his surprise revealing an unexpected awareness.


    I nodded, and the bloodsucker fell into thought.


    "I take it mister Sunset is here because of last night¡¯s disturbances?"


    The inspector nodded.


    "Your son caused quite a ruckus yesterday. The police have several questions for him."


    "I¡¯m afraid he won¡¯t be able to answer," Lucas said. "He¡¯s dead."


    Sunset¡¯s face displayed a silent question, though not one of surprise.


    "Don¡¯t look at me," Lucas added. "I would¡¯ve been glad to rip his head off myself, but I imagine Lord Loxlin beat me to it."


    Why "rip his head off"? And why specifically "rip"? Did the bastard know something, or was it just a coincidence?


    "Lord Loxlin!?" Sunset asked, his tone suggesting this wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d posed such a question.


    "Yes?"


    "What do you know about the death of the vampire who attacked you?"


    "Absolutely nothing," I lied, looking the bloodsucker in the eye. For some reason, this seemed to amuse him, so I decided to clarify. "We left¡­" I almost said ¡®the body,¡¯ "at the scene of the incident."


    "He was alive?" Lindemann asked with a sly smile.


    "I didn¡¯t check."Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    "How careless," Lucas said with the same smile. "Enemies should be finished off."


    Is he threatening me? Likely. Even Harry tensed, as if trying not to say something reckless. I hurried to respond.


    "You¡¯re absolutely right. Next time, I won¡¯t make that mistake."


    "You¡¯re a dangerous man, my Lord. Still a young one, but already quite decisive and capable. I¡¯d like to apologize for the actions of my children..." Lucas paused, emphasizing the plural, ensuring I caught the implication before continuing. "Boys tend to get out of control more often than girls. It¡¯s our nature, and there¡¯s no cure for it. Unfortunately, one must act harshly in such cases. That¡¯s the duty of a father. I¡¯m glad that responsibility passed me by this time ¨C thank you. Let¡¯s be friends."


    What!?


    "Your son tried to kill me," I reminded him.


    "And in doing so, he stupidly endangered the nest, his father, and his prince," Lindemann replied seriously. "I have no desire for war, nor for losses. I would prefer friendship."


    You can¡¯t trust a bloodsucker. Grandfather had said it many times ¨C they live for intrigue. What do I even say to that? My brain felt like it was locking up.


    "War is not an option," I managed, latching onto his last phrase.


    "I¡¯m glad to hear that. I understand we¡¯re still far from friendship, but you can always count on my help. Don¡¯t hesitate to ask. And give my regards to the young ladies."


    Again, the plural. If there had been any doubt left from his earlier words, this practically spelled it out ¨C he¡¯d forgiven me for both. But vampires don¡¯t forgive. Those who attain the status of "father" simply learn to control their emotions, prioritizing advantage above all else. A "friendship" with me would indeed benefit him.


    The vampire took the hat his daughter was still holding and rose to his feet.


    "Gentlemen, I bid you good day. No need to see me out ¨C I remember the way."


    For a while, we sat in stunned silence. Sunset was the first to break it.


    "You lucky son of a bitch! With all due respect, my lord."


    "With all your respect, I absolutely disagree. I don¡¯t think a vampire¡¯s offer of friendship can end in anything good."


    "Perhaps," the inspector replied. "But the important thing is that the city will avoid major bloodshed for the time being. By the way, which ladies was he referring to? Witnesses only saw you with one girl."


    "He probably misspoke..." I suggested.


    "Ah-ha," Sunset snorted, opening his mouth to add something else ¨C only to be interrupted by Knuckles.


    "Uh, excuse me, gentlemen, should I serve the tea now?"


    "Go ahead," Harry permitted and then turned to Sunset. "The boys can stand down. The bloodsuckers are gone. Wait!"


    Harry froze with that distant, unfocused look again. By the time Knuckles had poured the fragrant chamomile tea into cups, Harry was smiling with satisfaction.


    "You¡¯ve got another visitor, Duncan," he said.


    I tensed but noticed the wizard¡¯s expression was oddly pleased.


    "Care to explain?"


    "Flower¡¯s come to visit. Looks like he¡¯s here to grill you about his sister."


    "Should I escort him in?" Cap eagerly offered.


    Harry shook his head.


    "His third eye is as developed as mine," the wizard explained.


    "What¡¯s with his eyes, anyway?" I asked, recalling those eerie whites with misty, pupil-less irises.


    "He¡¯s blind," Sunset answered.


    "That¡¯s it? No details?"


    "It¡¯s a long and unpleasant story," Sunset said. "The boy barely escaped the gallows."


    "Not by chance," Harry said. "He prepared well."


    "And what role did you play in that affair?" Sunset asked.


    "What are you implying, John?!" Harry widened his eyes in mock surprise, his sly smile barely hidden behind his cup of herbal tea.


    "Harry!" someone shouted from the foyer.


    "In here!" the wizard called back.


    A few seconds later, James Flower walked into the sitting room, holding my jacket.


    "Knuckles¡­ uh, Clint set another place. Been a while, James."


    "Gentlemen," the sorcerer greeted, nodding politely. "May I have a word with the young man in private?"


    "Oh, we¡¯re all friends here," Harry replied, clearly enjoying the situation. "Don¡¯t be shy."


    "Harry¡­"


    "Threatening this fool is pointless," the wizard said. "And I won¡¯t let you use force. Now sit down already."


    James hung my freshly cleaned jacket over the back of the nearest chair and sat in the one previously occupied by the vampire. Sunlight streamed onto his face and over his vacant eyes, but the sorcerer didn¡¯t even flinch. He simply thanked Knuckles when the boy placed a cup of rosehip tea in front of him.


    At first, we drank in silence.


    "He dragged my sister into trouble," Flower finally said, complaining like a tattling child.


    "Not entirely true, it was¡­" I paused, remembering Sunset¡¯s presence. "Ahem¡­"


    "As Harry said," the detective chimed in, "we¡¯re all friends here. Go on, Lord Loxlin."


    James¡¯s cheek twitched at the mention of my title. Apparently, Spark hadn¡¯t mentioned that detail.


    "Perhaps we should talk privately?" I suggested.


    Harry looked disappointed.


    "You¡¯re depriving me of entertainment."


    "You can eavesdrop," I offered.


    "And what about respect?" Sunset interjected sarcastically. "You¡¯re basically throwing me out of the room."


    "In that case, why don¡¯t I quickly give my testimony? Or should I come down to the station? Either way, Lindemann admitted his son¡¯s guilt, no one else was harmed, and the conflict has been resolved."


    The interrogation was conducted on the spot, right in front of Flower. Sunset asked a few tricky questions, which I tried to sidestep tactfully. I wasn¡¯t sure how successful I was, but after Lucas Lindemann¡¯s admission, the outcome of the investigation was fairly predictable. Whether he liked it or not, Sunset had to take his leave.


    I tried to part on good terms with the inspector. Yes, we¡¯d butted heads, but this was more a clash of professional interests than a reason to spoil relations.


    Once Harry left to see the inspector out, it was just me and Flower, alone at the table.


    "You dragged my sister into trouble," he repeated stubbornly, propping his elbow on the table and conjuring a small, glowing orb of sunlight in his hand.


    I winced at the bright light.


    "Let¡¯s skip the theatrics, Lord. The first time ¨C with the kettle ¨C it didn¡¯t work, so why do you think it will now?"


    James snapped his fingers, extinguishing the sun orb.


    "Thank you," I said, massaging my closed eyelids. Colored spots danced in my vision. "So I take it Finella didn¡¯t tell you everything?"


    "She said it was her idea to persuade you to take her to the club."


    "In a sense, that¡¯s true. Did she tell you we killed a vampire yesterday?"


    "She did."


    "And about the one we took care of the day before?"


    The sorcerer¡¯s jaws tightened, his hand twitched, and I felt a wave of heat radiating from him. Let¡¯s assume that meant ¡®no.¡¯


    I took a sip of the herbal tea, wetting my throat before speaking, and gave a brief summary of events. Naturally, I ¡®forgot¡¯ to mention that it was Ellie who had blown the brains out of the first vampire. I didn¡¯t bring it up at all and described the incident as a fatal accident. Of course, I had to recount the entire story from the beginning ¨C starting with my arrival and meeting the Sparrow brothers.


    "So, you can blame me all you want for what happened, Lord," I said, "but if it weren¡¯t for me, the girls might¡¯ve made a mess of things in the slums."


    "They would¡¯ve just taken Nathan and left," he countered.


    "And then another child would¡¯ve died, and the killings would¡¯ve continued."


    "I¡¯m no saint," Lord Flower said. "In this city, ten or twenty people die every day. But their fate doesn¡¯t concern me as much as my sister¡¯s. Stay away from her. And I suggest you avoid returning to the Wilcox residence."


    James rose to his feet.


    "Advice for advice," I said. "You can¡¯t protect your sister forever or shield her from real life."


    "I¡¯ll still try. Good day, Lord Loxlin."


    "And to you, Lord Flower."


    But James didn¡¯t leave immediately. Harry dragged him off to his study, and they talked there for quite a while. During that time, Cap managed to boil a few eggs and a pot of oatmeal for breakfast. We ate together with the Sparrow brothers. Harry seemed rushed, frequently glancing at the clock and wolfing down hot porridge.


    "Bloody hell!" he swore, sending bits of porridge flying onto the table and into his beard. His gaze unfocused. "What¡¯s that bastard doing here?!"


    "Want me to escort him?" Cap offered eagerly.


    "No¡­ Better send Duncan. You never know what kind of mischief that scoundrel might be up to."


    I tensed but decisively applied some ointment to my third eye.


    "Who is it?"


    "Fairburn¡¯s enforcer. Waving a white flag at the gate, just like the vampires."


    I threw on my jacket and headed to the gate. The brute noticed me from a distance and lowered his makeshift flag ¨C a broomstick with a piece of bedsheet tied to it.


    "Mr. Belor," I greeted him calmly. The brute looked visibly nervous.


    "Sir ¨C uh, um ¨C Lord, I mean. Lord¡­"


    "Mr. Belor, stop wasting time."


    "Lord L-l-l¡­"


    "Loxlin," I prompted him.


    "Lord Loxlin, would you be willing to meet with Sir August at the Clarabar?"


    "Where?"


    "You¡¯ve been there before."


    "The restaurant across from the bank?" I asked, noting how energetically Belor nodded. He was being overly agreeable today ¨C practically bending over backward. "The service there is terrible," I replied, rejecting the offer.


    "Uh¡­ perhaps another location?"


    "There¡¯s a small caf¨¦ across from the police station in Pubset. They¡¯ve got good blood sausages and pork cutlets. Shame I don¡¯t remember the name, but we can meet there. If August is interested, I¡¯ll be there¡­" I pulled out my pocket watch. Quarter to ten. Harry would be working with the ley lines until noon, maybe longer, and he was already behind schedule. If he saw we¡¯d parted peacefully, he might rush off to finish his work ¨C and I still had depleted amulets and a cluttered mind to deal with. "Three ¨C no, four," I said. "We can meet there at four a.m. Good day, Mr. Belor."


    "And to you, Lord."


    I returned to the mansion at a brisk pace, breaking into a jog as soon as I was hidden among the trees of the park, hoping to catch Harry before he locked himself away. But the wizard was already waiting for me.


    "Well?"


    "August wants a meeting."


    "Hope you told him to piss off?"


    "Not quite. Meeting¡¯s set for four. Caf¨¦ in front of Sunset¡¯s station. I¡¯ll drop by the station first. Also need to recharge my amulets. I won¡¯t bother you if I siphon a bit off the door, will I?" I asked, gesturing toward the door of the hall where Harry had been drawing in nearby magical flows.


    "Just don¡¯t burn your stuff out. There¡¯ll be power spikes in an hour. And wait for me before the meeting. We¡¯ll discuss it."


    With that, Harry shut himself in the hall, and I went to change into simple clothes to avoid wearing out my suit. It had cost me a pretty penny.

 Chapter 18

    The magic surge struck an hour later, sharp and sudden. I wouldn¡¯t have noticed it myself ¨C I had already recharged the amulets and was sitting in the kitchen, ruining my journal with formulas while sipping vile rosehip tea. It was Cap who caught my attention when he rushed in for another bucket of water. He simply couldn¡¯t hold it steady and spilled it all over the floor.


    ¡°Don¡¯t carry more than you can handle,¡± I advised, lifting my feet to avoid soaking my boots.


    ¡°It¡¯s not the weight ¨C It¡¯s the shock. Look, it¡¯s happening again.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± I paused, looking up from my scribbles.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you see? Blue, brown, blue, red, blue, brown, black¡­¡±


    Frowning, I applied the ointment for the third eye. Meanwhile, Cap dashed into the pantry to grab a rag and started mopping up the water.


    Slowly, the room began to fill with waves of color emanating from the surging energy: grey earth, nearly black metal, bright blue ether.


    ¡°Grey, black, blue,¡± I said, keeping pace with the pulsing energy.


    ¡°Brown, black, blue,¡± Cap corrected me.


    ¡°They¡¯re the elements,¡± I explained. ¡°People see them differently ¨C especially blood. To me, it¡¯s dark green. Come over here.¡±


    I recalled the way Harry had been scrutinizing the boy¡¯s forehead yesterday. At first glance, there was nothing unusual about his slight frame ¨C no visible marks of developed energy nodes ¨C but in the rippling waves of ether, his third eye flared like a bright spark.


    ¡°Did Harry talk to you about your ability to see the elements?¡±


    ¡°He gave me his magic drawing, some colored pencils, and told me to copy it into my notebook. But it¡¯s tricky ¨C colors overlap, and I can¡¯t make out everything.¡±


    ¡°Show me. I¡¯ll help you clean up in the meantime.¡±


    While Cap ran off to fetch the drawing, I quickly mopped up the floor and wrung the rag out into the bucket. The drawing turned out to be a variation of a complex protective circle, constructed with ether, sand, metal, and ice. At least, those were the colors I could distinguish, though Cap saw several additional shades of blue and green. The boy had talent ¨C or possibly a trauma to his third eye.


    I brought this up with Harry after he finished his ritual, we¡¯d had lunch, and were seated in his study.


    ¡°It¡¯s a trauma,¡± the wizard confirmed. ¡°Usually caused by ghosts when they¡¯re desperate to convey something. But that doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s useless ¨C some wizards actually awaken their eyes this way. It¡¯s¡­ let¡¯s say, an undesirable method and can come with side effects.¡± Harry twirled a finger next to his temple. ¡°Still, the boy could be trained as a wizard.¡±


    ¡°Will you take him on as an apprentice?¡±


    ¡°Haven¡¯t decided yet. What he¡¯s showing so far is promising, but I need to figure out how much the street life has corrupted him and his brother. They¡¯re too close. I can¡¯t take one and abandon the other to the gutter. And there¡¯s also the chance the younger one might refuse.¡±


    ¡°Refuse to become a wizard¡¯s apprentice?!¡± I was surprised. ¡°He¡¯s not an idiot.¡±


    ¡°The decision will rest with Knuckles, clearly. Even if he doesn¡¯t say anything outright, the kid will follow his lead. The older one isn¡¯t stupid and has more experience ¨C he¡¯ll understand that this particular wizard has no shortage of enemies.¡±


    ¡°He hasn¡¯t fallen too far yet,¡± I said. ¡°If you can beat the shitty fantasy out of his head. He romanticizes criminal life a lot.¡±


    ¡°Not an easy task.¡±


    ¡°By the way, what¡¯s the deal with my third eye?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Harry asked.


    ¡°Well, look ¨C under the ointment, Cap sees better than I do, but Knuckles sees less. Does that mean my eye is more developed?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s swollen from the seal,¡± Harry explained. ¡°That¡¯s also a type of trauma, but an internal one.¡±


    ¡°Shame,¡± I said with a wry smile. ¡°I was starting to think about becoming your apprentice myself.¡±


    ¡°A wizard from a family of warlocks? Your kin wouldn¡¯t approve.¡±


    ¡°I am part of my family. If I grow stronger, so will the Kinkaids ¨C and Bremor too.¡±


    ¡°The recipe¡¯s the same,¡± Harry said dryly. ¡°You¡¯d need to burn a hole through the seal. Can you look inward your third eye?¡±


    I shook my head. I knew it was a long shot. But what if? Just what if?!


    ¡°Alright then, what do you make of this?¡± I handed Harry my journal, which contained the finalized design and runic formulas for a new amulet.


    For a while, the wizard frowned as he studied it, then picked up a pencil and opened a work notebook. He copied the formula and began slashing out entire chains of runes, cutting and replacing as he worked. Fifteen minutes later, he stopped ruining his paper and passed me the notebook with the revised version.


    ¡°It¡¯ll still devour a ridiculous amount of energy,¡± he said, ¡°but at least it won¡¯t blow up from overloading.¡±


    ¡°Blow up?! I secured that.¡±


    Harry turned my journal toward me and pointed at two chains of runes. I felt my cheeks burn red.


    ¡°So, was it actually possible?¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t bother disguising the runes or worrying about how it looks, sure. But the thing would end up massive.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep it in a satchel. Do I have the right stones for this?¡±


    ¡°There are a few that might work.¡±


    ¡°And how much is this going to cost me?¡±


    ¡°About a hundred.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s cheap.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s just the cost of the stones,¡± Harry waved me off. ¡°The rest is free for you.¡±


    ¡°Harry, I don¡¯t want¡­¡±


    ¡°But I do,¡± he interrupted. ¡°Consider it a gift. For the bacon.¡±


    ¡°Have it your way,¡± I relented.


    The completed amulet looked like a metallic brick encrusted with a scattering of amethysts and a couple of opals. Its core was a cluster of pyrite crystals, though to the untrained eye it would¡¯ve been hard to tell where the stone ended and the metal frame began. The metal practically encased the stone entirely and was etched with precise chains of runic formulas. The entire thing not only resembled a brick but weighed just as much ¨C If not more.


    Of course, something sleeker and more elegant could¡¯ve been crafted with time, but this wasn¡¯t about beauty. It was about brute force.


    Thanks to August, I¡¯d already narrowly avoided getting crushed once. If that bastard decided to try again, I¡¯d need something that would work for certain. That¡¯s what the brick was for. Unfortunately, as Harry had pointed out, it consumed a staggering amount of energy because it operated constantly.


    Before the meeting, I stopped by the nearest telephone booth and called the police station. I got through to Sunset and let him know I was meeting with Fairburn.


    This time, I made a note of the name of the place: ¡°Mo¡¯s.¡± Who this Mo had been, history doesn¡¯t say, but his blood sausages were incredible ¨C spiced with just the right amount of pepper and garlic. Delicious. The staff was polite too, even though I¡¯d opted for my old jacket over a new suit. The one thing I¡¯d kept was my hat ¨C It had grown on me.


    As expected, August wasn¡¯t at the establishment yet. I scanned the patrons, trying to guess which one of them was his watcher. The couple by the window? Unlikely. That left either the portly man by the wall or the guy with the sideburns sitting in the middle.


    Suppressing the instincts screaming at me to sit with my back to the wall, I chose a seat with my back to the sideburns instead. Let them see I wasn¡¯t afraid.


    If August had intended to keep me waiting, I didn¡¯t give him the satisfaction. I arrived five minutes before four, placed my order, and dug into the food as soon as it arrived.


    I¡¯d bet ten to one, if I hadn¡¯t ordered right away or shown even a hint of patience, Fairburn wouldn¡¯t have shown up so quickly.


    The dandy strolled into the establishment, wrinkling his well-groomed face in a grimace of disdain. He approached my table, using his cane to push the chair out as though trying not to soil his expensive suit. I smirked and kept dismantling my blood sausages.


    A waiter approached to take his order, but Fairburn dramatically declined. I smirked again, just to spite the bastard, and ordered a second helping for myself. I had no intention of speaking first.


    ¡°Lord Loxlin, do you actually enjoy this coarse fare?¡± August began, circling the point like a hawk.


    ¡°My late grandfather, the Earl of Bremor, adored black pudding,¡± I replied, my tone indifferent. ¡°Must be a family thing.¡±The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    I could¡¯ve elaborated, maybe shared how Logan loved gnawing on soup bones and scooping out the marrow, or how Evan preferred haggis. But every extra word would¡¯ve been a foothold for August to latch onto and steer the conversation, and I wasn¡¯t about to help him.


    ¡°Lord Loxlin, I¡­¡± August grimaced, visibly forcing himself to adopt a mask of indifference once more. ¡°I wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday.¡±


    ¡°You tried to kill me,¡± I responded, just as flatly, not bothering to lower my voice. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the portly man tense up, and the couple by the window shift uncomfortably.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t me ¨C it was Connor Lindemann!¡±


    ¡°And yet, by some strange coincidence, he made his attempt right after speaking with you.¡±


    ¡°What did you expect after you killed his brother?!¡± August snapped, irritation breaking through his mask.


    ¡°My good sir, are you accusing me of murder?¡±


    ¡°No, I¡­¡±


    ¡°And what exactly ties you to these unhinged bloodsuckers?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m merely concerned about your future. Vampires don¡¯t forgive¡­¡±


    ¡°Lucas has no quarrel with me,¡± I interrupted. ¡°He considers the deaths of his sons a necessary purging of bad sheep. But your concern is something I do remember. Particularly that bomb laced with death magic you tried to pass to Sir Harry through me.¡±


    August¡¯s face flushed with red blotches of anger.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you take me for, Sir August, but let me give you some advice: don¡¯t take me for a fool. You tried playing politics and intrigue ¨C and failed. Now forget about me and Smith, and I¡¯ll forget about you. In this city, I have other priorities. Good day to you, Sir August.¡±


    ¡°You¡­¡±


    I raised my voice.


    ¡°Good day! ¡­ Sir August.¡±


    Fairburn jumped to his feet so suddenly that his chair toppled over.


    ¡°You¡¯re a fool, a green whelp!¡± he barked. ¡°You can¡¯t trust vampires! I could¡¯ve protected you! Don¡¯t be surprised if, within a week, I¡¯m reading about you getting your blood drained in some filthy alley!¡±


    With that, August stormed toward the exit.


    ¡°If that happens,¡± I called after him, ¡°the first questions my family will ask will be about the Fairburns. I suggest you reread the newspapers from eight years ago.¡±


    That didn¡¯t stop him. He shoved the door open with his cane so forcefully the glass rattled, miraculously not breaking, and stormed out into the street.


    I, on the other hand, calmly finished my sausages, sipped a fine cup of tea with milk, left triple the usual tip for the inconvenience, and leisurely stepped outside.


    For a moment, I considered stopping by Sunset¡¯s office, but decided against it and headed for the nearest taxi stand instead.


    Ten steps down the street, I heard a familiar voice behind me.


    ¡°Don¡¯t move, Duncan.¡±


    Something hard pressed against my back, just below my left kidney. Then, as if to leave no doubt, the distinct click of a hammer being cocked followed.


    Damn. I¡¯d been expecting a ranged attack. That¡¯s what the ¡°brick¡± was for.


    ¡°Hello, Simon,¡± I said, trying to turn around.


    ¡°Still an idiot, I see,¡± Simon said, jamming the point of a curved dagger under my chin. ¡°I said don¡¯t move!¡±


    Simon shoved me against the wall of the nearest building, where the shadows were thickest. A stout woman waddled by with a chubby boy in tow, but she didn¡¯t so much as glance in our direction. Simon used the same shadow trick he had in the chapel.


    Damn it. I¡¯d had to leave the invisibility amulet behind because the "brick" sent it haywire. Who knows how things might¡¯ve played out otherwise. Even now, nothing was decided yet ¨C I reached out with my will to the cufflinks, ready to forcibly activate the Stone Skin spell.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t expect to run into me, Kinkaid?¡±


    ¡°Why not, Feron? You¡¯re exactly the person I came to Farnell to find,¡± I replied, matching his tone.


    ¡°You¡¯re saying you deliberately provoked Fairburn so he¡¯d put a hit on you?¡± Simon¡¯s voice shifted from smug to wary. I could feel him glancing around as he spoke, the tension radiating through his blade. ¡°Ridiculous.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll admit, that wasn¡¯t part of the plan,¡± I said calmly. ¡°I know you¡¯re connected to one of the nests in the city.¡± The knife at my chin quivered, leaving a shallow, bleeding scratch. The blood magic in my cufflinks surged to heal it, but I cut the flow off just in time. ¡°While I was trying to figure out which nest, I accidentally crossed paths with August. By the way, what¡¯s your connection to the singer? What¡¯s her name again¡­ Gratch, isn¡¯t it?¡± The blade twitched again.


    ¡°You ask such fascinating questions,¡± Simon said, his voice dripping with mockery. ¡°You¡¯ve clearly been busy.¡±


    ¡°I do my best within my modest abilities. But speaking of time ¨C shouldn¡¯t you have slit my throat by now?¡±


    ¡°In a hurry to see your grandfather, Kinkaid? No need. Anyone else, I¡¯d have already finished, but you¡­ Where¡¯s the journal, Duncan?¡±


    So that¡¯s why he hadn¡¯t just killed me outright ¨C he wanted to clean up loose ends.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯ll tell you,¡± I said, my voice heavy with sarcasm.


    ¡°You will,¡± Simon hissed confidently. The blade withdrew from my chin, and two fingers pressed against my temple.


    The pain hit instantly, like a thousand needles driving into my skull, twisting deeper with every moment. My vision darkened, and the will I had been holding to prime the amulets faltered. The healing magic from the cufflinks surged uncontrollably, draining the energy reserves in the stones in one violent rush. The scratch on my chin sealed instantly, but with no other injuries to heal, the excess magic poured into my body, converting into raw physical strength.


    Reflexively, I shoved Simon away, slamming him into the wall behind us. His knife left a gash on my cheek, and his gun discharged, the shot cracking loudly as it shattered a cobblestone. The illusion of shadows broke, and startled passersby stared as we seemingly appeared out of nowhere.


    The magic coursing through my body closed the wound on my cheek instantly, restoring my vision just in time for me to raise a shield before Simon could take proper aim.


    The next shot struck the shield at nearly a perfect angle, ricocheting off with a sharp crack and punching a hole through a nearby window. A gaunt man standing nearby was the first to realize what was happening ¨C he bolted, dropping a sack of fresh potatoes onto the street.


    I angled the shield downward, causing the next bullet to ricochet upward harmlessly. Simon used the moment to push off the wall and leap onto the shield itself, taking two quick steps on its translucent surface. The energy strained under the weight, nearly overloading ring¡¯s reservoir. As soon as the barrel of his revolver peeked over the edge of the shield projection, he fired.


    The ¡®brick¡¯ saved my life.


    The bullet flattened against the invisible barrier, stopping less than an inch from my face. Simon kicked off the edge of the shield, landing behind me in a fluid motion. His revolver gleamed with glowing white death runes.


    I barely managed to swing my shield around and activate the Stone Skin spell.


    In the silence of our fight, the next gunshot roared like artillery fire. The white flash shattered the ring projected shield into fragments, slammed into the invisible barrier of the ¡®brick,¡¯ and stripped away the physical integrity of the bullet, leaving behind only raw magic. That raw energy surged forward, reducing my jacket, the shirt beneath it, and the protective stone armor on my skin to charred fragments of ash.


    I staggered under the sheer force of the blast but managed to hold my footing. The Stone Skin spell had absorbed the brunt of the attack, but I could feel my reserves dwindling. The heat of the magical backlash stung my skin, and I smelled the acrid tang of burned fabric mixed with the metallic scent of gunpowder.


    Simon¡¯s face was a mask of concentration and fury. He advanced, flipping his dagger in one hand while keeping the revolver trained on me with the other.


    ¡°You¡¯re tougher than I expected,¡± he sneered, ¡°but you¡¯re running out of tricks, Kinkaid. And now, you¡¯re out of magic too.¡±


    I didn¡¯t respond. Talking would waste time, and time was something I desperately needed. My mind raced as I assessed the situation. The shield projection was down, my amulets were drained, and the "brick" was teetering on the edge of collapse.


    Simon¡¯s next move was obvious: press the advantage. He lunged, slashing with his dagger while firing the revolver point-blank.


    But if there¡¯s one thing I¡¯ve learned from family tradition, it¡¯s that a Kinkaid doesn¡¯t need magic to fight back.


    The remnants of "blood" magic still circulating through my body surged toward the blooming pain in my ribs. With one hand, I drew my pistol, activated an air amplification formula to enhance sound, and pulled the trigger.


    Compared to this, Simon¡¯s last shot was a whisper.


    The explosion of sound was deafening, like a cannon firing right next to our ears. The windows behind Simon shattered into shards of glass, spraying out like glittering rain. Though the bullet itself went who-knows-where, the force of the sound staggered us both.


    I fell to my left side, while Simon, his dazed expression betraying his shock, collapsed onto his backside. My ears rang like a cathedral bell tolling directly inside my skull.


    Both of us scrambled to our feet, pistols raised in a race to fire again. We shot simultaneously, but whether it was a miss or the intervention of protective amulets, neither bullet found its mark. Undeterred, we fired again.


    My shot rang out, but Simon¡¯s revolver clicked dry ¨C the hammer striking an empty cartridge.


    Simon reacted quickly, rolling to the side and throwing a small sphere in my direction.


    Instinctively, I tried to raise a shield, forgetting ring¡¯s reservoir were completely drained.


    The sphere hit the pavement half a meter away and erupted in a cloud of yellow dust. The dust came alive. It surged toward my face, wrapping around my head like a living thing. It forced its way into my nose, mouth, eyes, and ears, burning every mucous membrane it touched with a fiery sting worse than red pepper.


    I choked. My lungs spasmed violently, squeezing every bit of air out of them. In my desperation to breathe, I opened my mouth wider, only to inhale even more of the accursed dust.


    Panic clawed at the edges of my mind as I fumbled blindly for a solution. Through the haze of agony, one thought pierced through: the antidote.


    My hand dove into my bag, frantically searching for the vial. Somehow, through sheer muscle memory, I found it. Clutching the small glass tube, I yanked the stopper out with my teeth, spit it aside, and poured the liquid down my throat.


    But the relief I expected didn¡¯t come.


    The burning in my chest remained, and the invisible vice gripping my lungs didn¡¯t loosen.


    Of course. Simon knew the clan¡¯s antidote recipe. He¡¯d anticipated this. If he¡¯d planned everything right, I was already a dead man.


    I forced the thought away. No. Not yet.


    My mind reeled as I grasped for alternatives. I¡¯d left a trail clear enough for the Kinkaids to follow. Even if I fell, the police wouldn¡¯t let this drop. Bryce wouldn¡¯t let it drop ¨C not after making me a baron.


    But my thoughts were unraveling, my focus slipping. My hand moved on instinct, groping inside the satchel for the most valuable elixir I had ¨C the dual-chambered vial I¡¯d shown Sunset.


    My fingers brushed against something. I pulled the vial free, but my grip faltered.


    The vial slipped from my trembling fingers and clattered onto the asphalt.


    No!


    Completely blinded now, barely clinging to consciousness, I forced my trembling hand to search the ground. My fingers scraped across the rough pavement, scouring the area around me.


    Where is it? Where¡¯s the damn elixir?!


    The trembling in my hands spread through my entire body. My muscles spasmed uncontrollably, slamming me against the ground with sharp, jerking movements. The convulsions added a new layer of agony to the burning in my chest. But I refused to stop searching. My curled fingers dragged across the ground until, at last, they found the smooth surface of the vial.


    Gripping it was nearly impossible. My fingers closed around it awkwardly, and I somehow managed to bring it to my mouth. But my jaw had locked tight in the spasms, leaving me unable to open my mouth properly.


    Desperation gnawed at me. I used my twisted left hand to pull down my lower lip, hoping to create enough of an opening.


    I tried to rip the stopper off with my teeth, but my clenched jaw refused to cooperate. The stopper barely budged.


    Next, I attempted to pull it free with my hands, but my left hand was now locked into a claw-like position, useless.


    And then, just as hope was slipping through my grasp, someone yanked the vial from my fingers.


    No!


    I tried to fight back, but I was too weak. A weight bore down on me, pinning me to the ground.


    Rough hands pried my jaw open, forcing something into my mouth. I felt liquid pour down my throat.


    Please, let it be the elixir.

 Chapter 19

    It was warm and cozy. If only not for the mumbling...


    I tried to make out the words and only after a moment realized it was a prayer.


    ¡°¡­verba mea despicere; sed audi propitia et exaudi. Amen.¡±


    At the final word, a wave of warmth washed over me, from head to toe, and, unexpectedly even to myself, I opened my eyes. The feeling of comfort disappeared immediately, replaced by the sharp stench of stale alcohol and cheap cigarettes.


    ¡°Mist¨Cr¨Cr,¡± I croaked, and was immediately wracked by a brutal fit of coughing. It felt like my lungs were clawing their way out of my chest. My eyes and nose burned again, and as the coughing tore through me, I spat up clumps of phlegm. Sitting up in the bed, I aimed for the floor, trying to keep it from landing on the sheets.


    Someone grabbed my hand and shoved a glass into it. I drained it in one gulp, feeling only slightly better, enough to rasp: ¡°More!¡±


    The second glass I dumped over my eyes. ¡°More!¡± The third, I poured straight into my nose and immediately hacked it back onto the floor. The pain didn¡¯t disappear, but at least it dulled to something bearable. Through the bloody haze in my vision, I managed to make out the figures around me.


    ¡°Mister Wood, Sir Sunset,¡± I croaked a bit more clearly. ¡°To whom do I owe my life?¡±


    ¡°To the bloodsucker,¡± the Vicar replied. ¡°She poured the elixir down your throat.¡±


    ¡°A bloodsucker? You mean a vampire? Why would a vampire want to save me?¡±


    ¡°I think,¡± Sunset said, ¡°she¡¯s from Lindemann¡¯s nest.¡±


    My head throbbed. Hell, not just my head ¨C my entire body felt like it had been dragged through gravel. Forming complex thoughts seemed impossible, so I decided to leave it for later and collapsed back onto the bed.


    ¡°Forgive me, gentlemen. I¡¯m not exactly in shape for polite conversation.¡±


    ¡°We hadn¡¯t noticed,¡± the Vicar chuckled.


    ¡°Lord Loxlin,¡± Sunset asked. The Vicar¡¯s eyes widened at the mention of my title, though he quickly collected himself. ¡°Do you know who attacked you?¡±


    I paused, carefully weighing my response. The gears in my head were grinding to a halt, and for once, I didn¡¯t even have to pretend that the question was giving me a migraine.


    ¡°A hitman hired by Fairburn,¡± I finally said.


    Sunset exhaled sharply, cursed under his breath, and asked with obvious sarcasm:


    ¡°He introduced himself, did he?¡±


    ¡°Oddly enough, yes.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you, he actually introduced himself as a hitman working for August!¡±


    ¡°Rubbish,¡± Sunset scoffed. ¡°I¡¯m more inclined to believe this is part of some elaborate vampire scheme. One tries to kill you, and another saves you.¡±


    I wanted to snap back at Sunset for his ridiculous idea, but truthfully, it wasn¡¯t as far-fetched as it sounded. Damn, it was entirely plausible. Still, Simon wouldn¡¯t have spared me, even if the job had only been to scare me.


    ¡°Inspector, you¡¯re the policeman. Figure it out. I saw him ¨C I can give you a description.¡±


    ¡°An artist will be here in about fifteen minutes,¡± Sunset replied. ¡°In the meantime, tell me how it happened. Mister Wood, would you be so kind as to inform the sergeant that we¡¯ll need cleanup here, and wait outside?¡±


    Sunset conducted a short but intense interrogation while a young constable mopped up the water and phlegm-soaked floor. Every question felt like a jab into my aching skull. I squinted against the migraine, struggling to process the questions and remember my answers. Sometimes I lied, sometimes I left things unsaid, and sometimes I had to repeat myself when Sunset rephrased the same question.


    I¡¯m sure he noticed my efforts to dodge around the truth, but for some reason, he didn¡¯t press me on my inconsistencies. Instead, he simply kept at it until the artist arrived.


    When the artist showed up, I didn¡¯t hold anything back. I described Simon as precisely as I could. The resulting sketch was good ¨C damn good. Hopefully, it would make Simon¡¯s life a lot harder.


    I even asked for a copy, slipping the artist a quarter to "motivate" him.


    It seemed my hunch was wrong ¨C or once, things went smoothly. I was released from the station without any unnecessary questions, my satchel and weapons returned to me, and I was even allowed to call for a cab.


    Just as I shut my door, however, the opposite door opened, and the Vicar climbed into the cab, puffing on a cigarette.


    ¡°No smoking in here, Father!¡± the driver barked.


    The Vicar scowled, plucked the stub from his mouth, and flicked it onto the pavement with a snap of his fingers. He shut the door and exhaled a cloud of rank smoke, which immediately sent me into a coughing fit.


    The Vicar gave me two firm pats on the back ¨C his hand as hard as stone.


    ¡°Apologies, my lord. Shall we talk?¡±


    ¡°Give the address first,¡± the cabman interjected.


    ¡°Rapsy, Longhead Road, number seventeen,¡± I said. Hamish could get out if he didn¡¯t like it. But no, the cab started moving, and the Vicar stayed, waiting for my response.


    ¡°About what?¡± I asked, curious. ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t care about bloodsuckers.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care about bloodsuckers,¡± he said dismissively. ¡°But malevolent spirits ¨C that¡¯s something I am very interested in.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t follow,¡± I admitted.


    ¡°Your fight stank of rage, pain, and scorch marks ¨C not human ones. There was the scent of a higher ethereal.¡±


    Ferrish? But I hadn¡¯t even used the dagger. Was this fanatic planning to hunt it down? Or was he at war with all wizards?


    I must¡¯ve let my guard down after the conversation with Sunset, because Wood clearly picked up on something in my expression.


    ¡°Not the medium you¡¯ve got under your jacket,¡± he said.


    ¡°What do you mean, not this?¡± I asked, pulling out the dagger.


    The Vicar leaned forward slightly and noisily sniffed the air.


    ¡°Definitely not this one,¡± he said confidently. ¡°This one barely smells of the forest and a hint of thrill ¨C like the binding thread is almost severed. But the energy I sensed in the air was different ¨C much stronger.¡±


    ¡°Residual magic?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Something like that.¡±


    ¡°Could it have come from a warlock?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely, if the idiot in question made a pact with a spirit that demands payment in blood and pain.¡±


    Simon ¨C a bloody idiot ¨C could very well have done that. But what about the vampires? Why had the dagger reacted to them the same way it had to Simon? Vampire warlocks? Rare creatures, if only because becoming a warlock requires binding a pact in human life. The first death sets them back so far in their development that regaining their former powers can take decades ¨C if not centuries. Time they usually don¡¯t have, thanks to rivals, enemies, or jealous kin.


    All my grandfather had managed after his rebirth was summoning the dagger. Simon had told me back then that this was his limit.


    Damn it. Simon¡¯s words during the fight sounded like he knew more about this subject than I liked. I didn¡¯t like this one bit.


    ¡°You know something,¡± Wood said pointedly.


    ¡°Are there warlocks among the bloodsuckers of Farnell?¡± I asked in return.


    ¡°So he was a vampire?¡± Wood pressed.


    I shook my head and turned to the driver.


    ¡°Drop us off at the start of the next block. I think I can manage a short walk.¡±


    The cab pulled up to the curb, and I paid the fare before heading off in the direction of Harry¡¯s manor.


    ¡°Well?¡± Hamish nudged me as we walked. ¡°No one¡¯s listening.¡±


    ¡°He wasn¡¯t a vampire,¡± I said, ¡°but the dagger reacted to him the same way it does to some bloodsuckers.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure he wasn¡¯t? ¡®Step into Shadow¡¯ is a common vampiric ability.¡±


    ¡°And how would you know that, Father?¡±


    ¡°It was a prayer that made my hearing sharper. Thin walls at the station.¡±


    ¡°A prayer?¡±


    ¡°The Almighty hears all prayers, so long as the faith behind them is strong,¡± the Vicar shrugged.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    "Fanatic¡­ I just hoped he wouldn¡¯t suddenly decide that I was sinful in the eyes of God."


    ¡°You yourself said the site of the fight reeked of residual magic,¡± I pointed out. ¡°A simple ¡®Step into Shadow¡¯ isn¡¯t good enough to disappear in broad daylight. Besides, no one heard us.¡±


    ¡°Sounds logical. How do you plan to find him?¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s your interest, dear Vicar?¡±


    ¡°His Providence,¡± the man replied with absolute seriousness, his boxer¡¯s face framed by the white collar of a priest.


    I frowned skeptically and let out a derisive snort.


    ¡°And how exactly does it manifest?¡±


    ¡°Less sarcasm, boy!¡± Hamish growled, waving a finger at me. ¡°The Lord sent you to me with that deadly trinket of yours.¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s the connection between my visit and¡­¡±


    ¡°The inspector called me this morning and asked me to stop by. Said he wanted to clarify a few details about our last meeting. Coincidence? My calling is to fight bodiless enemies ¨C it¡¯s my gift and my deserved punishment. I¡¯m the only man in this city who could have sensed the stench of a higher ethereal.¡±


    ¡°Even among shifters?¡±


    ¡°Maybe one or two of them could have, but there weren¡¯t any there. Which means the Lord chose me. Maybe He didn¡¯t, but I¡¯d rather err on the side of action and help you than sit waiting for another sign and risk inviting disaster upon my flock. I¡¯m guessing you already have a plan. You strike me as someone who¡¯s got something up their arse driving them to act!


    ¡°Could you be a bit more polite?¡± I said, raising an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re a priest, Mister Wood! Don¡¯t they teach that swearing is a sin?¡±


    ¡°They do¡­ Stop dodging the question, Lord. What¡¯s the plan?¡±


    ¡°The dagger reacted to one vampire woman. I want to talk to her.¡±


    ¡°Just talk?¡± the Vicar asked, disbelief heavy in his tone.


    ¡°Get answers,¡± I snapped. ¡°If you want to be involved, you¡¯ll follow my lead. Not just follow ¨C you¡¯ll swear to it! I need to be sure you won¡¯t do something stupid just because you think you¡¯ve seen another divine sign.¡±


    ¡°No one,¡± the Vicar declared proudly, ¡°stands above me except the Lord.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that a bit of a prideful sin?¡± I retorted. ¡°Consider this not my condition, but another sign from Providence.¡±


    I said nothing more and headed for Harry¡¯s house. Vicar stayed by my side, scratching his crooked nose with a dark scowl. Clearly, he was busy crafting some divine justification in his head. He¡¯d just finished by the time we reached the gate.


    ¡°I swear, in His name, that I¡¯ll listen if you forbid me to do something. But I won¡¯t follow orders to do anything!¡±


    ¡°Perfect. We meet here at eight. In the meantime, try to find out where Jariz Sardu is staying. It must have been mentioned in the society pages. And I forbid you to go to her alone.¡±


    The Vicar was exactly the type to pull a stunt like that just to avoid being stopped by me.


    The situation needed to be discussed with Harry, but when I reached the wizard¡¯s house, he was nowhere to be found. Apparently, Sir Harry Smith had developed an unexpected interest in the Cooper parked in his stables likely under Knuckles¡¯ influence.


    I¡¯d already written that car off as a lost cause, completely forgetting to visit the taxi garage and sort things out with its owner. So, imagine my surprise when I heard the engine sputtering to life sickly and with intermittent backfires from the exhaust, but alive.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be damned. It¡¯s alive!¡± I said from the doorway. ¡°I thought the valves were seized.¡±


    ¡°We unseized them,¡± Harry replied cheerfully, waving his grease-stained hands over a spellbook suspended mid-air. ¡°This house is bursting with raw metal power ¨C you could scoop it up by the bucketful. Cap, kill the engine. And get yourself and your brother out of the car. Go hide behind the corner. Duncan, you might want to step back too.¡±


    The wizard made another sweeping motion, as though pulling a spell out of the hovering book, and directed it under the open hood of the car.


    I ducked behind the wall but kept watching with one eye. Contrary to my expectations, nothing exploded.


    ¡°Cap, start it up!¡± Harry shouted.


    The boy jumped into the driver¡¯s seat, and the car purred to life in a steady rhythm.


    ¡°Can you fix the glass too, sir?¡± Knuckles asked, raising an eyebrow.


    The wizard let out a disgruntled hiss.


    ¡°I can only straighten out the bullet dents and patch the upholstery on the seats.¡±


    ¡°How about patching me up first?¡± I interjected.


    Harry turned his head sharply, his expression blank as he looked at me.


    ¡°August?¡±


    ¡°Hired an assassin,¡± I confirmed.


    ¡°Idiot. Come inside. I¡¯ll give you a proper check-up,¡± Harry said, shaking his hands. Drops of oil flew to the ground, leaving his hands clean.


    ¡°By the way, do you think you¡¯ll be done with the car by eight?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Where am I supposed to get glass and paint?¡± Harry responded, looking puzzled.


    ¡°There¡¯s a garage in Pubset,¡± Knuckles said. ¡°For an extra couple pounds, they¡¯ll bump you up the line.¡±


    ¡°How do you know that?¡±


    ¡°We used to sell them rear-view mirrors and fancy radiator caps ¨C the ones shaped like figurines.¡±


    Harry didn¡¯t find anything critical during his examination of me. The "last resort" elixir combined with the Vicar¡¯s prayers had done the trick. The wizard cast a couple of restorative spells using ether and water, quickly smoothed out the dents in the car, and we set off for the garage.


    Knuckles volunteered to drive, and Harry and I agreed it was for the best ¨C if it came to shooting, I¡¯d have a hard time driving and defending myself. I also brought the submachine gun, while the "brick" would protect us both from long-range attacks.


    While the mechanics replaced the windows, radiator, and hastily painted over the bullet scratches, I called the taxi garage that owned my cab and made a deal with the owner ¨C I¡¯d return the car after the repairs, which I¡¯d pay for myself.


    Of course, I wasn¡¯t entirely honest. I planned to drive the Cooper for another day or two. It was cheaper and faster than constantly hiring a cab, and I couldn¡¯t afford to splurge on a new car. Especially not after the money I¡¯d already spent and the state the Cooper was in after just one trip with me onboard.


    The mechanics were quick ¨C but not too quick. We had time to grab a bite at a nearby caf¨¦ and pick up some proper black tea for home.


    Jariz Sardu was staying in the luxury suite at the Bloomsbury, according to the Farnell Daily, because the staff at the Lion House had a bias against ¡®colored folk.¡¯ For a pound, the porter told us the exact room number.


    The Vicar and I went up to the floor in question, walked straight to the door without hesitation, and knocked.


    A servant ¨C one of the singer¡¯s personal staff ¨C opened the door. Without a word, the Vicar blessed the poor soul with a left hook.


    I tried to catch the body, but I was too slow. It fell backward into the apartment with a loud thud as it hit the floor.


    ¡°Quell bruit, Jerome? ... Jerome?¡±


    The mulatto singer appeared just as I was dragging the servant¡¯s body away from the door. The vampire was dressed in a tight black gown with a high slit on the left side, revealing her smooth chocolate-colored leg. In her left hand, she held a large earring, while her right hand adjusted the one she had already fastened in place.


    ¡°My apologies, my lady,¡± I said. ¡°Jerome fell.¡±


    Behind me, the Vicar clicked the lock on the door.


    ¡°How careless of him,¡± she said, attaching the other earring. ¡°Are you here to rob me, or is there another reason¡­?¡± Her gaze focused on the Vicar¡¯s white collar. ¡°I haven¡¯t broken any rules, clergyman.¡± The vampire squinted dangerously, shifting from her relaxed stance to a more solid one, her left knee sliding forward in a combat-ready position. The whites of her eyes flushed red.


    Wood stepped forward, stopping just a couple of meters from the woman, and noisily inhaled through his nose. A moment later, he turned to me.


    ¡°The same stench.¡±


    ¡°Perfect,¡± I said, debating whether I should bother checking on the servant or just leave him where he was. Ultimately, I decided to let him be. There was something else bothering me ¨C a small detail I couldn¡¯t shake. ¡°Where¡¯s your dagger, my lady?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Your medium. Your ritual weapon dedicated to your patron spirit.¡±


    ¡°I still don¡¯t understand what you¡¯re talking about,¡± she said, her tone flat.


    ¡°Girl, you reek of a higher ethereal,¡± Hamish growled.


    ¡°So that¡¯s why you¡¯re here?¡± The vampire¡¯s surprise seemed genuine. She even shifted back into a more relaxed posture.


    ¡°In nomine Patris!¡± Hamish shouted suddenly.


    The vampire flinched and took a cautious step back as the priest pulled a double-barrel sawed-off shotgun from under his coat.


    ¡°Et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen!¡±


    Despite her naturally dark skin, the vampire noticeably paled. And all he¡¯d done was utter a few holy words.


    Yeah, this guy was definitely a fanatic. No normal person had that much faith. That other bloodsucker Ellie shot? I¡¯d beaten him, shot him, tied him up, and he still wouldn¡¯t talk. Yet this lady sucker was falling apart after just a couple of holy words. Didn¡¯t even need blessed bullets, and here I¡¯d loaded a whole mag.


    ¡°There is no dagger!¡± the vampire hissed. ¡°I have a mask!¡±


    ¡°Show me!¡± Wood ordered.


    The vampire left for the next room, Wood on her heels. I lingered for a moment to pour a few drops of sleeping potion down the servant¡¯s throat ¨C just in case.


    The mask was unsettling. Not so much frightening as repulsive. It was carved from a piece of black wood and depicted a long, distorted face with sharp teeth and oversized eyes, with hollow holes drilled into the pupils.


    Wood needed the mask for himself.


    The moment it ended up in the priest¡¯s hands, the vampire wheezed and collapsed to the floor in some kind of seizure.


    ¡°Stop it!¡± I snapped at Wood. ¡°Your oath, Vicar!¡± I reminded him.


    Wood shot me an angry glare, but the vampire on the floor was already starting to come to her senses.


    ¡°What¡¯s its name?¡± I asked, pointing at the mask.


    ¡°Marduk,¡± the singer rasped.


    ¡°Which of his warlocks is in the city right now?¡±


    ¡°Marduk is the patron of vampires, not warlocks.¡±


    I frowned, and Hamish voiced my thoughts.


    ¡°He¡¯s a higher ethereal ¨C he can make pacts.¡±


    ¡°Marduk doesn¡¯t like humans,¡± Jariz protested.


    ¡°So, you took his patronage after your death?¡±


    ¡°Of course!¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s in it for vampires? He can¡¯t grant you boons.¡±


    ¡°Marduk¡¯s vampires can resist the blood call.¡±


    I glanced at Hamish, who shrugged indifferently. I¡¯d heard rumors that some vampires could resist the call, but the reasons had always been unclear. I wasn¡¯t convinced a spirit had anything to do with it.


    ¡°One more time,¡± I said firmly. ¡°Who among yours is in Farnell?¡±


    ¡°How should I know?! All my acquaintances are back home.¡±


    I slid my hand under my coat and touched the hilt of the dagger. This lady was definitely one of those Ferrish despised. Though now I was leaning toward the idea that the spirit hated Marduk rather than his minions.


    The dagger burned with Ferrish¡¯s hatred, his promises to lift the seals echoing in my mind. I involuntarily calculated how many witnesses had seen me on the way here, who might have known I was looking into a vampire, and how much trouble it would cause if one bitch with a cursed blood vanished. Would Bryce¡¯s influence be enough to pull me out from behind bars? Or would the Church cover for me?


    No, I wasn¡¯t here for her! I¡¯d lived with the seals for five years ¨C I could survive another week. The main thing was getting to Simon.


    I reached into another pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. It was the pencil-drawn portrait from earlier.


    ¡°Do you know him?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the singer said, surprised. ¡°I¡¯ve seen him with Valentine. Dave¡­ No, Davie!¡±


    Simon Davie Feron. Damn it!


    Was this our clan upbringing at work, or were we more alike than I thought? If things had played out differently, I might¡¯ve been using my middle name too by now.


    ¡°I suggest you call in sick today,¡± I said. ¡°Keep your mouth shut, and the Vicar will leave your mask with you. Deal?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not leaving that disgusting thing!¡±


    I turned and met Wood¡¯s gaze, his eyes blazing with fanatical fire. He could see that I wouldn¡¯t back down. If I had to, I¡¯d remind him of his oath again.


    ¡°Damn it! That¡¯s the last time I promise you anything!¡± Hamish growled, clenching his fists. ¡°Mother¡­ Holy¡­ Grrr!¡±


    I turned back to the vampire.


    ¡°Deal?¡±


    The singer nodded.

 Chapter 20

    The morning started with a cup of proper black tea. There were also some beans and a couple of fried eggs, but that was beside the point. The tea was excellent. A dash of milk would¡¯ve made it perfect¡­


    ¡°August may be a talented scumbag,¡± Harry was saying, ¡°but Vincent is far more experienced. In a fair fight, I¡¯d wipe the floor with him, but that bastard would never give me the chance. Against the two of them, I wouldn¡¯t last.¡±


    ¡°August is the son, Vincent is the father. That¡¯s the whole mighty Fairburn family?¡±


    ¡°What? Not even close! If we¡¯re talking wizards, there are about ten relatives of varying degrees of closeness ¨C from Peter, Vincent¡¯s full brother, to distant cousins. And then there are their hired loners. But none of them are fighters. Peter knows a thing or two and passed that on to his daughter, but the rest are mostly craftsmen. Combat magic in the Fairburn family, like the baronial title, is strictly passed from father to eldest son. You can guess why that is.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s different for us,¡± I said. ¡°In the clan, everyone is trained equally.¡±


    ¡°Do you really believe that?¡± Harry said with a raised eyebrow. ¡°Are you telling me old Kinkaid spent as much effort and money on your training as he did on some random boy?¡±


    ¡°Of course not. But that¡¯s not the point. He just had more opportunities to work me harder than the others. We had extra sessions that were free for everyone to attend ¨C everyone except me. I was required to be there. When cousin Logan showed interest, the old man worked him like a draft horse too.¡±


    ¡°Fine, fine,¡± Harry said, pretending to give in, though his voice dripped with sarcasm. ¡°The Bremor clan is the fairest, strongest clan in the whole wide world. Its people are the most honest and upstanding, its warlocks and shifters the mightiest and most noble¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to pass on your words to Uncle Bryce.¡±


    "Oh, now I¡¯m shitting myself in fear!" he snorted.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to pass that on too.¡±


    ¡°Better not,¡± Harry said quickly, tugging on his beard. ¡°In any case, you have faith in your clan like Wood has faith in God. But it won¡¯t save you. Vincent or August would smear you across the pavement. "Bringing your complaints to the old bastard isn''t the best idea."


    ¡°You think I should go straight to Valentine?¡±


    Harry gave me a look that screamed, Are you out of your mind?!


    ¡°Exactly. I have two paths: Valentine and Fairburn.¡±


    ¡°There are more than two,¡± Harry argued. ¡°People talk. Your Simon was seen with a bloodsucker, and you¡¯ve got his name. Someone less hostile might know his address.¡±


    ¡°Time!¡± I countered. ¡°By the time I¡¯ve questioned all these hypothetical ¡®might-knows,¡¯ I¡¯ll have been taken out three times over. You understand that Simon isn¡¯t going to run. He¡¯s gathering intel just like I am.¡±


    ¡°Fine, you¡¯ve convinced me. Hand over the ¡®brick.¡¯ I¡¯ll adjust it for the Fairburns. You¡¯re not using the submachine, are you?¡±


    ¡°No. Why?¡±


    ¡°Give it to Knuckles. I¡¯ve been experimenting with the bullets. The kid can cover you if it comes to it¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to drag him into this.¡±


    ¡°Too late,¡± Harry said with a dismissive wave. ¡°Besides, I¡¯ve worked on the car too. Normal bullets will barely scratch it now. The effect depends on the reserves, but it should hold against about two hundred rounds. You¡¯ll need a driver to get you out of trouble when things get hot, and he needs a sense of responsibility.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s already responsible for his brother.¡±


    ¡°Not anymore. Cap¡¯s officially my apprentice now. His future is set, and Knuckles is wondering if a wizard even needs an older brother.¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­¡±


    ¡°And don¡¯t forget that teenage maximalism. Not as intense as yours, but it¡¯s still there¡­¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡±


    ¡°You, without any extraordinary abilities, have taken it upon yourself to hunt down a warlock-assassin closely tied to vampires.¡±


    I didn¡¯t set out to do that! ¡­ Or did I? At first, it seemed like I just wanted to protect the family, but in Harry¡¯s version, I sounded like a spoiled, self-absorbed child. How was that possible? I had carefully considered each step, assessed the risks. Sure, there had been some mistakes recently¡­


    ¡°Oh, so it¡¯s finally sinking in?¡± Harry asked. ¡°Call your uncle, Duncan. Call Bryce and tell him you¡¯ve seen the bastard. Within a day, a team of experienced hunters will be here to turn Farnell upside down like a flea-ridden blanket.¡±


    ¡°The hunters might scare him off,¡± I grumbled.


    ¡°Do you really believe that, or are you just making excuses? What¡¯s more important to you ¨C catching Simon or proving to your family that you¡¯re worth something?¡±


    I opened my mouth sharply to object but grimaced as I realized just how unpleasant Harry¡¯s last suggestion was. Why? Could he actually be right?


    ¡°I¡¯ll send a telegram,¡± I muttered. ¡°I¡¯ll talk to old Fairburn and send it off.¡±


    For the meeting, I traveled as a proper gentleman should ¨C seated in the back of a car. Not the most presentable car, perhaps, but armored, and more importantly, mine.


    The "Fairburn House" was in the City, near New High, where the wealthy lived. Despite the pompous name, it was just a floor in a new twenty-story skyscraper. The Fairburns owned only a small portion of it, but among the co-owners were a duke and a couple of other influential names. It was the perfect spot for their headquarters.


    The other Fairburn properties were scattered across the city, catering to various clientele. They had a mansion with a place of fire power in Sungarden and an amulet workshop in Battersea. But it was here, in the City, where the wealthy were welcomed. If the wealth came with a title, or exceeded ¡®respectable¡¯ limits, the client would be personally handled by Lord Fairburn. This was where he spent most of his time, so I knew where to go.


    Knuckles stayed in the car with the submachine gun on the front seat, while I, with a satchel slung over my shoulder, stepped into the elevator. The satchel didn¡¯t exactly match my expensive suit, but it held the ¡®brick,¡¯ bullets, and potions. Under the surprised gaze of the bellhop in a red uniform and silly hat, I downed a potion to sharpen my reflexes.


    The doors opened on the seventeenth floor. The black marble floor of the spacious hall gleamed, polished to a mirror shine. Columns glittered, and glass display cases perched atop stands of dark lacquered wood. On the velvet-lined shelves lay an array of trinkets ¨C rings, cufflinks, brooches. There was also weaponry, ranging from simple enchanted blades and pistols to fully magical staves and combat rings.


    The most valuable items had special places, like that cane under a glass dome or the suit on a mannequin at the end of the hall. There were fewer visitors than consultants. One of the boys in gray three-piece suits immediately tried to ¡®take me in hand.¡¯


    I made sure he noticed the ring on my left hand right away.


    ¡°What is the young gentleman interested in?¡±


    ¡°Lord Fairburn.¡±


    ¡°Do you have an appointment?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll see me, or I¡¯ll start loudly discussing what the assassin his son hired told me.¡±


    The consultant didn¡¯t just look surprised; he froze in shock.


    ¡°Your governor,¡± I prompted. ¡°You don¡¯t get to make this call.¡±


    ¡°One moment, my lord. How should I introduce you?¡±


    ¡°Duncan Kinkaid, Baron of Loxlin, of the Bremor clan.¡±


    The consultant bowed and disappeared, while I beckoned another one over with a wave of my finger, directing him toward a cane that had piqued my interest.


    A good cane, thick ¨C perfect for carving out spell forms with broad, sweeping gestures. The headpiece was massive; I¡¯d bet my left hand there was a large reservoir hidden inside.


    Twelve hundred?! What, does it grant wishes or something?


    ¡°My lord,¡± the consultant bowed as he approached.


    ¡°¡®Dragon¡¯s Combat Cane,¡¯¡± I read aloud. ¡°¡®Unleashes a roaring stream of flame over ten meters.¡¯ ¡­ That¡¯s it?¡± I asked.


    ¡°The spell can melt metal,¡± the consultant offered eagerly.


    I raised a skeptical eyebrow.


    ¡°The Fairburn House guarantees it!¡± he assured me. I had to explain.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°A rather dubious feature ¨C more useful in a forge or factory than in combat. Not to mention, it¡¯s probably an energy hog.¡±


    Behind me, footsteps were rapidly approaching ¨C several people. A pity. So much for a peaceful conversation.


    ¡°A cane for dandies,¡± I said loudly to those who stopped behind me.


    "So, the young gentleman fancies himself a fighter?"a voice responded with a faint hint of sarcasm.


    ¡°Not at all. I just picked up a few tricks from my family,¡± I replied, turning to face them. ¡°And whom do I have the honor of addressing?¡±


    I immediately recognized the consultant, Martin Belor, and one of the thugs I¡¯d seen outside the brothel. The man who had spoken, however, was unfamiliar to me. He looked older than cousin Evan, closer to fifty, and bore a faint resemblance to August ¨C both in his clean-shaven face and in his style of dress.


    A fine black suit, red cufflinks, and a matching pin with the same gemstone on his tie. Clearly not simple accessories. Rings adorned his fingers ¨C his left ring finger was bare, so he wasn¡¯t Vincent Fairburn. But the ring on his right hand marked him as a member of the family.


    ¡°Peter Fairburn, Esquire.¡±


    ¡°Duncan Kinkaid, Baron of Loxlin.¡±


    ¡°Will you leave on your own, Baron? Or would you prefer to be carried out?¡±


    I sighed and raised my voice for the benefit of the other visitors.


    ¡°You seriously think I¡¯ll just leave after August hired an assassin to take me out?¡±


    ¡°Is that the best slander Smith could come up with?¡± Peter declared loudly.


    ¡°Pardon?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s obvious, isn¡¯t it? That half-trained fool Harry hired you for his dirty work. Any educated warlock knows it¡¯s impossible to establish a place of power alone. But Harry ¨C our resident alternative genius ¨C has only just figured that out. So now he¡¯s spreading rumors that the Fairburns are sabotaging him.¡±


    ¡°Hired? Me?¡± I repeated. ¡°Sir Peter, are you seriously suggesting that the nephew of the Earl of Bremor is so desperate for cash that he¡¯d stoop to dirty work?¡±


    ¡°I know how clans operate,¡± Peter said with a smirk. ¡°Any uncouth yokel can end up a ba-ron,¡± he said, dragging out the word syllable by syllable.


    ¡°Your knowledge seems rather lacking,¡± I said coldly. ¡°Because right now, you¡¯re not insulting a single ba-ron, you¡¯re insulting an entire clan.¡±


    ¡°Oh, forgive me!¡± Peter said with mock sincerity. ¡°Martin, Gregory, escort the lord. With the utmost respect, of course.¡±


    The brutes grinned. Peter Fairburn stepped back, and the two moved forward.


    ¡°Are you planning to use force, gentlemen?¡± I asked, raising my voice for the benefit of the onlookers. ¡°One more step, and I¡¯ll be forced to consider that confirmation of aggressive intent.¡±


    ¡°Not at all, my lord,¡± Martin said with a smirk. ¡°We¡¯ll carry you out gently, on our shoulders.¡±


    His tone was far too confident. Potions? Spells? Stone Skin and Strength Enhancement ¨C at the very least. Exactly what I expected.


    I kicked Martin square in the knee. A loud crack echoed as his leg bent unnaturally backward. The brute lunged at me, but thanks to the potions I¡¯d taken, I managed to sidestep in time, guiding his head straight into the glass dome covering the cane. Martin slammed into the display, bringing the entire stand down with him and collapsing on top of it. The dome hit the floor with a sharp clang but didn¡¯t shatter or fly off.


    Then Belor screamed.


    The wooden pedestal in his hands cracked and splintered under the force of his inhuman strength. The dome flew off, and the cane rolled across the floor. I grabbed it near the reinforced end and swung it like a club, smashing the massive headpiece into the second thug¡¯s jaw. Blood and teeth erupted in a spray as his jaw twisted grotesquely to the side. He didn¡¯t even scream ¨C just let out a low, guttural roar, his eyes wide with pain, one hand hovering a mere inch from his ruined face, too scared to touch it.


    ¡°Well, would you look at that,¡± I said, flipping the cane into a proper grip. ¡°Didn¡¯t break. At least it¡¯s good for beating people with.¡±


    As I spoke, I felt along the cane for its control circuit. It would be foolish not to use a weapon that had fallen right into my hands. But Peter wasn¡¯t going to wait. He raised his hands, forming the shape of an open maw. A spark ignited within, and then a stream of roaring flames surged toward me.


    I sidestepped left, and the fire followed me. I dashed toward a column, losing my hat along the way, pushed off it, ducked under the flame, and slid across the floor toward a large display of bracelets.


    Unfortunately, relying on momentum was a mistake. The stream caught up with me, but the ¡®brick¡¯ I¡¯d upgraded that morning saved my skin. The fire collided with an invisible barrier, spreading across it like flames licking the bottom of a frying pan. Just for a moment, though, before I tumbled behind the display and took cover among the exhibits.


    My hunch had been correct ¨C the bracelets were enchanted for defense. Shields of various shapes and configurations activated one by one, overloading each other and effectively detonating the display. Shards, molten glass, splinters, embers, and fragments of the overworked bracelets scattered across the hall. The chain reaction triggered countless other enchantments.


    A nearby reinforced glass case shattered. A staff flared with a thin beam of light, slicing a stand in half. Elsewhere, a shock ring activated, zapping its neighbors and sending an entire display flying through a window as if launched by a cannon.


    Over by the exit, a necklace enveloped itself in an orange cocoon. Closer to me, a rack of blades suddenly snapped and collapsed under their weight. Fire and sparks rolled through the hall in waves. Customers raised their personal shields. A lady in blue opened a fan just in time, shielding the consultant in front of her. The fan disintegrated into ash, but his face remained untouched.


    I stood up and brushed myself off.


    ¡°Your safety protocols are a disaster,¡± I said casually before raising my voice. ¡°I demand to see Baron Fairburn! Now!¡±


    I aimed the cane at Peter, then lifted it higher and activated it. A roaring jet of fire burst into the ceiling above him, leaving behind only a charred blackened patch as I quickly deactivated the weapon. Peter was unharmed; frankly, even a direct hit likely wouldn¡¯t have hurt him. But why take the risk? The police already weren¡¯t particularly fond of me.


    ¡°Your handiwork?¡± I asked, noting the identical effect between the cane and Peter¡¯s spell.


    Peter didn¡¯t reply. Instead, he thrust his hand forward¡­


    ¡°Enough!¡± barked a commanding voice.


    I turned to see another man, about five years older than Peter, with more gray streaking his temples.


    ¡°You wanted to talk?¡± the man said. ¡°Fine. Let¡¯s talk.¡±


    Vincent Fairburn spun sharply on his heel and strode back toward the door he had just come through.


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± I called after him. ¡°Your family has already tried to kill me multiple times, and now you¡¯re inviting me into a room with no witnesses, where God knows who might be waiting? Even an uncouth yokel has enough brains not to do that. We¡¯ll talk here.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t push your luck, Lord Loxlin! My patience is not infinite.¡±


    ¡°Then don¡¯t force me to test it,¡± I shot back. ¡°Can you imagine what will happen to this little shop of yours if I show up here with my family? Two dozen lads my age, half of whom are warlocks or shifters.¡±


    ¡°Are you threatening me, boy?¡±


    ¡°Should¡¯ve just hired a better assassin the first time, shouldn¡¯t you?¡± I sneered. ¡°Forgive me, my lord. These city games are still a bit difficult for my country brain to grasp.¡± Then I let the sneer drop and hardened my tone. ¡°I need everything you have on that particular assassin ¨C everything! Where and how August hired him, how he even learned about him, and so on. You can write it all down and send it with Martin.¡± I gestured toward the man still writhing on the floor. ¡°I¡¯m sure you can spare a few healing amulets. You¡¯ve got until midnight. Only then will I leave your family in peace.¡±


    I tossed the cane onto the marble floor, picked up my hat, dusted it off, and paused briefly before putting it on.


    ¡°Good day, Lord Fairburn. Give my best regards to August.¡±


    Turning on my heel, I made for the exit.


    ¡°Stop!¡± roared Fairburn.


    ¡°Or what?¡± I asked without turning around. ¡°You¡¯ll stab me in the back again? I¡¯ve said all I needed to say.¡±


    ¡°Bloody upstart brat!¡± Vincent shouted after me.


    Let him fume. I really had said all I needed to, and now he had to figure out how to spin this incident in front of the other patrons and salvage whatever scraps of his reputation he could. By tomorrow, rumors would no doubt be spreading about how a provincial baron marched into the Fairburns¡¯ domain to make demands, only for them to thrash him soundly and send him running with his tail between his legs.


    Let them talk. I couldn¡¯t care less.


    What mattered was this: I had miscalculated the risks again. Peter could¡¯ve flattened me if not for the ¡°brick.¡± And this Vincent, who Harry had described as ¡°knows a thing or two,¡± had me scrambling. I was only saved by the location and the Fairburns¡¯ reluctance to kill me in front of witnesses. Well, at least I got that part right.


    Still¡­ It stung to admit, but I wasn¡¯t handling this. I had to call my uncle.


    I left the building calmly and made my way to the car. As I approached, I noticed a woman stepping out of a long car parked further down the street. She wore a red dress, a wide-brimmed hat, and large sunglasses.


    The vampire from the club ¨C the one who had been holding back her now-deceased brother.


    She waved at me with a gloved hand, then closed the car door with a smile and began walking toward me.


    I paused, signaling Knuckles to stay quiet.


    ¡°My lady,¡± I said, tipping my hat slightly as she approached. When she was just a few steps away, she stopped.


    ¡°My Lord¡­¡±


    ¡°How can I help you?¡±


    ¡°My father would like to speak with you. You are invited to the Lindemann Nest.¡±


    ¡°When?¡±


    ¡°Now.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t wanted to be alone with Fairburn earlier, and now walking into a vampire¡¯s lair seemed even more dangerous.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I must decline. I have other matters to attend to.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid,¡± the vampire said with a light smile, ¡°you don¡¯t have a choice. I swear, neither your life nor your servant¡¯s is in any danger.¡±


    ¡°Yesterday your father offered me his friendship¡­¡±


    ¡°Believe me, he acts purely with the best intentions. You caused quite a stir with Jariz yesterday. Many of our kind are displeased. My father feels compelled to invite you, solely to ensure your safety.¡±


    ¡°What about a meeting at Sir Harry¡¯s?¡± I asked.


    The vampire shook her head, and I offered another option.


    ¡°Neutral territory? Like that caf¨¦ near the police station?¡±


    ¡°The one where you were almost killed? And where you would¡¯ve been, if I hadn¡¯t helped you with that elixir.¡±


    It was her? I¡¯d like to know what lay behind that act of kindness.


    ¡°Thank you. It was very timely,¡± I said cautiously.


    ¡°You owe me,¡± she said, ¡°and it¡¯s not a small debt.¡±


    I smiled but didn¡¯t reply. I wasn¡¯t about to even indirectly confirm her claim. The last thing I needed was to owe a debt to a vampire. I could only imagine what they might want in return¡­ Or rather, I could have imagined ¨C until she surprised me.


    ¡°Speak with my father, and we¡¯ll call it even.¡±


    ¡°Apologies, but I¡¯m busy.¡±


    ¡°Young man, Partick was a fresh meat, Conor was a fighter, and I am a master.¡±


    Damn it! Even Bremor hunters wouldn¡¯t tackle masters without a team. She was definitely out of my league.


    ¡°Is that a threat?¡± I asked, buying time.


    ¡°It¡¯s a necessity. My father worries that he might be blamed for your death and wants to avoid it at all costs. I swear on my blood, your life is not in danger, and no one will detain you. Just one conversation, and then you¡¯ll be free to go home. It will be unpleasant, but one way or another, it¡¯s going to happen!¡±


    ¡°You have quite the talent for persuasion,¡± I said.


    ¡°Then you agree.¡±


    I nodded reluctantly.


    ¡°Knuckles, head home. I¡¯ll go with her ¨C using her car.¡±

 Chapter 21

    The Lindemann Nest was located in Sungarden. In fact, all three vampire mansions stood within one block on a large plot of land, divided by a towering fence shaped like a three-pronged star. Even from the road encircling the block, the fence seemed more like an elaborate symbol than a true barrier, but the ones separating the neighbors could easily be called fortress walls. Within five meters of the fence, there wasn¡¯t a single bush ¨C just a clean strip of manicured lawn. Trust between the neighbors was clearly non-existent. Vampires would never agree to such close proximity of their own free will. This was likely the idea of the duke who had permitted bloodsuckers to settle in the city.


    The car belonging to Kate Lindemann ¨C that was the vampire¡¯s name; I¡¯d learned it during the ride ¨C screeched its tires as it sped through the open wrought-iron gates bearing an ornate ¡°L.¡± It zipped along the path between perfectly trimmed hedges toward a grand fountain and came to a stop at the steps of a columned porch. The mansion¡¯s layout vaguely reminded me of Harry¡¯s house, but everything here gleamed with fresh white paint, polish, and meticulous care.


    In stark contrast to the white exterior, the interior favored dark tones: black, red, and brown. Lucas Lindemann greeted us on the stairs in the main hall. And again, the contrast. The vampire stood out sharply in his sky-blue suit, standing atop a blood-red carpet.


    ¡°To the basement!¡± he commanded.


    My hand instinctively moved under my jacket toward the pistol, but it was gently ¨C and firmly ¨C stopped by Kate. Her grip was anything but delicate.


    ¡°Oh!¡± Lucas exclaimed. ¡°You¡¯ll get your chance to shoot! To the basement!¡±


    Kate gently yet insistently pushed me in the back. That was the only reason I took a step forward. The alternative was landing face-first on the parquet floor.


    Is there a vampire mansion somewhere without a basement? This one, I suspected, might even be bigger than the mansion itself. At least, we stopped at the second underground level; the stairs kept spiraling downward for several more flights. Contrary to my expectations, I didn¡¯t see any damp dungeon or eerie torture chamber. On the contrary, the basement was a massive training hall filled with dummies, punching bags, weapon racks, kettlebells, and dumbbells. Somehow, I¡¯d never considered the idea that bloodsuckers needed to stay in shape. And judging by the state of the place, they took it seriously: the thick granite columns were covered in chips and scratches, and large metal runes were embedded into the stone walls. I couldn¡¯t quite discern their purpose. Clearly, these weren¡¯t ordinary formulas but more of a three-dimensional geometric projection. Supporting this theory was the fact that the lighting wasn¡¯t electric; the vampires used dim, fire-based magical lamps.


    Lindemann tossed his jacket onto a hanger near the entrance and began rolling up his sleeves.


    ¡°Leave us,¡± he said to Kate.


    ¡°Should I wait outside the door?¡±


    ¡°Upstairs. You¡¯ll take the lord to the Anvil after our conversation.¡±


    ¡°Shall I prepare the blood stones?¡±


    Lindemann froze.


    ¡°Have them on standby.¡±


    ¡°So, I¡¯m just here to be beaten up?¡± I asked.


    ¡°For your education, Lord Loxlin,¡± Lindemann replied. ¡°Who exactly do you think you are, young man?¡±


    ¡°May I at least know the reason for your discontent, Sir Lindemann?¡± I asked, trying to figure out how to discreetly pull out a vial of potion.


    ¡°Care to guess?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°Just yesterday morning, you were offering me your friendship.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m not going back on my words! And I¡¯m acting, believe me,¡± Lucas placed a hand over his chest, ¡°with the best of intentions. Either success has gone to your head, or during your heroics, you¡¯ve hit that head quite hard.¡±


    ¡°I still don¡¯t understand,¡± I said, subtly slipping a hand into my satchel.


    ¡°Oh, I see it all. Go ahead, don¡¯t be shy. In fact, you can prepare yourself however you like. We won¡¯t be taking breaks.¡±


    I froze. ¡°What are the rules of the fight?¡±


    ¡°Rules?¡± Lindemann smiled. ¡°Try your best to kill me. That¡¯s your only chance of causing me even the slightest harm. By the way, I¡¯m not using any amulets.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s dangerous.¡±


    ¡°For you, young man. Any guesses yet why I¡¯m so angry?¡±


    ¡°Are you afraid of being blamed for my death if I keep taking risks?¡± I said as I downed a universal elixir.


    ¡°Close. I¡¯ve placed my bet on you, forgiven the deaths of children, and accepted the reputational damage ¨C not so you could get yourself stupidly killed in your next escapade. But that¡¯s the big picture. Yesterday, you achieved new heights of idiocy!¡±


    I pulled out my pistol, removed the magazine, and quickly began unloading the rounds, clicking them into the satchel. I left the one in the chamber and, almost casually, turned my left side toward the vampire. I replaced the rounds in the magazine with armor-piercing bullets, finishing with a ¡°fire apple.¡± Vampires hate fire.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get specific,¡± I said. ¡°Are you talking about Fairburn, the assassination attempt, or Sardu?¡±


    ¡°Sardu! Of course Sardu! What the hell do you even want with her? As far as I know, she¡¯s never set foot in Duthigh before.¡±


    Does he really not know, or is he just playing along? Either way, I ignored the question.


    ¡°I had a Vicar from the Couliers with me.¡±


    ¡°Duncan, you threatened a vampire who has been granted inviolability by the princes.¡±


    So, we¡¯re on a first-name basis now? Fine.


    ¡°Inviolability,¡± I clarified. ¡°Not protection.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a guest, Duncan. When guests get into trouble, it makes the hosts look bad.¡±


    But vampire princes have no authority in Farnell. Claiming otherwise would challenge the duke, the mayor, and the crown. However, the heads of the nests do wield some authority.


    ¡°So,¡± I clarified, ¡°it makes you look bad¡­¡±


    ¡°Me, Valentine, Gratch. We all end up looking not so great.¡±


    ¡°And by teaching me a lesson, you¡¯ll regain some of your lost reputation,¡± I said, though I kept silent about how much more might be behind this gesture. Intrigue, damn it¡­ I hate it! Lindemann, at the very least, is declaring that I¡¯m one of his people, that he has the right to punish a Bremorian. And that¡¯s only what¡¯s on the surface! What a¡­ cunning bloodsucker.


    ¡°Not as much as I¡¯d like,¡± Lucas admitted slyly. ¡°Shall we begin?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re certain about the rules?¡± I asked, raising the magazine to the grip. Since I¡¯d turned to the side earlier, the pistol¡¯s barrel was aimed at the ceiling above the vampire, and it would only take a slight movement of my wrist to bring it to bear on Lindemann.


    ¡°Completely,¡± the bloodsucker replied.


    Perfect! No need to wait for a starting signal. I¡¯m under no illusions ¨C I¡¯m going to get beaten. That said, trying to kill Lucas, as he suggests, is a terrible idea. God forbid I somehow succeed; I¡¯d be a dead man myself. But that doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯ll meekly submit to fate. The only ones with the right to punish me are my family and the clan council! So, I¡¯ll treat this fight as a valuable learning experience. When else will I get the chance to spar with a true vampire master? And he¡¯s even left himself open. Imagine agreeing to a fight without rules!


    I nodded, tilting the barrel parallel to the ground, slid the magazine halfway in, and pulled the trigger. The FN spat out the round already in the chamber, and Lindemann staggered slightly as it hit him in the chest. Only then did I slam the magazine in and press the safety, sliding the bolt into place. Damn, shame it wasn¡¯t a thunder round!


    I leapt toward the nearest column, firing a second shot into Lucas¡¯s stomach. I didn¡¯t dare shoot the ¡°fire apple¡± any higher. If it hit his spine ¨C goodbye, vampire and goodbye, my life. But my worries were pointless; the vampire was unbelievably fast and wasn¡¯t standing still like a statue. The fire orb ricocheted off the floor, bounced to the wall, the ceiling... and then Lindemann¡¯s fist, appearing right next to me, slammed into the ¡°brick¡± shield.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Well done!¡± Lindemann said.


    I fired at his chest again, but the bloodsucker swayed to the right like a pendulum. I sent another round after him, and he shifted to the left. Swinging the barrel after the vampire, I decided not to shoot right away and instead brought the barrel back to where he was likely to move ¨C and pulled the trigger.


    ¡°Brilliant!¡± the vampire remarked.


    Suddenly, the barrel of my gun was trapped in the vampire¡¯s steel grip. I activated my shield ring and struck the edge of the shield against his arm, but before the hit connected, his foot slammed into my stomach, sending me flying into the column I¡¯d planned to hide behind.


    The back of my head hit the rough granite, and the world flashed and went dark for a moment. The cufflinks worked as intended, activating the stone skin, but they didn¡¯t save me from the brief disorientation. Lindemann took full advantage of that.


    He closed the distance in a heartbeat, stepped past the border of the ¡°brick¡± shield, pinned me against the column, and started hammering me with punches. He easily broke through my blocks and suppressed any attempt to activate the shield. The charge in the cufflinks began draining rapidly. Ten punches were all it took to completely empty the onyxes of their earth magic.


    Another strike split my brow open, and blood magic flooded into my body. Controlling its flow under the barrage of punches was impossible, so I activated an old stone-skin ring instead, buying myself a few seconds. Forget the wounds, the blood in my eyes, the aching muscles!


    I managed to dodge the next blow! The vampire¡¯s fist smashed into the granite with a crunch, and I dove at his legs, hoping to take the fight to the ground. What was I even thinking?


    His knee shot up into my chin, and with the next blow, my ribs cracked. A solid kick to the side sent me sprawling on the floor. The vampire stomped down on my left hand, grinding it under his heel. Three seconds passed, and the ring¡¯s charge ran out. The pain was overwhelming, making it impossible to control the remaining blood magic, which surged into my wounds.


    I growled, reaching for my dagger, but Lindemann¡¯s polished shoe smashed into my jaw. Another kick to the side, then a few strikes to my ribs and kidneys, and finally, he focused on my spleen.


    ¡°Well, how¡¯s the fight treating you?¡± Lucas asked. ¡°Still think you¡¯re invincible?¡±


    I wanted to fire back with a sharp retort, but my jaw ached like hell. All that came out was a hoarse wheeze.


    ¡°Time to end the lesson.¡±


    Lucas grabbed me by the collar and yanked me to my feet. Or at least he tried ¨C my legs wouldn¡¯t hold. The vampire seized me by the throat and lifted me. His grip was merciless, adding the pain of burning muscles to the suffocating lack of air. Somehow, I managed to raise my hands to try and pry his fingers off my neck. My nails scraped my own skin, futilely attempting to wedge beneath the vampire¡¯s iron grip. His hands clamped around my throat like a vice.


    The oxygen in my pain-wracked muscles ran out, leaving them weaker with every passing moment. Each movement was feebler than the last, and convulsions began to set in.


    The view before my eyes had long since turned into a blurry haze, where my opponent¡¯s face was just a shapeless blotch. Summoning the last of my strength, I kicked at where his groin should have been. Oh, how I would have loved to crush those bollocks of his ¨C he mostly keeps them for decoration anyway. Instead, I received a brutal counterstrike to my shin.


    The sharp pain shot through me like lightning, so intense that my hands dropped, and I could no longer lift them.


    The vampire said something. His words echoed like a distant hum against the backdrop of my fading life. And then I fell.


    Air rushed into my lungs, and for a while, I teetered on the edge of consciousness, my body wracked with convulsions and violent coughing.


    ¡°Remember these sensations, Duncan,¡± Lindemann advised.


    I wiped the tears from my eyes and saw the vampire leaning over me. Lucas looked quite fresh, despite the two bullet holes in his sky-blue vest.


    ¡°Get up,¡± he said, giving me a moment to catch my breath.


    I reached for my potions.


    ¡°No!¡± the vampire stopped me. ¡°You¡¯ll take them at home.¡±


    ¡°What if I have internal bleeding?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got bruised kidneys, a few cracked ribs, and a slightly battered spleen. Nothing important was damaged. Should I call Kate to help you?¡±


    Not a chance!


    I got up on my own, barely managing to suppress the trembling in my bruised legs and the sharp pain in my lower back. But I did it. On my own.


    ¡°A fighter,¡± Lindemann nodded. ¡°A true one. But not enough brains. I used only speed and strength. Only speed and strength, Duncan! Do you understand what that means?¡±


    I nodded. The arsenal of abilities that master vampires possess is far greater. Even something as basic as a Step into the Shadow is a standard skill for every second one of them, not to mention mental confusion, energy strikes that devour the subtle body, and plenty of other nasty tricks.


    And Lindemann himself was a dangerous opponent. He forced me to give it my all, yet didn¡¯t fully demonstrate the extent of his own abilities.


    ¡°Good,¡± the vampire said. ¡°Kate is a master too. In Gratch¡¯s nest, there are three masters, and Valentine¡¯s has five! It¡¯s hard to compare sorcerers to us, but Lord Fairburn is about equal to me in strength. And there are those who are even stronger! This city is full of people who are far stronger than you. Think about that the next time you get a stupid idea in your head, or better yet ¨C ask for help. And if I refuse, you should definitely stay out of it!¡±


    I couldn¡¯t manage the climb back up to the surface on my own. After my second fall, Lindemann called for Kate. She drove me to ¡°The Anvil¡± ¨C that¡¯s what the vampires called Harry¡¯s mansion. They dropped me off at the corner of the block, making me walk the rest of the way to the gate on my own, and they loaded me up too. Deliberately, so that all the onlookers could get a good look at my pathetic, battered state.


    They saddled me with a box and a garment bag. I left both by the gates. Remarkably, no one touched them while Harry was tending to my wounds. After the treatment, I blacked out and slept for sixteen hours straight. When I woke up in the morning, I discovered that curiosity had gotten the better of the wizard.


    He had stuffed an old tea tin with ether stones, inscribed it with three dozen rune chains, and had Cap running around the park with it, slowly approaching the items.


    The garment bag contained an exact copy of my suit, except the fabric was more expensive, and under the collar was the monogram of one of the most exquisite ateliers in Farnell. The box, too, held nothing dangerous: just fine wood, intricate carvings, and about a dozen large hematites brimming with blood power. Harry immediately used half of the stones on me, boosting my regeneration and metabolism while I slept, so I woke up ravenous.


    A big bowl of oatmeal, four eggs, a can of stew, and two cups of tea quickly fixed that.


    Harry just smiled quietly as he watched me devour everything, but the Sparrow brothers, unfamiliar with the effects of accelerated metabolism, sat there wide-eyed in amazement.


    ¡°Well,¡± Harry asked, tugging at his beard, ¡°how do you feel?¡±


    ¡°Fantastic!¡±


    ¡°Did the bloodsucker knock some sense into you, or just beat out whatever scraps you had left?¡±


    ¡°Not funny,¡± I replied.


    ¡°Still, what are your plans?¡±


    ¡°A telegram home.¡±


    ¡°The one you were planning to send yesterday.¡±


    ¡°I got... a little delayed.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ a messenger from Fairburn came. He left a note.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s in it?¡±


    ¡°Give me your word that the first thing you¡¯ll do is send the telegram, no delays.¡±


    ¡°Harry¡­¡±


    ¡°Your word, Lord Loxlin!¡±


    The wizard, as I¡¯d already figured out, took promises very seriously. And my grandfather had always taught me to keep my word. It¡¯s what separates a man from a scoundrel.


    ¡°The first thing,¡± I promised, ¡°as soon as I¡¯m in the city.¡±


    ¡°The post office is on Mayflow Road. Five blocks toward the Park.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I said. ¡°So, what¡¯s in the note?¡±


    Harry handed me a scrap of cheap yellow paper. I wasn¡¯t expecting official stationery, but I had at least hoped for legible handwriting ¨C not these scrawls left by a blunt pencil. Now I had to wonder: what was the purpose of this?


    ¡°Smuggler¡¯s Bay, 18 Kilbeg Street, ¡®The Noose,¡¯¡± I read aloud. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°A tavern,¡± Knuckles said gloomy.


    ¡°You don¡¯t sound too thrilled about it,¡± I noted.


    ¡°Are we going there?¡± the young man asked hesitantly.


    ¡°We¡¯re deciding that right now. What kind of place is it?¡±


    ¡°A tavern. But people don¡¯t just go there for a casual drink. That¡¯s where business gets done.¡±


    ¡°More specifics, boy,¡± Harry said.


    ¡°Can you hire a killer there?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Easily.¡±


    Damn it. After yesterday, the last thing I wanted was to stick my head in the tiger¡¯s mouth.


    ¡°Fairburns,¡± I cursed. ¡°I get your desire to wipe them out, Harry. I mean, the baron seems to have done what I asked him to, but it feels like he¡¯s luring me into another trap. And now I have to go, but there¡¯s a real chance of ending up with a shiv in my kidney.


    ¡°No one will touch you there,¡± Knuckles said. ¡°Seriously, they won¡¯t. It¡¯s neutral ground. Causing trouble there is against the code.¡±


    Harry and I exchanged glances.


    ¡°He actually believes that,¡± I said.


    ¡°In a thief¡¯s code? Boy, I thought you were more mature than that.¡±


    ¡°Come on, they really won¡¯t touch you there!¡±


    ¡°Then why do you sound so unenthusiastic about the place?¡± I asked. ¡°I thought you¡¯d be excited about all the romantic outlaw vibes.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the people there¡­ It¡¯s better not to cross their path unnecessarily. Especially if I¡¯m planning to live a law-abiding life.¡±


    ¡°Now that,¡± Harry said approvingly, ¡°is a mature thought. And remember, thief¡¯s code is a tricky thing: it¡¯s bought and sold. Everything depends on the price.¡±


    ¡°You also have to know who to pay and how much,¡± Knuckles grumbled. ¡°The owner doesn¡¯t want a bad reputation; otherwise, clients will be too scared to come in and make deals. Reputation¡¯s worth more than money.¡±


    ¡°Fair point,¡± I agreed.


    ¡°No, Duncan, it¡¯s a bad idea!¡± Harry declared.


    ¡°I think you¡¯re right, but I still need to send that telegram. Can I borrow your driver?¡±


    ¡°To the post office and back!¡± the wizard warned, wagging a gnarled finger at me.


    I raised my hands in a gesture of surrender.

 Chapter 22

    The first telegram home: ¡°Found him. Named Davie, connected to N. V. Possibly a warlock of Marduk. Details at Smith¡¯s.¡±


    I filled out the form but hesitated to sign it, rereading the text over and over again. I understood that I had stirred the local swamp too much, and all the devils had risen to the surface. And while Lindemann found me useful, Valentine would have shown no mercy. That¡¯s why I marked him as ¡°N. V.¡± To avoid any overly zealous locals deciding to curry favor with the bloodsucker by reporting a telegram mentioning his name. The place of dispatch would be included in the message anyway.


    It seemed like I had done everything correctly, yet it still felt like by signing the telegram, I was admitting my own helplessness. Damn pride!


    Pressing the pen harder, I put a bold ¡°K¡± there and added a sharp flourish after.


    That did the trick.


    I handed the form to the clerk behind the window, tossed in some coins, and waited for the receipt. I left the post office building with an almost peaceful mind, though a faint sadness lingered. Knuckles noticed it immediately.


    ¡°You don¡¯t look very happy,¡± he said, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. ¡°Home?¡±


    ¡°Home.¡± An unexpected surge of emotion compelled me to confess. ¡°I wanted to find that bastard myself.¡±


    Knuckles confidently steered onto the road and headed for The Anvil.


    ¡°Mind if I ask who? I¡¯d get it if you kept everything a secret, but half the conversations happen in Harry¡¯s office, and the other half over breakfast. It¡¯s frustrating. I take it his name is Simon?¡±


    ¡°Here, he goes by the name Davie. Arrogant bastard and sadist, a hired killer connected to the vampires. That¡¯s all I¡¯ve managed to find out. As for the reason, you¡¯ll have to forgive me¡­¡±


    ¡°You know,¡± Knuckles said, glancing in the mirror, ¡°that sounds an awful lot like Davie Pain. He used to call himself that. We called him the Sick Bastard. He loved to torture people.¡±


    Knuckles kept talking, occasionally checking the mirror. I was watching it too. On one of the turns, alongside the driver¡¯s face, a familiar car flashed in the reflection. I turned to look ¨C it seemed to be Martin, the car Kate Lindemann drives. Was it just my imagination?


    ¡°Go on,¡± I urged Knuckles.


    ¡°He always tried to show he was better than everyone around him ¨C clean suits, expensive cologne, jewelry. And this was in the slums, where people try not to stand out.¡±


    ¡°Was he part of a gang?¡±


    ¡°In a year, he put together the biggest one in the slums and started doing business with the old thieves. He was at The Noose every night. Who do you think the Hunchback learned his tricks from?¡±


    ¡°The Hunchback worked under him?¡±


    ¡°Kind of a servant and court jester rolled into one. But when Davie left, the gang fell apart, and the Hunchback managed to grab his own piece of the pie.¡±


    Well, luck was on my side with the Hunchback. Better to talk with him than to start forging connections in a den of thieves.


    ¡°And what about your word?¡± Knuckles teased me. ¡°You promised Harry¡­¡±


    ¡°Remember, all I did was raise my hands in surrender.¡±


    ¡°You sly fox!¡± Knuckles laughed.


    ¡°And we¡¯ll stop by the pastry shop.¡±


    ¡°For what?¡±


    At the pastry shop, I picked up a few bottles of cherry cola and a basket of almond cookies. Mainly, I wanted to throw the Hunchback off balance. Knuckles parked the car right in the courtyard of the building occupied by the gang, grabbed his submachine gun, and sat gloomily on the hood, sipping cola.


    Meanwhile, I picked up the bottles in one hand, the basket in the other, and knocked on the door with the toe of my shoe. The same gap-toothed kid who had served as my guide last time opened the door.


    ¡°W-what do you want?¡± he asked, trying to hide his fear behind a cocky tone.


    ¡°Want a cookie?¡± I asked, holding out the basket.


    ¡°U-uhh¡­¡±


    ¡°Go ahead, take one. Don¡¯t be shy.¡±


    The boy hesitantly took a cookie, looked at me suspiciously, and mumbled, ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ¡°I need to talk to the Hunchback. A proper talk ¨C no shooting, no posturing. Just some drinks and cookies.¡±


    ¡°U-uhh¡­ okay, hang on.¡±


    ¡°Go on, I¡¯ll wait.¡±


    The gap-toothed kid shoved the cookie into his mouth and shut the door. Moments later, the sound of something resembling a horse galloping across old wooden boards echoed from behind it.


    This time, the meeting was set up on the first floor. There was a carpet on the floor ¨C one that didn¡¯t sag this time. Moreover, a decent table and proper chairs stood on it.


    The Hunchback sprawled in one of the chairs, trying to look relaxed. He wasn¡¯t pulling it off. Behind him was a group of teenage thieves, who looked even more awkward.


    ¡°Gentlemen,¡± I said, placing the bottles, the basket of cookies, and my hat on the table.


    ¡°To what do I owe the pleasure?¡± the Hunchback asked grimly.


    I hadn¡¯t been invited to sit, and I wasn¡¯t in a hurry to act presumptuous. So, I leaned against the back of the chair and smiled.


    ¡°We need to talk. Privately.¡±


    The Hunchback¡¯s cheek twitched.


    ¡°Get out,¡± he ordered his gang.


    The kids left the room with great enthusiasm. I glanced around, looking for a bottle opener, and decided to use my dagger. The Hunchback tensed when I pulled it out but relaxed when I simply pried off a cap and handed him a bottle.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t have anything stronger?¡± the gang leader asked but still took the bottle.


    The invitation to sit never came, so after opening a second bottle, I sat down myself, took a sip, and wet my throat.


    ¡°Alcohol¡¯s bad for your memory,¡± I said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have that problem,¡± the Hunchback smirked. He seemed to feel more confident now, relaxed, and took a big gulp of cola.


    ¡°Then it¡¯ll be easy for you to remember who you¡¯ve been talking to about me.¡±


    The cola went down the wrong pipe, and the Hunchback started coughing.


    ¡°Need me to pat your back?¡±


    ¡°N-no, thanks. I¡¯m fine. I didn¡¯t¡­ I didn¡¯t tell anyone¡­¡±


    ¡°Stop,¡± I interrupted, shaking the bottle in my hand and gesturing toward the cookies. ¡°I come in peace. But I will get the information one way or another. There¡¯s no point lying ¨C I understand there are people you couldn¡¯t refuse.¡±


    The Hunchback cleared his throat, squinted suspiciously, and took another sip.


    ¡°I really didn¡¯t say anything. It¡¯s probably Dick.¡±


    The Hunchback nodded as if to convince himself.


    ¡°And why do you think that?¡±


    ¡°He disappeared.¡±


    ¡°How convenient.¡±


    ¡°Ask anyone you want ¨C nobody knows what happened to him. So it¡¯s either him or just rumors. Nobody¡¯s been asking me about you.¡±


    ¡°All right, sounds convincing. I heard you were part of Davie the Sick Bastard¡¯s gang.¡±


    ¡°I was.¡±


    ¡°Can you describe him?¡±


    ¡°Strong and fast as hell. Fought well, and he had a knack for inflicting pain.¡±


    ¡°Appearance,¡± I clarified.


    ¡°Tall, broad-shouldered, sharp cheekbones. Always dressed sharp, and he slicked his hair back with pomade.¡±


    It matched. Matched exactly what I had seen.


    ¡°What happened to him?¡±


    ¡°Why are you interested? The Sick Bastard loved attention, sure, but I don¡¯t think he¡¯d appreciate yours.¡±


    ¡°He tried to kill me. A few days ago. At least, I think it was him.¡±


    ¡°Shit!¡± The Hunchback leaned back in his chair. ¡°Cola and cookies, seriously? The Sick Bastard would snap a neck for the wrong word! I wouldn¡¯t talk for less than a grand!¡±


    ¡°A grand?¡± I smiled and shook my head. ¡°Quite the appetite. I¡¯m not going to touch you, and I¡¯ll even thank you on my way out. But do you really think Davie will believe you didn¡¯t talk?¡±This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    ¡°Then what¡¯s the difference? Dead either way.¡±


    ¡°I plan to kill him.¡±


    The Hunchback thought about it. I didn¡¯t rush him and instead gnawed on another cookie.


    ¡°The Sick Bastard started doing business with the old thieves, then he began taking jobs from moneybags. After that, he got tied up with the bloodsuckers.¡±


    ¡°Valentine¡¯s vampires?¡±


    ¡°Valentine himself. The bloodsucker taught him magic.¡±


    ¡°How do you know?¡±


    ¡°I felt it on my own skin. We were looking for him after he disappeared ¨C with the band stash. We found him in Heavy Bay. He¡¯d rented an apartment from some old lady there. Played the gentleman, the son of a bitch. Liked to take walks in the park. Anyway, we cornered him in that park, laid out our grievances, and he just laughed. Stuck out his hand¡­¡± The Hunchback demonstrated the same gesture ¨C with his fingers wiggling ¨C that I had seen in the chapel back home. ¡°My head almost split open. When I came to, I was lying on the ground, my partners had bolted, and the Sick Bastard told me he¡¯d kill me next time. We haven¡¯t touched him since.¡±


    ¡°Interesting story. Do you remember the exact address?¡±


    ¡°Hazel Road, forty-one. But it¡¯s been three years¡­¡±


    ¡°Think he¡¯s moved?¡±


    ¡°The bastard always aspired to the upper world,¡± the Hunchback replied neutrally. ¡°Heavy Bay is a working-class area.¡±


    ¡°Anyone else who might know his business?¡±


    ¡°Only people you don¡¯t want to be asking.¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Then don¡¯t ask. But if anything comes up, drop me a note. Tie it to a rock and toss it over the Anvil¡¯s fence. You know where that is?¡±


    The Hunchback shook his head.


    ¡°Rapsy, Longhead Road, seventeen. The wizard¡¯s mansion.¡±


    ¡°For an extra fee.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not promising a grand, but if the information¡¯s useful, you¡¯ll get a tenner or two. A hundred for something special. Take care.¡±


    Outside, Knuckles was finishing off his cola and lovingly wiping down his submachine gun with a cloth. Today, he¡¯d definitely risen in the eyes of his former rivals. I stifled a smile to avoid breaking his act and simply said:


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    Knuckles unexpectedly leaped over the car hood, sliding across it on his rear ¨C clearly, he¡¯d practiced this at home ¨C and opened the door for me. I raised an eyebrow in silent question, and he winked in response.


    ¡°At your service, my lord.¡±


    I allowed him to shut the door, waited as he repeated his maneuver with the hood, and climbed into the driver¡¯s seat.


    ¡°Show-off,¡± I teased.


    ¡°You should¡¯ve seen their faces,¡± Knuckles replied, steering onto the road. Only then did he ask, ¡°Where to?¡±


    ¡°Hazel Road, forty-one.¡± I figured the trip would be completely safe and just as pointless. I had to keep myself busy while waiting for reinforcements, which would arrive, at best, tomorrow morning.


    ¡°No idea where that is,¡± Knuckles admitted.


    ¡°Looks like I¡¯ll need to buy you a map of the city. Somewhere in Heavy Bay.¡±


    The nicest part of the district bordered Castle Rock, so I decided to start my search there. It turned out to be the right call; the street I needed ended right at the border of the districts.


    House forty-one was tucked behind a small square with a fountain and about a dozen trees. Maybe this was the ¡°park¡± the Hunchback had mentioned?


    The area was densely built, with all the houses in the block standing wall-to-wall. Living space here was expanded vertically, not horizontally. House forty-one was only three stories tall, wedged between its five-story neighbors, and stood out only because of the lush flowering plants in long pots under the windows.


    I used my concealment-revealing ointment, pulled my hat low over my face, and strolled down the street. I spotted a few amulets on passersby, protective charms on doorsteps, windows, and, strangely enough, on those very flower pots. Something based on swamp and blood magic, if I wasn¡¯t mistaken.


    Wiping the ointment from my forehead, I rang the bell for number forty-one. The door opened to reveal a tiny old woman who looked like the years had been eroding her away, grain by grain. She stood no taller than about four feet six, with a bony shawl-draped frame, gray hair twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck, and held in place by two bone pins adorned with tiny blood-red gemstones that shimmered with a greenish hue. Strange amulet. A pendant would¡¯ve been better for health and longevity.


    ¡°Lizzy isn¡¯t home,¡± the old woman croaked irritably.


    ¡°Sorry, madam, I¡¯m not here for Lizzy.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­ for that lazybones Franklin, then¡­¡±


    ¡°No, madam, sorry,¡± I interrupted her. ¡°I¡¯m looking for an old friend. We grew up together, and the last I heard, he was renting a place here. Davie...¡±


    ¡°Davie Pain!¡± The old woman lit up. ¡°Such a delightful young man, though with such a silly surname. It doesn¡¯t suit him at all. A proper young gentleman, unlike these¡­¡± She waved her hand dismissively at the house behind her.


    ¡°Yes, yes,¡± I nodded. Clearly, the old woman was a bit¡­ off. Those pins in her hair must be holding back the progression of her dementia. Simon ¨C a saint in disguise. What a creative fantasy.


    ¡°He never once missed rent, not like these.¡±


    ¡°So, I take it he moved out?¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately¡­ Such a good tenant¡­¡±


    ¡°Not like these,¡± I echoed.


    ¡°You know them too?¡± The old woman looked at me in surprise.


    What a waste of time. Time to wrap this up.


    ¡°Only from your words. You wouldn¡¯t happen to know where he moved, would you?¡±


    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I?¡±


    Wait, really?


    ¡°I¡¯d be grateful if you could tell me.¡±


    ¡°He asked me not to say,¡± the old woman said, squinting suspiciously.


    Oh, you¡¯ve got to be kidding me!


    ¡°Why?¡± I asked, putting on a surprised expression. ¡°Could someone as refined as Davie possibly have a reason to hide? Could he have gotten into trouble?¡±


    ¡°He had problems with hooligans,¡± the old woman admitted. ¡°Those devils wouldn¡¯t leave the poor boy alone. Once, they almost beat him up in the park!¡±


    ¡°What¡­ scoundrels! Madam, I hope you don¡¯t take me for one of those hooligans?¡±


    ¡°No, not you! You¡¯re clearly a decent young man, not like these¡­¡± She waved her hand at the house behind her.


    ¡°Then perhaps you could tell me where Davie moved?¡±


    The old woman hesitated. I should¡¯ve brought the cookie basket here instead of to the slums. Then again, with her crumbling teeth, who knows if she could even eat them? I should¡¯ve brought a cake.


    ¡°All right¡­ I¡¯ll tell you.¡±


    Then just spit it out already and stop dragging this out!


    ¡°I¡¯m listening carefully.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s moved away from there anyway.¡±


    God, I¡¯m so thankful that my grandfather kept his sharp mind and good memory to the very end.


    ¡°He was living with my sister in Castle Rock. Her house is bigger ¨C more space, five floors. She married well, didn¡¯t work a day in her life, the old hag. Just got lucky. And her husband? Lazy as hell...¡±


    I gritted my teeth and politely nodded. Once, twice, ten times ¨C until the litany about her sister¡¯s grandchildren finally ended.


    ¡°Life can be quite unfair at times. You wouldn¡¯t happen to know your sister¡¯s address, would you? Maybe Davie left her his contact information?¡±


    ¡°Adams Terrace, twenty-six.¡±


    ¡°Thank you very much!¡± I quickly doffed my hat and bowed before she could start rambling again. ¡°Apologies, I must be on my way.¡±


    Spinning sharply on my heels, I caught sight of the familiar roadster again. This time, it was parked at the end of the street. Holding my gaze on it for only a moment, I returned to my Cooper.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t notice anyone tailing us?¡± I asked Knuckles.


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°The vampire woman from yesterday. Do you remember her Martin?¡±


    Knuckles nodded.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t seen anything like that today.¡±


    ¡°I think she¡¯s keeping her distance. Maybe your eyes just missed it.¡±


    ¡°What do we do?¡±


    If we were being followed, then Lindemann already knew I¡¯d spoken with the Hunchback. The thug had given me up on Davie, and he could just as easily give me up to the bloodsuckers. In other words, Lucas might already know who I was looking for and could use that knowledge to his advantage. Damn it.


    ¡°Adams Terrace, twenty-six,¡± I said. ¡°You don¡¯t know where that is, do you?¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡±


    ¡°Castle Rock. Try to make as many turns as possible. Don¡¯t stop even when you find it ¨C just let me know.¡±


    Knuckles drove while I kept a close watch on the rear window. Seven turns later, he said, ¡°Adams Terrace.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t spotted Lindemann¡¯s roadster again. Maybe it was just paranoia.


    ¡°Stop by number twenty-six.¡±


    This house was indeed better ¨C detached, with its own courtyard, and no shared walls with neighbors. Moreover, instead of a single doorbell, there were eight different buttons, each with a glass nameplate next to it. The oldest and most faded one read ¡°Talbot,¡± so I pressed the corresponding button.


    About two minutes later, a younger version of the old woman from Heavy Bay opened the door. Instead of a bun held by pins, she had soft gray curls, but her face was identical to her sister¡¯s.


    ¡°Mrs. Talbot?¡±


    ¡°Yes, young man.¡±


    The previous old hag didn¡¯t give me a chance to introduce myself, but this one paused long enough to make it clear she was waiting. I decided there was no point in hiding my name.


    ¡°Duncan Kinkaid¡­¡±


    ¡°One moment,¡± she said, wagging a gnarled finger at me. ¡°Wait here.¡± Mrs. Talbot shut the door in my face and locked it with a click.


    What was that? Did she go to call Simon? A faint sense of unease made me reapply the ointment to my forehead and look around. Martin, Kate Lindemann¡¯s chauffeur, was standing at the end of the street. Glance away! Idiot, she¡¯s a master vampire. She could make an entire truck disappear in an open field. Damn it! Lucas knows all my movements, and by evening, I¡¯m more than certain he¡¯ll know exactly who I¡¯m looking for.


    The door unlocked again, and I instinctively moved to the side, slipping my hand under my jacket toward my pistol. But it was just the same old woman, looking around curiously. I had to pretend I was inspecting the wall.


    ¡°Here!¡± The old lady thrust an envelope at me. ¡°Next time, use the post office! And wipe your forehead ¨C you¡¯ve got some sort of¡­ dirt on it.¡±


    ¡°Madam, excuse me, but what is this?¡±


    ¡°A letter.¡±


    ¡°For me?¡±


    ¡°Young man, I may not have all my faculties anymore, but I¡¯m not as far gone as my sister, the old goat. Half an hour ago, Davie himself showed up and left you this letter.¡±


    Half an hour ago?!


    ¡°Thank you kindly.¡±


    The old crone snorted and shut the door. I quickly placed the envelope on the porch. No magical aura. I cautiously turned it over. Still nothing. Could it be poison? My fingers were clean, the envelope was dry. Just in case, I pulled out a jar of thick ointment from my satchel, rubbed some on my hands, and waited until it clumped up and fell away, leaving my fingers completely clean. Now there was definitely nothing on my hands. But what the hell was I supposed to do with this thing? And then there¡¯s Lind¡­ Oh, that¡¯s an idea.


    I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket, folded it four times, and spent a full minute carefully hooking the corner of the envelope. Even then, I held it with two fingers at arm¡¯s length, the way Aunt Mary handled a dead rat caught in a mousetrap.


    Once on the street, I took off my hat and waved toward Kate. Knuckles didn¡¯t understand, got out of the car, and threw his arms up as if to say, ¡°What?¡± I pointed with my hat to the roadster at the end of the street.


    Kate stopped hiding and stepped out of the car. Today, her outfit was red again, but she had swapped the hat for a scarf and the skirt for loose trousers.


    ¡°Lady,¡± I greeted as she approached.


    ¡°Lord,¡± she nodded, then gestured to the letter. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Possibly something enchanted, possibly poisoned, or maybe just some other nasty trick. Care to open it?¡±


    ¡°What an enticing offer.¡±


    ¡°Otherwise, I¡¯ll have to do it myself. I¡¯m all out of last-resort elixirs.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ve brought a few. You can open it without hesitation.¡±


    Huh¡­ I wasn¡¯t expecting that response.


    ¡°And what price will I owe if I end up needing them?¡±


    ¡°You can cover the market value, or you can simply replace them. They¡¯re produced by the Bremor clan.¡±


    ¡°Well, at least I can be sure the product¡¯s high quality.¡± Unless, of course, Simon brewed a poison specifically designed to counteract those elixirs. No, that¡¯s not realistic.


    I placed the envelope on Martin¡¯s hood, drew my dagger, sliced the top open, and used the tip to pull out a thick card inside. Written in elegant handwriting, it read:


    ¡°Say hello to your grandfather.¡±

 Chapter 23

    I stared at the stupid card, pressing it against the car hood with the dagger¡¯s tip, completely at a loss as to what it meant. I understood the words perfectly, but not the subtext. Why leave a letter? To mock me? To provoke or anger me? If the intention was to scare me, it had failed miserably. Besides, Simon was a sadist, not an idiot. Why? What was his goal?


    ¡°Interesting letter,¡± Kate said.


    ¡°You have no idea just how much. Step back¡­ behind the car. I¡¯m burning this thing.¡± Carefully manipulating the dagger at arm¡¯s length, I slid the card back into the envelope.


    ¡°Why such precautions?¡± the vampire asked.


    ¡°Better safe than sorry,¡± I replied. Or maybe that¡¯s exactly what Simon wanted ¨C confusion, delay...


    ¡°You barged into the ¡®Fairburn House¡¯ and made demands of the baron, yet a simple letter scares you so much you need to burn it? Should I be worried?¡±


    Even Kate seemed tense. Was Simon trying to buy time? But for what? In the current situation, time worked in my favor. Tomorrow, clan fighters would arrive in Farnell.


    ¡°What¡¯s it to you?¡± I asked the vampire.


    I draped a handkerchief over the envelope and picked it up again, holding it between two fingers as before, and moved to place it on the asphalt. Just as I bent down, the ¡°brick¡± shield flared with ether where a bullet struck it. The same magic ignited the envelope, and only after that did the echo of the gunshot reach me.


    I jerked my wrist sharply, sending the paper flying onto the asphalt, but the next bullet ignored the shield entirely, tearing through the envelope, grazing my right trouser leg, and scorching my skin. I leapt sideways like a rabbit, raising the shield from my ring in front of me.


    The halves of the envelope, sliced by another bullet, fluttered to the ground.


    The following shots weren¡¯t as precise. Only one bullet bounced off the shield, grazing the edge. Another pierced Martin¡¯s windshield, right between the driver¡¯s and passenger¡¯s seats, while the last whistled too high and disappeared down the street. Still hiding behind the shield, I ducked behind Martin¡¯s body.


    ¡°Could¡¯ve warned me about this,¡± Kate said, crouching beside me. ¡°My father assigned me to guard you. He won¡¯t forgive me if I fail.¡±


    ¡°Duncan!¡± Knuckles shouted. I peeked out from behind the car and saw him jump out of the Cooper, clutching his submachine gun.


    ¡°Get back in the car!¡± I ordered. ¡°Now! Move!¡± After making sure he obeyed, I answered Kate. ¡°I¡¯m not thrilled by the idea of being a ¡®failure¡¯ either. I don¡¯t intend to die yet. Not before I deal with Simon.¡±


    Considering the history of my clan¡¯s relationship with vampires, I couldn¡¯t help but add: ¡°Still, I¡¯m a little surprised. Doesn¡¯t associating with an enemy harm Lucas¡¯s reputation?¡±


    ¡°Enemies? Aren¡¯t we all citizens of the same country?¡±


    I plastered a ¡°are-you-kidding-me?¡± look on my face, but Kate didn¡¯t bat an eye. She hid her emotions well behind her large sunglasses.


    ¡°How does he plan to use me?¡± I asked.


    ¡°You¡¯re so young, my lord, and already so cynical...¡± The vampire shook her head.


    ¡°Don¡¯t play games with me!¡± I snapped. She was already cracking under the pressure of trying to figure out what had just happened.


    An ambush, that¡¯s what it was! The shield deactivated after the first shot, and that¡¯s when the envelope ignited. No, not the envelope ¨C the card! That¡¯s why the paper felt so thick. Inside was an empty formula that had charged from the ether flare of the shield.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you notice there was a longer pause between the first and second shots?¡± I asked Kate.


    ¡°There was,¡± she confirmed. ¡°Then the bullets came more frequently. What are you thinking?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a good thing I had the sense not to put the letter in your pocket.¡±


    The first shot was deliberate ¨C it activated the hidden spell. After that, Simon was shooting blindly, knowing that the enchanted bullets would home in on the paper target, which in turn guided them through the shield. Supporting this theory was the fact that, as soon as the card was torn apart, the bullets started going wide. I glanced at the hole in my trouser leg. The cufflinks had expelled a small portion of blood magic, which was already working to heal the scratch. I helped it along just a little. The stone skin hadn¡¯t activated. Was it the bullets that were special?


    ¡°Was that the author of the letter?¡± Kate asked.


    ¡°It was,¡± I confirmed.


    ¡°Care to tell me who he is?¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I said, peeking out from behind the car. ¡°Care for a little stroll?¡± I motioned toward the direction the shots had come from.


    ¡°I¡¯m still waiting for an answer,¡± she said. Then the sharp lines of her red suit blurred, and I had to focus to keep from losing sight of her. I didn¡¯t strain myself too much, though. Extending for show my hand with the ring, I peeked out from behind the car.


    I didn¡¯t activate the shield, saving the charge, but I was counting on Simon ¨C If he was still there ¨C to think it was up. With the toe of my shoe, I swept the paper scraps into a pile, pulled out a vial of incendiary oil, opened it, and carefully let a sticky drop fall onto the paper.


    I struck a waterproof match against the sole of my shoe and flicked it onto the scraps. The match landed a few inches from the oil stain, giving me just enough time to step back.


    The fire consumed the paper and spread to the oil. It flared up as if gasoline were burning. Within seconds, nothing was left of the letter but ash.


    I stepped back behind the car and waited for Kate. When the vampire appeared beside me, I was ready and didn¡¯t flinch from the surprise.


    ¡°Gone?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Gone.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been watching me for a while, haven¡¯t you?¡± I asked Kate.


    ¡°Since the morning.¡±


    ¡°Where was I?¡±


    ¡°The post office, the pastry shop¡­¡±


    ¡°Notice anyone else following?¡±


    Kate shook her head uncertainly.


    But I was certain there had been. Simon could very well have seen me visiting the post office. If that bastard knew about the telegram¡­ I need to check if he intercepted it!


    ¡°Planning to shadow me all day?¡± I asked.


    The vampire nodded.


    ¡°Wonderful!¡± I leapt over the hood of her roadster and opened the passenger door. ¡°We¡¯re going to the post office. Stop near my car so I can send my driver home. Let¡¯s go, let¡¯s go, this is urgent!¡±


    Kate started the engine, the tires screeched, and I was slammed into the seat before being thrown forward against the dashboard as we came up alongside my Cooper.


    Suddenly, I changed my plans. After all, Harry had done an excellent job on the car, turning it into a bulletproof fortress on wheels. Instead of sending him home, I ordered Knuckles to drive to the post office. I¡¯d switch back to the Cooper once I had everything sorted.


    Without lifting her foot off the gas or her eyes from the road, Kate demanded her share of the information. Specifically, she wanted to know who was hunting me. Considering she¡¯d been tailing me all day, it wasn¡¯t much of a secret anymore. If I didn¡¯t tell her, she¡¯d just ask the Hunchback or the old ladies. The only question was whether the vampire had already reported to Lucas or if they do a single daily briefing.


    I could buy myself some time, but was it really worth it? All this secrecy was starting to wear on me.


    ¡°I sent a telegram to my family this morning, asking for help,¡± I answered, though not the question she¡¯d actually asked.


    ¡°You think that prompted the assassin to act?¡±


    ¡°I intend to find out.¡±


    The clerk who had taken my telegram earlier was still on shift and was filling out some forms for an elderly gentleman. As soon as he saw me, he started to panic.


    ¡°Larry, take over for me,¡± he muttered and immediately abandoned his station, heading for the staff-only area.


    ¡°Stop!¡± I barked.


    The clerk bolted. Catching him was out of the question unless I wanted to break through the glass partition separating visitors from staff. Judging by her stance, Kate seemed ready to do just that, but I grabbed her sleeve just in time. Getting into trouble with security or the police would only make things worse.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°You!¡± I pointed at the nearest clerk. ¡°Call your manager! Quickly!¡± To make my words more convincing, I flashed the ring on my left hand.


    The gentleman at the counter gave me a suspicious look, then glanced at the door the other clerk had fled through.


    ¡°The scoundrel was selling information from the telegrams,¡± I explained.


    ¡°Seriously?¡± the man asked.


    I nodded and noticed the stack of papers in his hand. He followed my gaze and smirked.


    ¡°No one would pay for this, I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    The manager took far too long to appear ¨C they were probably trying to figure out what was going on behind those closed doors. After about fifteen minutes, a clerk escorted me through the staff area to an office on the second floor.


    Kate brazenly refused to stay behind and followed me upstairs.


    Without a word of greeting, I placed my receipt on the desk.


    ¡°In the morning, I sent an important telegram to the Earl of Bremor. I suspect that your employee altered the text.¡±


    ¡°My lord, I assure you¡­¡± the manager began to protest.


    ¡°Check the text!¡± I insisted. ¡°We¡¯ll deal with apologies later.¡±


    After about three minutes, it turned out there had been no telegram sent at all. The manager started apologizing again, swearing that he¡¯d punish the guilty party, and so on. I, however, asked for a telephone. The manager offered me his own, so I had to make the call in his presence. Kate didn¡¯t leave either, making sure to eavesdrop.


    There weren¡¯t many phone numbers I remembered by heart; I rarely called anyone at home. Most often, it was Logan. So, I dialed his number.


    No call I had ever made had been so generously seasoned with crackling and hissing interference. Damn long-distance calls. This was exactly why I had chosen to send a telegram in the first place.


    ¡°Hello?¡± croaked a voice on the other end, sounding like a century-old smoker.


    ¡°Uncle Gordon? It¡¯s Duncan.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Duncan,¡± I raised my voice.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got the wrong number. Duncan doesn¡¯t live here.¡±


    ¡°I am Duncan!¡± I had to shout.


    ¡°You¡¯re Duncan?¡±


    God help me¡­


    ¡°Yes! Uncle Gordon, I¡¯m in Farnell.¡±


    ¡°This is Evie. Where are you?¡±


    ¡°Evie?¡± What awful reception. ¡°Tell Father I¡¯m in Farnell!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re in Carnell?¡±


    ¡°Farnell! The Duke¡¯s domain ¨C Farnell!¡±


    ¡°Farnell, out west, by the sea?¡±


    ¡°Yes! Evie, tell Father: ¡®Grand Hunt.¡¯¡±


    ¡°A Grand Hunt in Farnell?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    ¡°The prey?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll know. I need help. Urgently!¡±


    ¡°Grand Hunt, Duncan, help urgently,¡± Evie repeated.


    ¡°Yes. Thanks, sister.¡± I hung up, and my chest felt slightly lighter. Though...


    ¡°Send an urgent telegram to this address,¡± I said to the branch manager, pointing at the receipt, ¡°and I¡¯ll drop all my claims. Handle the bribe-taker yourself.¡±


    ¡°My lord, I assure you¡­¡±


    ¡°I believe you,¡± I cut off the chief postmaster. ¡°But excuse us, we need to go.¡±


    ¡°Grand Hunt?¡± Kate asked outside. ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    It means more than just a couple of men will show up.


    I checked my watch. Almost noon. The train to Farnell leaves Avoc in half an hour. They won¡¯t make it in time. Simon has gained about ten hours on us. Whether he decides to fight or flee, I can only guess.


    In any case, the Lindemanns will dig in that direction, and they¡¯ll use the information to their fullest advantage. I simply can¡¯t bring myself to believe in the pure intentions of bloodsuckers.


    Previously, I had the upper hand with a clearer picture of what was happening. But the further things progressed, the murkier that picture became, and now I was forced to act on foreign ground. The Lindemanns clearly had the advantage here, and I couldn¡¯t stop them from obtaining the information they needed.


    And Lucas had repeatedly, almost insistently, offered his ¡°help.¡±


    ¡°Lord Loxlin!¡± The vampire interrupted my thoughts.


    ¡°Just Duncan. And let¡¯s drop the formalities.¡± I paused. ¡°Do you know where Davie Pain lives?¡±


    ¡°Valentine¡¯s favorite? You know him!¡± Kate¡¯s voice was laced with intrigue. ¡°That note practically reeked of poison ¨C or rather, old grievances. Who is he, Duncan? Not your brother, by any chance?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not my brother! Will you tell me where he lives?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll need to consult with my father. This information is dangerous for both you and us. Valentine doesn¡¯t forget insults.¡±


    ¡°Tomorrow, several powerful warlocks will arrive in the city, and they couldn¡¯t care less about the grudges of a single vampire ¨C even if he¡¯s a prince. Your father offered me help. Here¡¯s his chance.¡±


    ¡°Nevertheless¡­¡± Kate gestured toward a phone booth a few meters away. ¡°This won¡¯t take long.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± I agreed. It wasn¡¯t like my wishes mattered to her at all. ¡°I¡¯ll wait in the car.¡± I motioned toward the Cooper, parked a couple of cars down from her Martin.


    The phone call took the vampire only a few minutes. During that time, I managed to exchange a few words with Knuckles and bring him up to speed on the situation.


    ¡°My father agreed,¡± Kate said. ¡°Shall we take mine?¡±


    ¡°Not this time,¡± I said, opening the back door of the Cooper. ¡°After you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, what a gentleman!¡± Kate said with a smirk. ¡°Smuggler¡¯s Bay, Newsom Street, one-seventeen.¡±


    ¡°Smuggler¡¯s Bay?¡± I asked in surprise. ¡°That¡¯s a criminal district.¡±


    ¡°Are you surprised that a hired killer lives in a criminal district?¡±


    ¡°To be honest ¨C yes. I thought he¡¯d want to get closer to the upper echelons of society.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome to look in other places. Farnell isn¡¯t exactly a large city.¡±


    ¡°Sure, just the third-largest by population,¡± I said sarcastically. ¡°Let¡¯s go, Clint.¡±


    The drive to Smuggler¡¯s Bay took half an hour, and we spent another hour wandering around the district looking for the cursed Newsom Street. When I spotted a pair of constables, I told Knuckles to pull over.


    ¡°Excuse me, constables, could you tell me where Newsom Street is?¡±


    ¡°Never heard of it,¡± one replied.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that in Shiny?¡± the other suggested.


    ¡°Thank you kindly, gentlemen.¡±


    Getting back into the car, I turned to Kate. ¡°Out.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Duncan, how sensitive you are,¡± the vampire said, switching to a flirtatious tone. I reminded myself that she was a master vampire¡ªat least three centuries old.


    ¡°You knew exactly where it was and wasted time. Why? No jokes, Kate¡ªthe constables aren¡¯t far, and I¡¯m sure they¡¯d be happy to escort you out.¡±


    ¡°It was for your own safety.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± I said sarcastically. ¡°Best intentions! How could I forget?¡±


    ¡°Newsom isn¡¯t in Shiny; it¡¯s in New High. And number one-seventeen is entirely owned by Valentine. Only his trusted people live there. Storming in without recon would be reckless.¡±


    ¡°Knuckles, you heard the address?¡±


    Sparrow slammed the accelerator pedal to the floor.


    ¡°Bad idea,¡± Kate muttered, shaking her head.


    ¡°The bad idea was trusting you,¡± I shot back.


    Number one-seventeen turned out to be a twelve-story building with a large parking lot and a doorman built like a draft horse. Valentine¡¯s lackeys lived well, apparently. I decided against barging in and pitched an idea to Kate.


    ¡°If you¡¯re so worried about my safety, you could cover us like you did with your Martin.¡±


    ¡°There are enchants all over the place,¡± Kate muttered.


    ¡°Try anyway. Knuckles, lock the doors.¡±


    Kate and I got out of the car. Her red outfit didn¡¯t draw any attention from the passersby, and judging by how one lady almost walked right into me, I wasn¡¯t particularly noticeable either.


    ¡°Getting into the building unnoticed won¡¯t work,¡± Kate warned. ¡°The doorman isn¡¯t a fool.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s take a walk,¡± I suggested, offering my arm to the vampire.


    I wasn¡¯t planning on storming the building; it really was better to wait. But the doorman surprised me. Kate¡¯s masking didn¡¯t work on him. The moment we approached the entrance, he bowed.


    ¡°Lord Loxlin, Miss Lindemann, Sir Valentine is expecting you.¡±


    The doors opened before us.


    ¡°Not today!¡± Kate said, and for the first time, her voice betrayed genuine emotion. The vampire firmly tugged at my arm, and I didn¡¯t have the strength to resist.


    ¡°Wait!¡± I commanded, but Kate persistently kept pulling me away. ¡°Stop already!¡±


    ¡°Miss Lindemann,¡± the doorman called after her. She finally reacted to his voice. ¡°Sir Valentine asks you not to be afraid and to collect your sisters. They are not needed here.¡±


    ¡°Go home,¡± Kate ordered me.


    ¡°What? Absolutely not. Something very interesting is going on here!¡±


    ¡°Father sent my sisters to check out Davie¡¯s apartment,¡± she explained.


    ¡°And they got caught¡­¡± I realized. ¡°Call your father,¡± I said, pointing to the phone booth across the street. ¡°I think it¡¯s worth going in.¡±


    Lucas gave his permission, though Kate tried once more to dissuade me.


    Sir Valentine met us directly in Simon¡¯s living room, sitting in his leather armchair with a book in hand ¡®Venomous Insects of South America.¡¯


    The apartment could have been called cozy, with its abundance of rugs and warm brown lacquered furniture tones, if not for the wall-sized shelf filled with glass aquariums. It would¡¯ve been fine if Simon kept fish, but instead, there were spiders crawling behind the glass. Some of them were the size of a pug.


    But the room wasn¡¯t just full of creepy crawlers. On either side of the armchair lay two tied-up and beaten women dressed in black, gags forced into their sharp-toothed mouths. Standing over each captive was a vampire in a black suit, confidently pressing the prisoner to the floor with one polished, lacquered shoe.


    ¡°You took your time,¡± Valentine said, closing the book and tossing it onto the table.


    Unlike Lucas Lindemann, this father preferred dark suits, black cufflinks, and matching stones in his rings. His hairstyle was eerily reminiscent of Simon¡¯s ¨C or maybe it was Simon who modeled himself after him? It certainly seemed that way.


    Judging by Valentine¡¯s tone, we weren¡¯t going to be offered a seat. So, I plopped down onto the sofa next to his armchair, forcing him to turn his head to look at me. Kate, however, didn¡¯t dare repeat my move and remained standing. In the event of a fight, that would give her an advantage, but I had no such illusions. If it came to combat with this monster, he¡¯d smear me across the carpets like a thin layer of butter. My best defense right now was boldness and the reputation of my clan.


    ¡°Clearly, you weren¡¯t taught proper manners,¡± the vampire muttered.


    ¡°I was taught to start an introduction with a greeting, not with accusations,¡± I countered.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got quite the sharp tongue, l-lord.¡± He practically hissed the word ¡°lord,¡± dripping with contempt.


    ¡°As you say, s-sir,¡± I mocked him in return.


    Valentine squinted and stretched his hand toward me, his fingers wiggling slightly bent and spread apart. The gesture was all too familiar. I¡¯d bet anything my dagger would react to this bastard with pure hatred.


    ¡°Cramping in the fingers?¡± I asked casually.


    Valentine, clearly irritated, redirected his hand toward Kate, and the vampire swayed. She gripped the back of the sofa, her claws piercing the leather. I think I understood what she was feeling. Only, when Simon tried the same thing on me back then, he¡¯d had to physically touch my head to make the spell work.

 Chapter 24

    "I can¡¯t stand arrogant bastards," Noah said.


    "Nobody likes them," I replied. "Especially other arrogant bastards."


    "Are you looking for trouble, boy?"


    "I¡¯m just keeping the conversation alive. It¡¯s not like anyone¡¯s offering tea."


    "I see Lucas still hasn¡¯t taught you a lesson."


    "That was supposed to be a lesson? Now, back in ¡®27, that was a lesson. Remember?"


    Valentine didn¡¯t immediately understand what I was talking about, but when it clicked, his eyes began to fill with bloodlust. Back in ¡®27, bloodsuckers killed my parents, and my grandfather went on his revenge rampage. Nests burned across the country, princes vanished. Bremshire stayed relatively calm during that time, but the bloodsucking society was thrown into chaos. Many power struggles ensued, with factions scrambling to fill the suddenly vacant positions.


    The death of my parents had always been a painful subject for me. I remember very little about that dark time and have never tried to dredge it up. But Valentine must remember that period. Then again, who knows if my grandfather ever set foot in Farnell. He mostly tore through the South.


    "I remember," Valentine nodded. "I remember Gregor Kinkaid. A powerful warlock¡­ he was¡­ an exceptional leader. The current head doesn¡¯t quite measure up."


    I laughed. Uncle Bryce could put cocky little pricks like Valentine in the ground by the dozen. Valentine wouldn¡¯t survive a meeting with him.


    "He just needs a chance to prove himself," I hinted.


    Noah was suddenly next to me. Kate was hurled against the wall, and the vampire¡¯s hand collided with the "brick" shield. I had expected something like this but couldn¡¯t sit still and reflexively flinched to the side. A mistake ¨C it didn¡¯t save me from ending up "in Valentine¡¯s embrace." His grip on my throat was brutal as he lifted me off the ground with one extended arm.


    "You, brat, do not threaten me!"


    To respond, I grabbed the vampire¡¯s forearm and pulled myself up. There was no way I could break free of his merciless grip, even if I wanted to. And yet, I felt no fear. After that gesture, everything was clear. Valentine wanted to put me on my knees without laying a finger on me. He would demonstrate his power without actually causing harm ¨C leaving me with no grounds for complaint. The perfect plan¡­ and such a failure. So now he¡¯s pretending to have lost his temper. Pretending, because unhinged lunatics aren¡¯t allowed to establish a nest.


    This was a game ¨C a calculated performance to show off his power and scare me. I probably shouldn¡¯t provoke him further, but backing down wasn¡¯t an option.


    "Threats are for the weak," I rasped.


    "From your position, those words sound ridiculous," Valentine sneered. He threw me against the wall. The stone-like skin granted by my cufflinks softened the blow somewhat, but my head still rattled, and my ribs didn¡¯t come out unscathed.


    I struggled to focus through the spinning vision and couldn¡¯t get back on my feet immediately. While I tried, Valentine kept talking.


    "A pathetic boy with an overinflated ego. A weakling hiding behind his family. A burden to both your clan and your kin. Why does Lucas even bother with you?"


    Kate helped me to my feet.


    "Maybe for the same reasons you bother with Simon?" I shot back.


    Noah didn¡¯t reply. Instead, he turned to his goons.


    "Escort our guests out and throw out the trash," he ordered. His men grabbed the bound girls by their legs and began dragging them toward the exit. "Will you leave on your own, or should we throw you out too?" he asked us.


    Kate latched onto my shoulder with a bulldog grip.


    "We¡¯re leaving," she said.


    A shame. I would¡¯ve liked to look around a little more. But, of course, no one was going to let me.


    "Then follow the gentlemen," Valentine ordered proudly, turning back to the window.


    This was it ¨C the chance! My hand darted under my jacket, reaching for the dagger. One touch was all it took to confirm my suspicions. The blade burned my finger with rage. Noah spun sharply, as if sensing it, but at the same time Kate yanked me toward the door. Reflexively, I swung my arm to keep my balance. The contact with the dagger broke, and now Valentine was staring at my back.


    "Good day to you, sir," I said without turning around. "It¡¯s been a while since I¡¯ve met such hospitable hosts."


    Kate yanked my shoulder hard. That could¡¯ve dislocated it!


    We weren¡¯t taken out through the front entrance but through a side door, right to the dumpsters, where the bound vampire girls were unceremoniously dumped. Valentine¡¯s goons grinned at us smugly as they walked back inside. Kate kept her eyes hidden behind her sunglasses, but her clenched fists gave her away. Once the "boys" shut the door behind them, Kate unclenched her fists, revealing deep claw marks in her palms. A human¡¯s hands would¡¯ve been bleeding, but as a vampire, she simply flexed her fingers and got to work freeing her sisters.


    Carefully, so as not to get dirty, she hooked the first girl and yanked her onto the asphalt, then did the same with the second. After that, Kate fished an empty whiskey bottle out of the dumpster, smashed it against the metal, and began using the jagged glass shard to cut their bonds.


    I reached for my dagger but froze. Valentine had acted far too strangely the last time I touched it. What if the bloodsucker was still watching? Better not risk it. Besides, Kate seemed to be managing fine with the glass. She freed one girl¡¯s hands, and the other quickly disentangled herself.


    I looked around. We weren¡¯t alone in this alleyway. Closer to the street, leaning against one of the walls, was James Flower... no, not staring ¨C he was blind, after all. But he was watching us. His lordship didn¡¯t need his eyes to see, not with his well-developed third eye.


    The moment he noticed my interest, he began walking toward me with a confident stride that no one expects from a blind man. I didn¡¯t just stand there like a pole, either. Something about the expression on his face bothered me. It was hard to read anything through those lifeless eyes, but one thing was certain ¨C it wasn¡¯t joy.


    "My lord," I greeted him, stopping three meters away.


    James didn¡¯t reply. He raised a hand, and it was instantly engulfed in flames.


    "Care to explain what¡¯s going on?" I asked cautiously. My ''brick'' shield would hold against The Dragon Flame, but even Finella had demonstrated techniques far more devastating. And James wasn¡¯t just an average wizard ¨C he was a full-fledged battle fire sorcerer. That fiery hand looked a lot like the beginning of a beam attack, the kind Spark used to slice through Martin¡¯s hood.


    I recalled James¡¯s threats and prepared to bolt. Even Valentine hadn¡¯t scared me as much as Flower did.


    "If you don¡¯t explain the reason, it¡¯ll just be plain abuse," I said. "The lesson element will go to waste."


    "Apologies, but I don¡¯t intend to teach you anything."


    I bolted left, but a needle-thin beam struck the shield in front of my face. If not for the "brick," my head would¡¯ve been burned clean through. Even so, the heat seeped through, scalding my cheeks and eyes. Flower really wasn¡¯t planning on ¡®teaching¡¯ me. I jumped back, but the damn beam stubbornly tracked me until a large shard of glass struck the crazed sorcerer¡¯s hand, disrupting his aim. The beam grazed the wall, leaving a black streak of charred brick.


    Bottles and other garbage began flying at James with machine-gun speed. He shielded himself with a variation of a fire barrier. Normally, this type of shield wouldn¡¯t stop slow-moving objects, but the glass didn¡¯t just stop ¨C It bounced off him like it hit a rubber ball. The difference was, at the points of contact, the bottles melted, and anything flammable ignited.


    The lull in the fight was brief.


    "This way!" Kate shouted.


    The vampire girls pushed against a wall and shoved a dumpster. It wobbled, rolled, and toppled over, landing perfectly between the two walls of the adjacent buildings. In that moment, I sobered up and assessed my chances, darting for that miserable excuse for cover, while the girls continued bombarding Flower with garbage, disrupting his aim. It didn¡¯t help much.


    The gap between us grew to ten meters. Something behind me exploded, and instead of vaulting over the dumpster as I¡¯d planned, the shockwave hurled me into its open mouth, burying me in flaming trash. I grabbed the edge of the dumpster and hauled myself over to the other side, landing in relative safety.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Then instinct kicked in. I don¡¯t remember pulling out the pistol, but I clearly saw how the first armor-piercing bullet burst into sparks of molten lead as it hit James¡¯s shield. The heated quartz core, however, punched through his thigh. Before the sorcerer dropped to one knee, three more bullets shattered into molten fragments against his shield, and a tiny fireball hissed over my head, crossed the street, and blew a hefty chunk out of the corner of the building opposite us.


    "Arms!" Kate commanded.


    Her sisters lunged at James, burning themselves on his shield, catching fire, but still managing to grab his arms and drag him to the ground. Kate leaped after them, aiming a heel stomp at his lower abdomen ¨C where his elemental source was located.


    Maybe that would¡¯ve worked on someone else, but James was experienced in dirty deathmatches. Her heel slammed into a thick veil of fire that consumed her shoe along with the skin of her foot.


    Kate screamed. James ignited like gasoline, and a shockwave flung the vampire sisters away. The man, now a human torch, jumped to his feet, seized Kate by the throat with his burning hand, and lifted her off the ground. Her red scarf burst into flames, fluttering away, followed by her hair catching fire. In a voice that roared like the flames themselves, Flower said:


    "I¡¯m starting to think Lucas lied to me."


    What? What did Lindemann have to do with this?


    From around the corner, tires screeched. My Cooper appeared in the narrow gap between the buildings.


    "Doors!" I yelled.


    A vial of dense fog potion flew toward James¡¯s feet. It shattered against the asphalt, and thick gray smoke engulfed the elemental sorcerer. Sure, he was blind and saw the world through his third eye, but the potion had been specifically crafted for escapes. Some of its ingredients came from the altered with water magic fish of Thunderloch ¨C I hoped that would be enough.


    I dashed for the car as Knuckles kicked the front door open.


    Three quick steps, and something heavy slammed into my back. I hit the ground, rolling, and Kate landed nearby. We scrambled onto all fours, facing each other. I raised my pistol, but the vampire girl, moving on three limbs, lunged for the car.


    Fire beams struck the ground nearby, and I bolted after her. Noticing both of us, Knuckles leaned over the seat and shoved the back door open. Kate made it first and climbed into the front passenger seat. I dove into the back.


    Sparrow didn¡¯t wait for us to close the doors ¨C he slammed the axelerator pedal to the floor.


    "When I saw the explosion, I just knew it was you guys. Who¡¯d you piss off this time?" Knuckles asked.


    "Flower," I said, pulling a rotting potato peel from my pocket. I used it in an attempt to clean the scorched green slime from my sleeve.


    "You mean James? What¡¯d you do to him?"


    "You can turn around and ask him," I said, opening my satchel and sorting through the ammo. Thunder rounds wouldn¡¯t work ¨C too much risk of shocking Knuckles. The armor-piercing rounds had performed well, but the ¡®fire apple¡¯ round would be better. I loaded a round into the magazine, chambered it, then pulled out my dagger and leaned forward toward the seat in front of me.


    "And now," I said, pressing the muzzle against Kate¡¯s burned head and holding the dagger at her throat, "what did he mean? What did Lucas lie to him about?"


    "Hrrrssss," Kate hissed in response.


    "One more time," I asked.


    "Yahrrrssss," she repeated.


    "Speak properly!"


    "Uh, Duncan," Knuckles said, "I don¡¯t think she can. She¡¯s got a hole in her throat."


    "Goddammit!" I cursed. "Home. Quickly, before she loses her mind."


    To recover, vampires need blood and meat. While the former could, with some effort, be substituted by magic, the latter posed a problem. I¡¯d been too hasty pressing the gun to her head ¨C I should¡¯ve stopped by a butcher shop first. She¡¯d have to settle for the last scraps of bacon at home.


    Kate shifted slightly.


    "Stay still!" I barked. "Don¡¯t move."


    The vampire froze but resumed moving smoothly a moment later.


    "Do I really need to shoot you?" I asked.


    "She¡¯s pulling a pen and notebook out of her pocket," Knuckles said.


    Kate shifted again, then raised a small notepad where I could clearly see the text written in perfect handwriting:


    "Idiot! I just saved your life!"


    "It all started with your brothers trying to kill me, and now somehow I owe you something. You and Lucas. Was this your plan all along?"


    "Call my father. I¡¯ll stay as your hostage," Kate scribbled a few more lines. "If I survive. Tell him to buy fresh ground meat and blood."


    "You¡¯ll manage without it."


    "Then I¡¯ll eat you instead. It¡¯s hard to control myself!"


    "You won¡¯t have time," I shot back.


    "Then you¡¯ll lose your hostage. My father won¡¯t forgive you for that."


    "I don¡¯t care about him."


    "And what about answers? I¡¯ve saved your life twice now."


    "Damn you!" I growled. "Knuckles, stop by a butcher shop and grab some ground meat and a pint of blood."


    "10 kilograms. Plus 10 liters."


    "You can¡¯t fit that much!"


    Kate underlined the note twice and added three exclamation points.


    "Fine! Ten kilos of ground meat. No blood," I said, removing the dagger from her throat and fishing one of Lindemann¡¯s bloodstones out of my satchel. "Here. This¡¯ll work faster."


    I still hadn¡¯t lowered the gun, though my arm was starting to go numb.


    Kate was a compliant hostage, calmly sucking magic out of the blood stone and patiently waiting for Knuckles to return from the butcher shop. But the moment she got her hands on the package of ground meat, she began shoving it into her mouth as fast as possible.


    Knuckles turned green immediately, gulping for air as he bolted out of the car.


    "What?" I shouted.


    "It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s coming out¡­ the hole in her throat!" Knuckles gagged, barely holding back vomit.


    Thank God I didn¡¯t see that.


    "At least cover it with your hand," I asked the vampire. In response, she flashed me a thumbs-up, smeared in meat.


    We got home quickly, though Knuckles¡¯s condition worried me. We drove the car into the stables, and I stayed to stand guard while Sparrow ran to get Harry.


    ¡°I see even at the post office you managed to get into trouble.¡± The wizard remarked sarcastically, peering into the car from the driver¡¯s side. Kate, meanwhile, continued devouring the ground meat with desperate greed.


    "Harry, it¡¯s not my fault!" I protested.


    ¡°Did you send the telegram at least?"


    "I even called."


    "At least that¡¯s something. Now talk! And lower the gun ¨C I¡¯ve got her under control. And you, ''lady,'' don¡¯t leave the car; I¡¯ve activated fire seals."


    We stepped aside, and Harry activated a silence dome. I laid everything out, just as it happened. Harry refrained from commenting, understanding that if I hadn¡¯t gone looking for Simon, I might have been waiting for reinforcements until the second coming. In the end, it all worked out for the better ¨C except for Flower, of course.


    "I know James," the wizard said grimly. "Are you certain it was him and not someone using his shape?"


    "No," I admitted honestly.


    "Well, isn¡¯t this a puzzle," Harry muttered. "Someone could¡¯ve set him up, but I can¡¯t imagine anyone else in this city capable of replicating his techniques or creating a fire veil of that magnitude."


    "Not even with artifacts?" I asked.


    "The Fairburns?" Harry mused. "Pitting you against Lindemann would be right up their alley."


    "Mahrrrn," Kate croaked, cleared her throat, and repeated hoarsely, "Nonsense."


    "What?" Harry asked, surprised.


    "I read lips," the vampire said, and I exhaled in relief, realizing I¡¯d been speaking with my back to her. "I don¡¯t know Lord Flower¡¯s motives, but he was genuinely trying to kill Duncan."


    Harry cursed and dismissed the silence dome.


    "Maybe it wasn¡¯t James after all."


    "It was," Kate insisted. "I know everyone in this city who¡¯s worth anything. And I¡¯m not so easily deceived."


    Her confidence was unwavering, but her appearance was pitiful. Only a single, miserable strand of hair remained intact atop her head, and even that was singed by heat. Her eyebrows and eyelashes were entirely gone, her cheeks were peeling, and her neck was covered in a hard, scabby crust. The entire package of ground meat had made its way into her stomach, making her look pregnant. She¡¯d had to unbutton her jacket and tear her shirt open, leaving her pale, bloated belly exposed.


    Kate Lindemann wiped her greasy fingers on her ruined clothes.


    "My apologies, but I¡¯ll need a lot of fluids and a ladies¡¯ room soon."


    "Keep an eye on her," Harry said. "If she survives getting out of the car, finish her off."


    The wizard left the stables with a grim expression, leaving me alone with the scorched vampire.


    "I¡¯d recommend calling my father," Kate said. "The sooner he hears about this mess, the sooner he can start cleaning it up."


    I said nothing, so she kept pressing.


    "Duncan, if this is his doing, he already knows."


    "Not necessarily. He might not know about your condition ¨C or mine."


    "If it was an intrigue, he¡¯d have made sure to have a watcher!"


    The vampire spoke with irritating logic and clarity.


    "You know, I have questions too!" she continued. "For example, who is Simon, and why is Valentine so concerned about him?"


    How does she know!?


    "You mentioned the name in Davie¡¯s apartment," the vampire reminded me. "When Valentine asked why your father puts up with you. And I¡¯m absolutely certain I¡¯ve never heard of a man by that name in Noah¡¯s circle."


    Damn it, I¡¯d let it slip and didn¡¯t even notice. That vampire must¡¯ve slammed me into the wall harder than I thought.


    "Still," Kate continued, "he didn¡¯t correct you."


    True, he hadn¡¯t corrected me! That meant Valentine knew his real name ¨C and who knows what else. Not that it mattered; given the dagger¡¯s reaction, there was no reason to doubt anymore. I might¡¯ve just found the vampire whose blood was given to my grandfather. The one behind his murder. Uncle Bryce would be pleased.


    "...Duncan!"


    "Huh?"


    "Davie is your Simon, isn¡¯t he?"

 Chapter 25

    "Here," Harry said, holding up a piece of old leather belt, slightly longer than his forearm. Runes were burned into the inner side, and a couple of stone reservoirs were fused into the buckle. The wizard tossed the belt to the vampire and ordered, "Put it on."


    Kate stretched it between two fingers and skeptically remarked, "A bit short, don¡¯t you think?"


    "Put it on your neck."


    The vampire narrowed her eyes and bared her fangs like a predatory cat but quickly regained her composure.


    "What does it do?"


    "It cuts and cauterizes."


    "How lovely..." Kate drawled.


    "It¡¯s either that or you stay in the car."


    "Oh, I can sit in the car, but I can¡¯t promise to hold back¡­ the cleansing of my system. And the smell¡­ won¡¯t be roses."


    That¡¯s all I need ¨C vampire crap in my Cooper. I glanced uncertainly at Harry, but the wizard stubbornly frowned, clearly ready to dig in his heels and refuse any negotiation. She had to put it on.


    "By your own words, you have nothing to fear since Lucas had nothing to do with it," I said.


    "And who guarantees you¡¯ll let me take it off after all this?"


    "I give my word that we will if Lindemann¡¯s not involved," I interjected before Harry could deliver another of his biting remarks. He hated vampires as much as I did but could afford to be more blunt about it. Still, my response didn¡¯t convince Kate.


    "Sir Harry?" she addressed him instead.


    "I don¡¯t need a war with vampires," the wizard replied. Kate raised the spot where her eyebrows used to be. "We¡¯ll take it off, as promised!"


    "One more thing, then. Give me my hair back!"


    "We didn¡¯t take it," I joked impatiently.


    "Not funny. I can¡¯t appear in public like this!" Kate gestured at her head, where a patch of scorched hair barely clung on. "I had a luxurious hairstyle, and I intend to get it back. Surely, you have some spell for accelerated growth."


    Harry scratched the bald patch on his crown, clearly unconcerned with such trivialities.


    "Well¡­ I guess something could be arranged."


    "Just make sure I don¡¯t end up with a mustache ¨C I¡¯ve heard about some miracle potions."


    "It¡¯ll need precise calculations," Harry muttered, thinking. "Blood stones and fur¡­"


    "You must have a stockpile. I¡¯ll return double."


    Harry tugged at his beard, enthusiasm suddenly lighting up his movements. I had to step in.


    "Stop!" I reminded them. "Flower¡¯s gone off the rails, and you¡¯re talking about hair?"


    "Shut up!" Kate snapped. "This is your fault. No gratitude at all! Fine, I¡¯ll put it on ¨C but you owe me my hair."


    She only put on the collar after Harry gave her a nod.


    "And now, get out of my car," I said.


    "Where are you rushing off to?" Harry asked.


    "I¡¯m heading to Ellie¡¯s so she can call Finella and figure out why her brother decided to send me to the afterlife. Add some fire protection to the car while I go change clothes?" I asked the wizard, pointing to the vehicle.


    "In a rush like this, I can¡¯t do anything better than what¡¯s already there. Stop! Why the hell do you need to go anywhere now? Your people are arriving tomorrow."


    "First of all, no one expects me to pull a stunt like this. Secondly, there¡¯s no guarantee my people will bother to investigate thoroughly. Simon will be their priority. As for Flower, they might just take him out in passing."


    "Take out Flower in passing?! Duncan, I don¡¯t think you realize just how lucky you were to escape," Harry said.


    "I couldn¡¯t agree more," the vampire chimed in. "Lord Flower is one of the most powerful fire sorcerers out there. I still think you should call my father, but if you¡¯re determined not to listen to me, at least listen to Sir Harry."


    "I¡¯ll be in and out!" I protested.


    Harry puffed up his chest.


    "I¡¯m going to lock you in a cage," he declared.


    "Great idea!" the vampire added eagerly. "Afterward, a bath, and then we¡¯ll deal with my hair."


    "Harry! You can¡¯t be serious," I said indignantly. "Harry!"


    "Quiet!" the wizard raised a finger, staring into the void. Something was happening on his land. "He¡¯s here."


    "Flower?" the vampire and I asked in unison.


    Harry shook his hand in irritation and pulled a spellbook from his dementional pocket. The pages began flipping on their own, guided by his gestures. Harry plucked fully prepared spells from the book and cast them on himself, setting off a small illumination show in the stables. He didn¡¯t stop talking throughout.


    "Get in the car and start the engine. If it comes to a fight ¨C drive. I recommend heading straight to Avoc without stopping."


    "Smart decision," the vampire agreed and locked herself in the front passenger seat.


    "Out!" Harry barked at her. "You¡¯re coming with me."


    "Looking like this?" she objected.


    "He¡¯s blind anyway. No passengers, Duncan."


    The vampire reluctantly climbed out of the car.


    "Maybe you could throw some fire protection on me too?" she asked.


    Harry thought for a moment, then flipped through the book and flung something red from the open page at Kate.


    "Thanks," she said.


    "It won¡¯t save you from the collar," Harry warned her. "Let¡¯s go."


    I got into the Cooper and started the engine. Those were probably the longest ten minutes of my life. With nothing else to do, I applied the ointment to my third eye and reloaded the magazine with armor-piercing rounds only. I nearly floored the pedal when the door opened, revealing a figure shrouded in darkness streaked with green blood veins. The greatest concentration of darkness was around the elemental source, but even the green of the spiritual heart was tainted.


    "Duncan, it¡¯s fine," Kate said. "We¡¯ve reached an agreement."


    Kate entered first, followed by Harry, and then James. The two men looked pale compared to the vampire. Even Spark¡¯s source burned brighter. I¡¯d bet anything these two were hiding their true strength.


    The earlier fight hadn¡¯t left much of a mark on Flower¡¯s appearance, save for a small hole in his trouser leg and a slight limp.


    "Duncan, go home," Harry said, "and don¡¯t be scared."


    "Scared of what?"


    "We¡¯re going to stage a little fight."


    Harry pulled out his book again and began scattering seals, schematics, and rune chains across the ground, attaching them to beams and the ceiling.


    "Move, boy," Flower commanded, "or I¡¯ll have to go back to my original plan. The one where I kill you."


    "I have no idea what¡¯s going on," I admitted, but I climbed out of the car.


    "I¡¯ll explain," the vampire said, grabbing my hand and pulling me out of the building. Harry saw but didn¡¯t object, so this time I decided to trust her, even though I yanked my hand free. Her touch was too cold and unpleasant.


    The moment we left the old building, fire beams punched through the stable roof. A flash of lightning, a crack of thunder, and then an explosion so loud it left my ears ringing. The shockwave slammed into my back, knocking me to the ground, and then the rain of splinters and debris began. I scrambled to my feet and turned toward the stables.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The building''s roof was gone, and inside, fire and lightning raged. I drew my pistol and activated the shield from my ring.


    "Where are you going?!" Kate grabbed my collar and pulled me toward the house. "It¡¯s all part of the plan!" she shouted into my ear.


    "This?!"


    Kate dragged me toward the house, but I couldn¡¯t take my eyes off the spectacle. Another explosion deafened me, and a fiery figure rose above the blaze, as if a giant had thrown a flaming log into the air. Lightning flashed and vanished into the fiery vortex that formed around James.


    The sorcerer directed streams of dragon flame downward, hovering on them like a rocket on jet propulsion. The fire struck a massive blue barrier, spreading across it and creating the illusion that the sky itself was burning. At the same time, the fire inside the remains of the stables extinguished, and the smoke coiled into a tight sphere under the shield.


    In an instant, the shield vanished, the fire began to fall, and the air core, white as smoke, shot forward, piercing the fiery veil and slamming into Flower. My ringing ears whined louder, and a metallic taste filled my mouth. A blinding flash lit up the sky as Flower¡¯s fiery figure, like a defective firework, arced over the fence.


    Kate finally dragged me through the side door of the house, which led into the kitchen.


    "This is the plan?" I asked, suddenly realizing two things. First, I had no concept of the immense power being used here. Second, I couldn¡¯t hear my own voice. Quickly rubbing my ears, I poured a drop of "blood" from my cufflinks into them.


    "... I¡¯m shocked myself," Kate said. "Sir Smith went all out."


    "One more time ¨C what¡¯s going on?!"


    "Someone kidnapped Finella, pretended to be Lucas Lindemann, and ordered James to kill you."


    Footsteps pounded, and then Knuckles burst into the kitchen with an submachine gun in hands.


    "What¡¯s going on?!" he asked.


    "Someone kidnapped Finella," I replied automatically.


    "What was she doing here?"


    "Wait, no! Don¡¯t confuse me," I said, already starting to get confused myself. "She was kidnapped earlier, and James was ordered to kill me."


    "What¡¯s that?" Knuckles pointed out the window.


    "It¡¯s staged," Kate said.


    "The stable was blown up on purpose?" Knuckles asked, incredulous.


    "Sir Smith and Lord Flower staged a little performance," the vampire explained. "To make the kidnappers think the lord tried to kill Duncan but failed. And also to remind the city of the true level of their power. Many had started to forget ¨C otherwise, no one would have dared touch the sister of Blind Fire, let alone threaten her life."


    "Well," I said, "there is one insane family around here."


    "You mean the Fairburns?" Kate asked. "Doubtful."


    "Why? If the fight had taken place in the house¡­ who knows? It might have disrupted Harry¡¯s ritual."


    "The first attack wasn¡¯t here," Kate countered. "James was waiting for us in the alley. He got the call less than an hour before that and barely made it in time."


    "I see where you¡¯re going with this," I said. "That devious and cunning Valentine set everything up. But your family also knew where we were heading. Besides, you hesitated. And I can¡¯t shake the fact that the kidnapper called himself Lindemann. Why would he even bother naming himself? He could¡¯ve remained anonymous. It¡¯s like he was deliberately deflecting suspicion."


    Knuckles casually, or perhaps not so casually, aimed his gun at the vampire.


    "So it¡¯s so absurd, it¡¯s actually clever?" she asked.


    "Exactly."


    "The alley, Duncan! Flower wasn¡¯t waiting for us near the house ¨C he was in the alley. The exact same alley where the Valentines had brought us. There are no oracles in my nest."


    "But Valentine isn¡¯t stupid enough to expose himself like that."


    "Noah is the strongest vampire in the city."


    "A grandmaster?"


    "Have you ever heard of a grandmaster that isn¡¯t a prince? No. A master with magical abilities. And I¡¯m not talking about ritual magic or the powers awakened by blood ¨C no! Before his turning, Noah was a powerful warlock. He¡¯s probably the only vampire in the city who wouldn¡¯t fear direct confrontation with Flower. Now that¡¯s so absurd it¡¯s clever."


    Kate¡¯s swollen belly shifted as though snakes were writhing inside it. A loud gurgle followed, and she grimaced in pain.


    "Bathroom, quickly!"


    "Take her," I said to Knuckles.


    Kate had almost convinced me of her version of events, but there were still too many gaps. Somehow, Harry had convinced James to back off from killing me. And speaking of the wizard...


    Harry strolled into the kitchen, grinning like a freshly minted coin.


    "It¡¯s been a while since I cut loose," he said.


    "Not sorry about the stables?"


    "I¡¯ll build a proper garage and buy a new car."


    "I¡¯d be sorry about the Cooper," I said.


    "Your Cooper¡¯s fine. I shielded it."


    "Great news!" I said with relief. "But I¡¯d like to know ¨C what¡¯s next?"


    "We wait. Your vampire convinced James that Lucas has nothing to do with Finella¡¯s kidnapping."


    "And she convinced me that Valentine is behind it. Why did James believe it was Lucas? I still can¡¯t get over the fact that the kidnapper just introduced himself."


    "It struck me as stupid too, and James didn¡¯t believe it. What he said in the alley was for the vampire to relay to her father. James has heightened hearing and an excellent memory. When he got the call, he recognized Lindemann¡¯s voice ¨C adjusted for the connection, of course. Plus, the person on the phone promised that ''his daughters'' would lead you out of the building and create the illusion of protection. Someone went to great lengths and did a thorough job. James feared that if he completed the task too quickly, he¡¯d be caught by the cops, the kidnappers would clean up loose ends, and they¡¯d kill Finella too. So, he decided not to kill you immediately and let you escape."


    "What a farce. I still managed to injure him. What if I¡¯d shot him in the head?"


    "You¡¯d have killed him," Harry said. "You two seriously underestimated each other."


    "So, he was stalling for time until reinforcements arrived?"


    "Not just that. The vampire convinced him to call Lucas."


    "The vampire will insist he had nothing to do with it."


    "He¡¯ll have to prove it; otherwise, the Lindemann nest might burn. He doesn¡¯t have many good fighters, and he¡¯s nowhere near as strong as Valentine."


    "Then we wait... I¡¯ll go wash up and change."


    It took me half an hour. After that, I went down to the kitchen to drink tea, and to pass the time, I worked on modifying some bullets from the submachine¡¯s drum magazine. Harry sponsored the effort with pyrite shavings, crushed garnet, and even let me draw a containment pentagram right on the kitchen table.


    He quickly melted the lead to absorb the mineral fragments, then placed the bullets in two uneven piles in front of me. There were more pyrite-enhanced rounds. I placed them in the pentagram, inscribed spells for hardness and sharpness, and then fed drops of energy from a large smoky quartz crystal.


    I did a terrible job, frankly, wasting the crystal¡¯s magic horribly, but the bullets would retain their armor-piercing properties for a day or two. Knuckles, meanwhile, watched the process with keen interest.


    Half an hour later, Knuckles returned with the cleaned-up vampire. Kate was now wearing a fresh shirt of Harry¡¯s and his trousers, the cuffs rolled up so they wouldn¡¯t drag on the floor. The scabs had completely fallen off her neck, revealing young pink skin, and her stomach had flattened. But the smell of cheap soap couldn¡¯t quite mask the stench of rotting meat. Harry had to cleanse the air with a spell.


    I moved on to the garnet bullets, enchanting them with fire arrow spells, while Harry began working on Kate¡¯s hair. For that, he used a blood stone and an old beaver fur hat.


    By the time I had only two bullets left, Kate¡¯s head was unevenly covered in short black-and-red stubble. Harry turned to Knuckles.


    "Nathan, bring the guest. Just one."


    "Who is it?" I asked.


    "Lucas," the wizard replied. "And that¡¯s it for the hair. It¡¯ll grow at an accelerated pace for a few hours, then normalize. Here." Harry handed Kate the spell-ravaged hat.


    "I feel hungry," the vampire said.


    "The process uses not just the beaver¡¯s fur but also the body¡¯s resources."


    "Then I need blood. Real blood! You can¡¯t always trick the body with magic."


    "We¡¯ll listen to your father first, then decide," Harry said.


    Cap brought Lucas straight to the kitchen. As always, the vampire was dressed in light colors ¨C this time, a beige suit.


    "Gentlemen," he greeted, removing his hat. "Daughter, well done."


    Kate¡¯s eyes lit up like those of a dog being scratched behind the ear.


    "Let¡¯s skip the sweet talk," Harry said. "What¡¯s going on, Lucas?"


    "I don¡¯t have the full picture, but Flower¡¯s sister was kidnapped by Valentine¡¯s people."


    "Wow, what a classic villain move," I said. "Just as devious and just as dumb."


    "You can call Noah many things, but not dumb," Lucas replied, suddenly breaking into a smug grin. With his emerging fangs, it was unsettling.


    "What¡¯s got you so pleased?" Harry asked.


    "Valentine is smart, but he underestimated me. Sure, my girls aren¡¯t the strongest, but in one thing, they have no equal."


    The vampire fell silent, his entire demeanor practically shouting, ¡°Well, ask me what I mean!¡±


    "No theatrics!" Harry grumbled.


    Lucas sighed dramatically.


    "My girls are excellent spies!" he declared proudly.


    "They got caught today," I reminded him.


    "The youngest ones got caught," Lucas replied without a hint of shame. "The more experienced ones had another mission ¨C they were tracking Billy Valentine."


    "You¡¯d probably be surprised to hear that this is the first time I¡¯m hearing that name," I said.


    "Billy is Noah¡¯s right-hand man."


    "And he¡¯s usually hovering around Father," Kate added. "But I didn¡¯t see him today."


    Lucas deigned to explain.


    "That¡¯s because Billy, along with other masters and the guy you¡¯re looking for, holed up in a gambling den in Pubset. Even those two you met ¨C they headed there after their meeting with you."


    "Are you sure?" I asked.


    "Of course, I¡¯m sure!"


    "What are they doing there?"


    "It looks like they¡¯re keeping the guy locked up. Definitely strange, but that¡¯s not our concern right now. A couple of hours before your encounter, Sally saw a truck pull up with a couple of goons delivering cargo ¨C several crates, a few bags¡­ and one of them definitely contained a body. She assumed the men were just hungry. But just a few minutes later, vampires disguised as workers carried two bags, also with bodies, back out and loaded them into the truck before driving off to an unknown destination."


    "I don¡¯t follow," I admitted.


    "The operatives were eliminated."


    "And the first bag contained Finella," I guessed.


    "Exactly."


    "Do you have any proof that it was her?"


    "Not exactly," Lucas admitted.


    "So, no facts ¨C just a bunch of assumptions you¡¯re stretching to fit?"

 Chapter 26

    "You have some serious trust issues, young man," Lindemann said.


    "Just because you''re paranoid doesn''t mean they''re not watching you," I replied.


    "Duncan, with the kind of life you lead, paranoia is actually a useful trait. But your problem is something else. You make strange exceptions. I forgave you for my sons, and my daughter saved your life twice."


    "Once!" I interrupted. "James was planning my escape regardless."


    "Fine, once," Lucas said, grimacing. "But you still don¡¯t trust me, while you¡¯ve dragged petty criminals into your home and handed them weapons."


    "Of course," I said, nodding toward the Sparrow brothers. "Real demons." Then I pointed at him. "And an innocent little lamb."


    "You¡¯re overdoing it, Lucas," Harry said with a smirk.


    "You¡¯re impossible!" the vampire sighed, pulling a notebook and a gold fountain pen from his inner pocket. For half a minute, he scribbled something with the gold nib, then tore out the page and slammed it onto the table. "Here!" he said, stepping back two paces.


    Harry made a small gesture with his finger, and the sheet of paper levitated into his hand. I got up to take a look too. On the paper was a crude, disproportionate pentagonal diagram: the lower corner was elongated, the top edge was short but had two rune chains, while the sharp angle in the lower part had only three symbols, vaguely recognizable as blood runes.


    "Is that a summoner''s mark at the bottom?" I asked Harry.


    "Yep," the wizard replied.


    "Blood, blood, aether, fire... I don¡¯t get it," I admitted.


    "A blood-based tracking spell," Harry explained. "I¡¯d replace these three edges with an arc," he said, pointing to the short upper edges of the figure. "Add some earth here for stability, and over there..."


    "Change whatever you want," Lucas said. "The key is to make Flower use the spell."


    "So Valentine didn¡¯t even bother with any protection?" I asked the vampire, but Harry answered instead.


    "The search is limited by the angle of the directing edges."


    "So we¡¯d need to know the approximate direction first?" I clarified.


    Harry nodded.


    "And if we also shorten the distance, the impulse might punch through the protection. I think that¡¯s what Lucas is suggesting."


    "Exactly!" the vampire exclaimed. "We can break into the building opposite, perform the tracking ritual, and attack!"


    Lucas clenched his hand into a fist and slammed it on the table, causing the teacups to rattle. The whites of his eyes turned slightly red, his fangs extended, and despite his beige suit, he looked downright menacing.


    "How many masters will be there?" I asked.


    "I can¡¯t know that," Lucas said, retracting his fangs and straightening his tie. "Could be three, maybe four. Noah will likely be at the club, usually with a couple of his elder sons. We can attack when he¡¯s there."


    "I¡¯m more concerned about something else," I said. "Who¡¯s going to attack? Against fighters of their level, I¡¯m just cannon fodder. Harry won¡¯t leave the manor. That leaves James. Sure, he¡¯s ¡®Fire,¡¯ but he can¡¯t do much alone. Finella will be killed before he reaches her. When a fight starts, hostages usually die. Two years ago, a pack of werewolves kidnapped the heir of some viscount¡­" His name had slipped my mind. "From the south ¨C a millionaire, dealt in construction timber. Ah, whatever. The pack, ten heads strong, had taken a liking to his forests, infected the heir with lycanthropy, and kept him captive until the transformation was complete. They offered us a contract to rescue him, but my grandfather demanded time for reconnaissance, assembling a team, and preparation. The viscount had the money, but not the patience, so he hired four mercenaries. They wiped out the pack, but the alpha escaped after eating the hearts of both the heir and one of the hunters."


    "In other words, we need a coordinated team," Lucas said. "I have one. Girls!"


    "You mean the same ones Valentine¡¯s men tossed in the trash today?"


    "No! Those ones will stay home ¨C punished. Besides, personal strength doesn¡¯t matter in this case. The key is coordination. Duncan, use your imagination! You saw perfectly well how the vicar¡¯s faith affected Jariz."


    "You¡¯re suggesting we involve that lunatic?"


    "God forbid!" the vampire recoiled. "He might end up blessing my girls, that bloody fanatic. But his faith is strong! Enough for a crate of bullets."


    Faith is a perishable commodity, dangerous and unstable, like a crate of dynamite at the feet of a fire elemental in the rain. Faith moves mountains and destroys cities, but it can only be wielded by a person. All the crosses, stars, crescents, and pentagrams are empty symbols, powerless without someone to believe in them. It is only human faith that grants them strength.


    The bullets we enchanted in the clan were never truly consecrated. We had our own equivalent, a blend of symbols from nearly every religion, something anyone could believe in: metal of life and the magic that kills it. A death stone encased in silver ¨C that¡¯s what Bremorians had been using for generations. Separately, they weren¡¯t particularly harmful to vampires; together, they barely outmatched fire apples. Odd, considering ¡®fire¡¯ is the magic from which ¡®death¡¯ was born, but vampires had a special relationship with the latter.


    Obtaining fire stones was easier. The nearest place of power was Fire Rock in Elvshire, a few kilometers from the county border. That¡¯s why fire-based ammunition was most often used in vampire hunts. A true blessing could provide much more power but faded from bullets much faster. And Wood¡¯s faith was truly strong.


    Lucas continued to whisper like a serpent tempting Eve.


    "I¡¯ll provide a team of six fighters, protective amulets, Bremor acceleration potions, automatics, and armor-piercing bullets. But the vicar won¡¯t talk to me."


    "So we¡¯ll just barge in and shoot everyone?"


    "We? No, no, no! You¡¯re not barging in anywhere. Your job is to get the magazines blessed and keep quiet. Valentine mustn¡¯t know me or you are involved."


    "You seriously think you can keep this secret?"


    "Why not? We¡¯re friends, aren¡¯t we? And friends don¡¯t betray deadly secrets." Lucas bared his teeth in a slow grin and repeated ominously, "Deadly¡­ Besides, if the story comes out a few months from now, it won¡¯t hurt me as much."


    "Or maybe even the opposite," I said, "strengthening the reputation of a brilliant schemer."


    "Brilliant? Unlikely. If I only provided the spell and the information, and you carried out the raid yourselves..."


    I could have argued, resisted, but oddly enough, Lindemann was offering a way forward, and I couldn¡¯t see any alternatives. That cunning vampire was sure to gain far more from this than he let on. Weakening his rivals is the first thing that comes to mind, but I still can¡¯t figure out how he plans to deal with the fallout. Valentine will want to know who screwed him over so badly, for sure. Then again, I¡¯ll probably be at the top of his list. And does it even matter, if the Bremorians decide to hunt him down?


    Is that Lucas¡¯s plan all along? Kate was with me when I called for backup, and Lucas knows it. By stepping in now, he earns a credit of trust with the clan, indebts me, James, Finella, and even Harry through the Sparrow brothers, who owe Spark. On top of that, he cuts down Valentine¡¯s combat strength, weakens him, and provokes him. When the Bremorians arrive, there will be no peaceful negotiations. Valentine¡¯s nest and Valentine himself will be destroyed¡­ by Bremorian hands.


    What difference does it make to me?


    "Nothing. Our goals align."


    I glanced at Harry. The wizard shrugged uncertainly.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "Take off the collar," I said.


    Harry snapped his fingers. The collar flew off Kate¡¯s neck and levitated into his hand.


    "So, I take it that¡¯s a yes?" Lucas asked for confirmation.


    "Yes," I confirmed, then turned to Harry. "Can I take Clint? I don¡¯t think Wood will be too thrilled if I show up with one of them."


    "Just be careful," Harry advised.


    "We¡¯re heading out for the ammo," I said.


    "There¡¯s a crate in my trunk. You can even take the car," Lucas offered.


    "We¡¯ll stick to our own."


    What was left of the stable wasn¡¯t much ¨C just a few thick beams. The wooden walls had burned down or been blown apart, but my Cooper didn¡¯t have so much as a scratch or a speck of dust on it. Even the floor around it hadn¡¯t scorched.


    We transferred the crate, containing a dozen large drum magazines like the one Lucas¡¯s son had used, along with ten pistol magazines, into our trunk. Twenty minutes later, we parked in front of Wood¡¯s house.


    Knuckles dropped his submachine¡¯s drum into the crate, covered it with a jacket, and followed me inside.


    This time, the vicar was in better shape than during our first meeting. His face, battered by life and heavy objects, hadn¡¯t changed, nor had the stench of tobacco mixed with alcohol. But instead of pajamas, the servant of God now wore a cheap black suit with a white clerical collar, which gave him an air of decency.


    "You reek of vampires," he declared, casting a suspicious glance at Knuckles and the crate.


    "That¡¯s exactly why I¡¯m here." Reaching for Clint¡¯s jacket, I lifted the edge to reveal the contents of the crate. "I need them blessed."


    "Hmm¡­ Let¡¯s go to the cathedral."


    "Let¡¯s drive," I corrected. "We¡¯ve got a car."


    In the car, the vicar wrinkled his nose in disgust.


    "This place stinks of vampires too. Vampires and smoke¡­ Burned a couple of the beasts?"


    "Not yet."


    The vicar squinted suspiciously again, and I felt like his trust, already shaky after I stopped him from killing Jariz, was slipping further away.


    "Think of this as a confession," I said. "Technically, I was involved in burning one vampire, but someone else did it ¨C I just cut off his head."


    "Why do you need the bullets?"


    "It¡¯s a godly cause," I assured him.


    "Be specific!" Max demanded.


    "There will be fewer vampires," I dodged the question.


    "You¡¯re holding something back," he shook his head. "Does this have anything to do with that spirit?"


    I nodded.


    "Bullets won¡¯t do much good. I¡¯m coming with you."


    "The vampires have taken a girl hostage. The main goal is to keep her alive, not to destroy the spirit. Besides, there will be plenty of other vampires there. You need a clear head for this, and you tend to lose yours."


    "What if I give you my word?"


    "Have you forgotten how you were spitting mad last time? I even had to talk you down, and any delay here could cost her life."


    Wood leaned closer and sniffed the air.


    "You¡¯re not lying¡­ Fine, you¡¯ll get your blessing."


    We weren¡¯t allowed into St. Paul¡¯s Cathedral ¨C not even onto the grounds. Knuckles stopped at the wrought-iron gate in the stone fence that led to the back entrance through a small garden.


    The vicar took the crate, jacket still covering its contents, and returned twenty minutes later.


    "When you enter the church, toss twenty quid into the donation box," Hamish said.


    "Isn¡¯t that a bit much?" I protested. "Laborers don¡¯t make that in a month, and all you did was say a prayer."


    "Well, then you should¡¯ve gone to the laborers. Let them bless your bullets."


    Neither Knuckles nor I noticed any visible changes to the crate. Even the ointment that revealed hidden things didn¡¯t show anything new. But I still tossed the twenty into the box. Afterward, I found the nearest phone booth and called Lindemann.


    The vampire had already contacted Flower and suggested meeting to discuss the details at a different location ¨C a warehouse in the docks. By the time we arrived, it was evening.


    A watcher opened the gate, and we drove in, parking the car next to Lindemann¡¯s roadsters and a couple of battered trucks with tarpaulin-covered cargo beds. Nearby, there was a large table strewn with maps, diagrams, and a small bowl of almond cookies. A kettle was steaming nearby, along with a pair of empty fine porcelain teacups.


    The same type of cups, though filled, were held by James and Lucas. The vampire had already changed into a suit the color of dry grass, while the wizard was still in his morning clothes, complete with a torn pant leg.


    Standing nearby were the "girls," dressed in black baggy uniforms, heavy boots, and gloves. If their hoods hadn¡¯t been pulled back, I could have easily mistaken them for a group of short men ¨C they looked that formidable.


    They carried submachines without magazines, potions and grenades strapped to tactical vests, pistols holstered on their right thighs, and short swords sheathed on their left. Only one of Lucas¡¯s daughters wore a dark evening gown adorned with a multitude of golden jewelry.


    "Duncan," Lindemann greeted me, raising his teacup in a mock salute. "Tea?" The vampire seemed to be in an excellent mood.


    "I wouldn¡¯t say no."


    Lucas nodded to the daughter in the dress, and she quickly filled a cup, adding milk when I gestured. I made a mental note to take a sip of universal antidote later ¨C just in case.


    I pointed Knuckles toward a spot on the table that was free of papers, and he set down the crate before retreating to the car and grabbing his own submachine gun, loading it with a drum magazine.


    The vampire girls rushed to the crate, but the first one who touched it hissed and dropped the magazine back inside, baring her teeth and shaking her gloved hand in surprise. Kate stepped forward.


    Her hair had grown out enough for her to cut it into a cute short hairstyle, though I¡¯d never been a fan of those. She slowly picked up a magazine and loaded it into her Thompson.


    "The vicar¡¯s a miracle worker," she said. "But it¡¯s better not to carry these around ¨C might weaken us. We¡¯ll take them before the fight. Load up and stack everything in the truck."


    Hissing in pain, the vampire girls began loading the weapons, and I turned to their father.


    "I see you¡¯ve already discussed the plan. Care to repeat it for me?"


    Lindemann set down his teacup, rearranged the maps, and pulled out a diagram of the area.


    "The Valentines are here," he said, pointing to a building in the middle of the block. "Lord Flower drew up the diagram in the back of a truck. If we park here," he indicated the corner of a neighboring block, "the building we need will fall entirely within the search zone. The lord will perform the ritual and break down the door with some loud technique. That¡¯ll be the signal to attack."


    "And if," I interrupted, "Finella isn¡¯t in the house?"


    "Your ''friend'' will still be there," Lucas hinted. It seemed that now, with the bullets in hands, he wasn¡¯t about to back out of the assault.


    "If Fin isn¡¯t there, I¡¯ll roast you," James promised.


    "That¡¯s yet another reason for me not to go in with you," Lindemann said, immediately turning back to James. "I¡¯m almost certain your sister is there! That¡¯s what the watchers say, but there are thousands of ways to quietly remove a body."


    James clenched his jaw and fists.


    "No, no, no," Lindemann soothed. "A body doesn¡¯t mean a corpse. She could just be sedated."


    "Pray she¡¯s alive," Flower said, then left our group and headed toward the truck. Once he was far enough away, Lucas leaned in and whispered.


    "If she¡¯s dead, you¡¯d better stay far away."


    "Couldn¡¯t agree more," I nodded. "What¡¯s the plan for the assault?"


    "The building has four floors. Your guy is being held on the third floor, and the girl is most likely in the basement. Flower will go in through the main entrance and fight his way down. The girls will attack from the neighboring rooftops. Two will breach the fourth floor, two will hit the third ¨C there are balconies, easy to jump down from and break in. The last pair will back up Flower downstairs. After that, it¡¯s a full sweep. We find the girl, grab your Davie-Simon... Does he absolutely have to be alive? We¡¯ll try, of course, but¡­"


    I shook my head. A live Simon would benefit Lucas far too much. And he could spill things better left unsaid. The vampire would start digging regardless now.


    "If he¡¯s dead, I won¡¯t mourn, but I need to see the body immediately. That¡¯s important."


    "I¡¯m not sending you in with the girls."


    "I¡¯m not going in myself. Let Kate bring the body to Anvil. Lucas, I need to see it while it¡¯s still warm. That¡¯s crucial."


    "Fine," the vampire nodded. "I¡¯ll take care of it."


    "Perfect! When are you planning the operation?"


    "Why do you care?" Lucas asked with a sly smile.


    "Fair point. Clint, let¡¯s go."


    Knuckles tossed his Tommy onto the front seat while I climbed into the back. As soon as we pulled away from the warehouse, I applied ointment to my third eye and spent the next few kilometers scanning the rearview mirrors. Once I was sure we weren¡¯t being followed, I wiped my forehead. Knuckles noticed.


    "We¡¯re not heading home, are we?" he asked.


    "Correct."


    "Pubset?"


    "Exactly. Did you memorize the address?"


    "Nobody said it out loud."


    "It was on the map. Pirrie Street, forty-six. Let¡¯s keep a low profile ¨C find the street, then pull back so we don¡¯t leave our ¡®smell¡¯ near the building."


    "And after that?"


    "We find the nearest diner or restaurant. It¡¯s dinner time."


    "This is Pubset," Knuckles objected. "At this hour, all the diners turn into pubs. They won¡¯t let me into any decent place, and stepping into the indecent ones is a bad idea. If the goal is just to eat, we¡¯d be better off stopping at that caf¨¦ near the police station."


    "Agreed. But afterward, we¡¯ll still need to locate that house and stake it out a couple of blocks away."


    "You¡¯ve decided to interfere, haven¡¯t you?"


    "What? No, we¡¯re just observing."

 Chapter 27

    I was a bit worried I wouldn¡¯t make it to the performance on time, but logic suggested it was just nerves. Club time hadn¡¯t come yet, and hanging around the house would only lead to trouble. Knuckles and I had a decent dinner of cheese soup, followed by slices of apple pie with cinnamon, washed down with excellent tea with milk. My driver devoured his portion quickly, swallowing it like a starving dog. The hungry habits of slums were hard to shake out of his system. I ordered another slice of pie and asked him to slow down.


    ¡°Let¡¯s kill some time. Take your time, enjoy the taste,¡± I suggested.


    ¡°I can just sit here.¡±


    ¡°Tapping your foot and glancing out the window at the car? You¡¯re showing impatience. That¡¯s what they¡¯ll remember you for.¡±


    ¡°Clan training tricks?¡±


    ¡°More like my grandfather¡¯s,¡± I smiled. ¡°The old man taught me table manners.¡±


    ¡°Like telling a fish fork from a salad one?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not the main thing.¡±


    ¡°What is, then?¡±


    ¡°The ability to mimic your companion¡¯s manners. It¡¯s inappropriate to wipe your hands on the tablecloth when dining with a duke, but equally inappropriate to comment on the lack of a salad fork at a peasant¡¯s table. Beyond that, Grandfather also taught me how to cook with limited ingredients in camp conditions and how to eat quickly. I could wolf down a pie before you even blink.¡±


    ¡°Wanna bet I¡¯ll beat you to it?¡±


    ¡°Not now.¡±


    Once Knuckles found the right street, we roughly calculated the block where the house should be and drove onto a parallel one to come back from much farther north. Knuckles parked on the sidewalk, facing south. We spent about an hour at the caf¨¦, but even so, we had to spend much more time in the car. I used it for reloading, filling my pistol¡¯s magazine with the most expensive and effective bullets I had. The corner where the truck with Flower was supposed to stop was fully visible, but the temporary Valentine base was nearly out of sight. A worm of doubt gnawed at my nerves, whispering that Lucas had deceived me and the target house was on another street. In time, it became clear that Lucas hadn¡¯t used any tricks here. The truck we knew stopped exactly where it was supposed to.


    I slid the lid off my ring and scooped up more ointment: a little for myself, a little for Knuckles. It wouldn¡¯t do much for him, but better safe than sorry.


    A red flash shot out from under the tarp, and a faint glow lingered for about ten seconds before fading. James Flower jumped out of the truck bed and strode purposefully toward the house in the middle of the block.


    ¡°Start the engine,¡± I ordered Knuckles.


    The truck left the parking spot and drove off in an unknown direction. Flower approached the closed doors.


    ¡°Drive slowly,¡± I ordered.


    James¡¯s hands ignited, and he spread them wide before sweeping them like butterfly wings, turning the fire into flames. Then, he slowly brought his hands together so that the left hovered above the right, and a fiery vortex began to dance between them. The elementalist sharply twisted his wrists, switching their positions so that the right hand was now on top, and the vortex coiled into a tight ball of fire. James brought his palms together, and the door in front of him exploded.


    It exploded with such force that the windows of the house were blown out. The flames consumed the wood, spitting out hundreds of glowing embers onto the street, which burned out completely before they even hit the ground. James leaped into the house in a single bound. From the roof, a pair of shadows dove onto the third-floor balcony. They fired three short bursts in unison, but the crackling of gunfire didn¡¯t stop there. The women stormed inside, and the house erupted in a cacophony of gunfire ¨C a chaos of sound that seemed to ripple from one end to the other, shaking the very walls. In a total chaos the weapons though had their own distinct ¡®barks¡¯: amidst the rattle of Thompson submachine guns, there were bassy single shots, the clanging of steel and glass, the heavy thuds of throws and punches, and even strange whistling noises of indeterminate origin.


    With a muffled ¡®boom,¡¯ a figure dressed in black flew out of a third-story window. A submachine dropped nearby, marking the figure as ¡°one of ours.¡± A man in a black suit followed right after her, immediately landing a blow to her ribs that sent her crashing into the door of the nearest car. He grabbed the gun.


    ¡°Step on it!¡± I barked at Knuckles. Clint slammed the pedal to the floor. The vampire aimed his gun at the woman, heard the roar of the engine behind him, spun around sharply, and fired at nearly point-blank range. Half a dozen bullets slammed into the windshield, bouncing off Harry¡¯s protective sigil. The car, at full speed, plowed into the vampire, throwing him onto the asphalt. The vehicle bounced twice as it rolled over the body. Knuckles hit the brakes.


    I was the first to jump out. Gun in my right hand, dagger in my left. The cursed bloodsucker, with a broken leg, an unnaturally twisted arm, and a tire tread imprinted on his face, was trying to get up. But Lindemann¡¯s daughter, already on her feet, sprang onto him. With a sharp twist, she snapped the bastard¡¯s neck, turned it twice around its axis, and sliced it off with her knife. Tough bastard, judging by the dozen bullet holes in his jacket.


    The woman grabbed her Tommy, but its drum magazine simply fell off, and the barrel had bent from the car¡¯s impact. Tossing the broken weapon aside, the vampiress drew a pistol and turned back toward the house. A golden shimmer of protective magic flickered in front of her face, but the shot she took wasn¡¯t ordinary ¨C the protective amulet on her chest, hidden under her black clothing, shattered completely, knocking her to the ground.


    I immediately spotted the shooter in the window, even though his figure was cloaked in a dark magical haze. Two thunder bullets to the face of the audacious bastard, and I retreated to cover behind Cooper. The bullets exploded in a storm of discharges, shattering against an unnaturally strong shield, but they illuminated the shooter¡¯s figure for Knuckles, who joined my fire. A burst of cobbled-together bullets went too high, then too low, and finally, surprisingly, punched through the shield, tearing through the shooter¡¯s head. But someone behind him caught his collar, using the corpse as a shield, and continued firing back.


    The first success gave Knuckles confidence, and he lost his caution. To make aiming easier, he stepped out from behind the car ¨C and immediately caught a bullet. The gun flew one way, Knuckles the other. I dashed to him, grabbed him by the collar, and dragged him back under the car¡¯s cover with such force the fabric nearly tore.


    ¡°Idiot!¡± I growled, though relief washed over me. The bullet had passed above his collarbone, pierced his left trapezius muscle, and lodged in his shoulder blade. Knuckles blinked wide-eyed, stunned and confused by what had just happened. I poured a bit of healing potion onto the wound and shoved the rest into his mouth.


    ¡°Drink!¡±


    ¡°My gun!¡± he said.


    "Screw the gun, drink!" I barked.


    Knuckles swallowed the bitter liquid. The vampiress dashed for his gun, took two bullets to the side, and collapsed with a hiss, retreating behind Cooper for cover.


    I got up and fired two rounds at the first suspicious figure I saw. There were three of them in front of the house. I recognized the one in the middle. He was the reason I had come here.


    ¡°Duncan!¡± Simon roared. Another couple of bullets ricocheted off Cooper. He recognized me too. ¡°Kill him!¡±


    ¡°Where are you going, you idiot?¡± growled the vampire. ¡°Gray, get him out of here.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll kill the bastard and leave together,¡± Simon objected.


    I flashed three fingers to the vampiress. She nodded, quickly counting down with flicks of her wrist. We leaned out from opposite sides of the car at the same time ¨C I pulled the trigger twice, and she unleashed a long burst at the enemies. Neither my bullets nor hers managed to harm the bastards. Simon clearly had some equivalent of my ¡®brick¡¯ ¨C he held something in his hands that deflected bullets with flashes of steel and magma.


    The second vampire pointed a rod at me, and a sharp icicle shot past my head, uncomfortably close. Instincts threw me to the ground, and the vampiress didn¡¯t want to remain the only target.


    ¡°Get him out of here!¡± barked the vampire, whom I recognized as one of Noah¡¯s goons.


    ¡°Into the car!¡± came another voice.


    ¡°We¡¯ll meet again, Duncan! I¡¯ll rip out your liver, you bastard!¡± Simon screamed.


    I emerged from behind the car and fired my last bullet at the remaining vampire, as the other one ¨C the one with the staff ¨C was shoving Simon into the vehicle. I hoped the protective amulet was already depleted, but it seemed he wasn¡¯t even using one. Dissolving into black smoke, the bloodsucker let the enchanted bullet pass through him. A master, damn him!The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    I dropped the empty magazine and inserted a spare, loaded with far humbler bullets.


    The smoke surged forward, leaving a black trail behind it, but slammed into Cooper, causing the car¡¯s etheric shield to flare up. Was he really trying to phase straight through it?


    The vampiress leaned over the hood and unleashed a long burst at the intangible figure. The consecrated bullets struck the black smoke with bright flashes, tearing it to shreds and scattering it like a whirlwind, forcing the figure to writhe silently in pain. The submachine¡¯s bolt clicked dry.


    The vampire instantly regained his physical form, not a single hole marring his expensive suit, but his red eyes blazed with pain and furious rage. All his aggression was focused on the vampiress, as if I didn¡¯t even exist. Calmly, I pulled the trigger.


    The bullet punched a neat hole in his forehead, just near the left temple. The bloodsucker wavered and crumpled to the ground like a sack.


    Nearby, an engine roared to life, tires screeched, and Simon leaned out of the window of the fleeing car. He pulled the trigger, and the brains of my accidental ally splattered across Cooper¡¯s windshield.


    Knuckles grabbed the Tommy that had fallen from her hands and tossed it onto the front seat before climbing in himself.


    ¡°Get in!¡± he shouted at me. The shock of his first serious wound and the adrenaline of battle still held him, so he didn¡¯t even wince much.


    I jumped into the back seat. While Knuckles revved the engine, I frantically cranked the window handle on the right side.


    ¡°We¡¯re not going to catch them!¡± I vented, letting my frustration spill out. The vampire had only a slight head start, but his engine was far more powerful.


    ¡°We¡¯ll catch them!¡± Knuckles roared with excitement. ¡°Harry worked his magic on this baby!¡±


    I have no idea where a simple guy like Sparrow got such driving skills. Maybe it was talent, maybe just dumb luck, but he drove like a madman ¨C darting into the oncoming lane, missing cars by a hair, and shamelessly cutting people off. In the blink of an eye, we flew through a dozen blocks, made six turns, but the bloodsucker, with all his reflexes, still couldn¡¯t shake us! And soon enough, we got close enough to start a shootout.


    Simon leaned out of his window and began firing at Cooper. The bullets bounced off the radiator and windshield like rubber balls. Then he switched to targeting the tires. Meanwhile, I focused on their tires from the start, but I couldn¡¯t hit them. The wild maneuvers both drivers were pulling off made it a miracle to even keep my aim somewhat steady. My bullets hit the asphalt, the rear window, but not the tires ¨C well, except for the spare mounted on the trunk. I managed to puncture that twice.


    I burned through my ammo quickly. With no spare magazines left, I had to reload. In the chaos of the car swaying, half the bullets fell to the floor, and to make things worse, the cops were now tailing us, sirens blaring. They had joined the chase and started shooting at our tires.


    Buildings turned into blocks, and blocks into districts, as we sped through the city, collecting a growing trail of police cars. The first squad had long fallen behind, but more patrol units took their place. I emptied three magazines before I began scrounging bullets off the floor, since my satchel was empty.


    I don¡¯t know if it was bad luck or the vampires¡¯ protective enchantments, but I still couldn¡¯t manage to blow out their tires. Luck finally turned in our favor when, on one particularly sharp turn, the vampire¡¯s car met an unfortunate reckless driver coming the opposite way. The bloodsucker couldn¡¯t avoid the collision. His front wheel narrowly missed the crash, but the rear wheel wasn¡¯t so lucky ¨C it took the full brunt of the impact. The force of the hit bent the wheel into a curve.


    The car started bouncing, skidding wildly, and careening from one curb to the other before crashing into a wall with a thunderous noise, miraculously missing an electrical pole.


    Knuckles reacted better ¨C maybe because he had a ten-meter lead to assess the situation. He skillfully swerved around the crash site and brought Cooper to a halt ten meters from the vampires¡¯ wrecked car. Behind us, the police cars began screeching to a stop as well.


    The vampire was the first to recover. The driver¡¯s door swung open with a powerful kick, barely staying on its hinges. His battle staff spat out an icicle, which shot through Cooper¡¯s open window, missing my head by sheer luck.


    "Drop the rod!" shouted the patrol constable who was the first to jump out of his car. His command ended in a choking scream as an icicle tore through his chest, freezing it solid. The second constable didn¡¯t bother shouting ¨C he immediately opened fire with his pistol. A shotgun roared next, and then something automatic joined in, much heavier than a Tommy gun by the sound of it.


    The silhouette of the vampire vanished into a cloud of icy mist that swirled around his figure. Every bullet that entered the mist instantly became coated in frost and struck his body as chunks of ice that clung to his suit.


    Within ten seconds, the vampire was encased in a frosty armor, and from his rod flew icy projectiles that hurtled toward the officers.


    I risked peeking out again and noticed the rear door of the wrecked car swing open. A shadow crawled out. One shot later, the shadow turned into Simon, and another icicle came flying at me.


    With a roar like a missile, a fireball struck the icy monster, turning his frosty shell into steam. Lightning struck next, forcing the bloodsucker to his knees.


    ¡°PSS! On your knees!¡± they shouted.


    The PSS ¨C Police Special Squad ¨C weren¡¯t the kind of guys you¡¯d want to mess with. Yet the vampire still found the strength and will to fight back, once again rebuilding his icy mist.


    I leaned out again, firing almost without aiming, and hit the staff. It seemed that the streak of bad luck that had haunted me since the tire incident had finally passed. The enchanted staff shattered into icy splinters.


    Another fireball hit, followed by the rattle of machine guns, the thunder of shotguns, and the sharp cracks of pistols. Another bolt of lightning struck, this time hitting the bloodsucker squarely in the head. Right after that, a large bullet slammed into his forehead, leaving a neat hole and blowing out a chunk of his skull from the back.


    ¡°Help! He kidnapped me!¡± Simon screamed, his voice desperate and trembling.


    ¡°Get on the ground! Don¡¯t move!¡± the constables shouted in response.


    ¡°He¡¯s a hired killer!¡± I yelled back.


    ¡°Step out of the car, hands up! Now!¡± the officers barked.


    ¡°Uh, Duncan,¡± Knuckles said suddenly, his voice low and shaky. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I can raise my left arm.¡±


    ¡°Step out of the vehicle, or I¡¯ll order them to fire!¡±


    ¡°Stay put,¡± I advised Knuckles, tossing my pistol onto the seat.


    ¡°I¡¯m stepping out, constables,¡± I said, keeping my movements slow and non-threatening. I swung one leg out of the car, then pulled the rest of my body out carefully.


    ¡°Apologies, my driver¡¯s injured. He won¡¯t be able to exit the car without assistance,¡± I explained to the two dozen gun barrels now trained on me.


    ¡°This man tried to kill me!¡± Simon screamed, pointing a finger at me. Then, twisting his hands into a gesture I recognized all too well, he began casting a pain spell.


    ¡°His hand!¡± I shouted. ¡°He¡¯s casting a spell!¡± But I didn¡¯t flinch ¨C It wouldn¡¯t work on me anyway.


    ¡°Lower it, now!¡± ordered the closest constable. A few steps closer, and the barrel of his shotgun pressed firmly against Simon¡¯s head. ¡°I said, lower it!¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a warlock,¡± I warned. ¡°Takes out targets for hire. He just tried to finish me off near the Pubset precinct.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a law-abiding citizen!¡± Simon bellowed in protest.


    ¡°He might have enchanted poison!¡± I warned again.


    ¡°Both of you, shut up! Don¡¯t move!¡± barked another constable. "Hey, you special guys ¨C wanna check him out?"


    Meanwhile, two constables dragged Knuckles out of the car, picked up his submachine gun, and slapped cuffs on him. The pair of civilian dressed men relieved me of my satchel and gifted me a similar accessory. The one they called Halsey began his inspection using a strange binocular-like device. I lost all my protective amulets and then underwent a thorough search for non-magical weapons, which cost me my dagger. Simon went through the same procedure before we were separated and placed in different patrol cars.


    ¡°Good men,¡± I addressed the police politely, ¡°please take care of my driver. It¡¯s important to remove that bullet as soon as possible. We used a potion, and it sealed the wound, but if it¡¯s not cleaned, there¡¯s a risk of infection.¡±


    ¡°Get in!¡± one of them barked as I was roughly shoved into the back seat. Still, the man passed my words along to his colleagues.


    The chase had pulled in squads from multiple districts, and now they were all trying to find a phone to contact their superiors. The higher-ups, in turn, were trying to figure out who would claim the prize: three live suspects and one vampire corpse.


    The first detective to arrive, from the nearest station, took Simon for questioning. Shortly after, an inspector from another precinct arrived and turned his attention to Knuckles, apparently considering him the least hardened of the lot. When a detective finally showed up for me, he turned out to be from a precinct currently embroiled in a jurisdictional argument with the station whose car I was sitting in. This sparked a heated debate about rights and responsibilities.


    ¡°Gentlemen,¡± I interrupted the bickering officers, ¡°why don¡¯t we just proceed? The detective can ask his questions, and the constables can record my answers. We¡¯re not going anywhere until orders come from above anyway.¡±


    The policemen exchanged glances, nodded, and agreed.


    The detective barely had time to get through the personal details when another figure arrived at the scene ¨C someone I hadn¡¯t expected to see at all. I didn¡¯t even notice him approaching until he dropped a sarcastic remark.


    ¡°Well, who would¡¯ve guessed!¡± said Detective Inspector Sunset. ¡°A pile of vampire corpses, and of course, Lord Loxlin has to be involved. Hello, Fogan. Boys,¡± he greeted the others.


    ¡°John,¡± the first detective nodded back. ¡°We can¡¯t even decide who gets him. You¡¯d better try your luck elsewhere.¡±


    ¡°Oh, my friend, I¡¯d happily dump this one on you, but I can¡¯t. Orders from the Chief Constable.¡±


    Detective Fogan let out a whistle. ¡°I take it this isn¡¯t just about the chase?¡±


    ¡°Think bigger. Valentine¡¯s Nest has practically been wiped out.¡±


    ¡°But the Nest is in Sungarden ¨C that¡¯s not your jurisdiction.¡±


    ¡°The Nest is in Sungarden, but on my turf, there¡¯s a house full of corpses: four master vampires, a handful of lesser undead, and a basement packed with drained victims. The only survivors are Blind Fire and his sister. And not a lot of burn marks either. Most of the vampires were just gunned down. A Special Squad has been dispatched to deal with Noah and his remaining brats, so you¡¯d better hurry up and report to your governor," Sunset said to the civilian-dressed officers. "You can leave the lad to me ¨C I¡¯ve been assigned to clean up this mess."


    Fogan whistled again, snapped his notebook shut, and offered a sympathetic grimace. ¡°I don¡¯t envy you.¡±

 Chapter 28

    ¡°So, boys, are you going to take the client to my precinct yourselves, or do you want to switch him over?¡± Sunset asked. ¡°We had two squads involved in this mess, and there are just enough of us to keep them from being stuck together ¨C otherwise, they might strangle each other to death.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d prefer to stick with Cooper,¡± I said. ¡°Harry worked on him. Bullets bounce off like they¡¯re made of rubber.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll be riding in a police car,¡± the detective inspector said curtly.


    The constables refused to transport someone else¡¯s catch, so I was transferred to the car they put Knuckles in, while Simon was moved into another vehicle. All our weapons and belongings were stuffed into a battered bag and handed over to the detective, while the cars were driven to the parking lot of the nearest police station. Sunset clearly wanted to ask a few questions, but he wasn¡¯t planning to do it in the middle of the street.


    The number of police cars decreased as many policemen left, following orders they¡¯d received over the phone. At the nearest police booth, the line was so busy that the receiver never even had a chance to rest between calls ¨C there was even a small queue forming. Sunset wasn¡¯t happy with the situation; he pushed his way to the front of the line, skipped ahead, and called the central office directly. He demanded that all remaining officers be assigned to his convoy.


    What was left amounted to three patrol cars and a couple of grumpy detectives from distant precincts. It felt like an eternity before Sunset managed to organize the crowd into a proper convoy. The sirens flared, the lights started flashing, and the column sped off toward Pubset, blatantly ignoring traffic lights.


    I leaned back and relaxed. Things were working out just fine for me. Sure, quietly killing Simon would have been better and much more reliable, but there was no way he could escape from this crowd. All I needed was to ask Sunset to tighten security around him. He could survive until morning, and by then, my folks would surely arrive.


    I¡¯d be happy to see Uncle Bryce, but most likely, it would be Evan ¨C unless my cousin was busy.


    My mood improved.


    Then came a series of pops. The police car jolted and shook, as if it had veered off the asphalt onto uneven cobblestones, but there was no crashing noise. It was as if all the sounds had been muffled. Even the siren sounded no louder than the buzz of a mosquito.


    The cop at the wheel slammed on the brakes, and the cars in front and behind us followed suit, forcing the convoy to a halt. The constables opened their doors and jumped out, weapons drawn.


    ¡°¡­ down on the ground!¡± the sounds returned, accompanied by the shouts of police officers. But then those same men dropped to the ground, screaming and choking in pain.


    Beside me, Knuckles jerked up, slammed his head into the ceiling, and doubled over in agony. His eyes turned bloodshot, and bloody tears streamed down his face.


    Outside, a couple of shots rang out, followed by the hum and explosion of a fireball.


    My driver slumped in his seat. I quickly checked his pulse ¨C still there, no need to worry. I had to get out and find a weapon, but the back seat was separated from the front by iron bars, and there were no handles on the inside of the doors.


    Twisting around in my seat, I braced my back against the unconscious guy and slammed my heel into the window. I doubt anyone heard the crash over the roar of gunfire. The glass shattered into large shards, leaving a few jagged teeth at the bottom. I quickly knocked those out with my heel, swung my legs out, and grabbed onto the roof to pull myself up.


    But I didn¡¯t make it.


    Someone grabbed my leg and yanked me out of the car, throwing me onto the dirty asphalt.


    The first thing I noticed was the incredibly thick layer of dust. Then I saw the wheels with tattered pieces of tires still clinging to the rims. It wasn¡¯t dust¡ªit was powder. Those bastards had cast a death spell under the vehicles. But I didn¡¯t have time to process this fact before rough hands grabbed me again.


    I was hauled up by the collar and forced onto my feet.


    A vampire with bloodshot eyes bared his fangs and reached for my neck.


    ¡°Stop!¡±


    A white spark hit the vampire in the temple, making his head jerk and his fangs retreat. The hair and skin around the impact crumbled to ash, exposing pink tissue underneath.


    ¡°What did I tell you, you piece of trash?¡±


    The vampire didn¡¯t answer. Another shot followed, his head jerked again, and his body slumped lifelessly to the ground.


    I caught sight of Sunset diving back behind the door of his car and quickly followed his lead.


    ¡°Detective!¡± a familiar voice roared. ¡°You¡¯re not immortal!¡±


    A white spark of death struck the door, scorching the paint and turning it into flaky husks.


    ¡°Neither are you, Noah,¡± John shot back without flinching.


    I picked up a revolver that had fallen from the hand of a constable lying nearby.


    ¡°The problem, John,¡± Noah continued, ¡°is that you still have to prove it was me. Tell me, why am I not hiding my face, letting you get a good look, and even engaging in this conversation? Words can be twisted. Perhaps I¡¯m someone else, trying to tarnish Valentine¡¯s name?¡±


    I peeked out, trying to get a clear view of what was happening through the windows: five bloodsuckers, one definitely armed. Only two detectives and a single constable were still standing, while the rest of the officers were down. Both sides were in cover ¨C except Noah.


    Talking as if he were completely untouchable, he walked over and opened the door of the car holding Simon. The bloody tears on Feron¡¯s face didn¡¯t seem to bother him.


    ¡°Noah, I don¡¯t need to prove anything,¡± Sunset said, firing a shot directly at the vampire¡¯s head, but the bullet ricocheted off. ¡°When the Righteous Hand hears about the drained corpses in the basement¡­¡±


    Sunset shifted his aim and shot at another vampire trying to flank him.


    "Drained corpses?" Valentine repeated, tearing apart the chains of Simon''s handcuffs as if they were made of string. "Interesting."


    The bloodsucker dissolved into dark smoke and, a moment later, materialized behind the detective. John spun around sharply, but Valentine casually flicked his wrist, knocking the gun out of his hand, and unleashed sparks of death from his index fingers at the other detective and constable, forcing them to stop firing.


    The vampire grabbed Sunset by the shirt and yanked him so hard that buttons flew in all directions. Valentine ripped the officer''s protective amulet from its chain and hurled it at the constable with such force that it shattered the window of the door the officer was hiding behind.


    With another dismissive slap to the struggling detective¡¯s hands, the vampire pressed two fingers to Sunset¡¯s forehead, and the detective collapsed unconscious.


    Two bullets and a lightning strike slammed into Valentine¡¯s back. The lightning passed through him, making him stagger and roar with anger. Snarling, Noah ripped a car door off its hinges and hurled it at the shooter. The heavy piece of metal crashed into another car door, slamming it into the detective hiding behind it.


    A spark of death followed, disintegrating the cop¡¯s cheek and exposing his teeth. For some reason, Noah seemed intent on not outright killing the officers.


    I noticed Simon crouching to grab a pistol, so I darted out from behind the car and fired at the part of him that was visible. The warlock caught the bullet in the backside, yelping and arching his body in pain. He let out a foolish howl, and I raised my gun higher, aiming for his head.


    As I pulled the trigger, a spark of death struck me in the back. The pain was excruciating, and while my aim barely shifted, the bullet only grazed Simon''s temple. Two more sparks hit me in the back before I could fire again. Darkness clouded my vision, and I didn¡¯t see the result of my third shot.


    "Take him!" Valentine commanded, then barked: "Alive! He¡¯s needed alive."


    "But not intact?" Simon clarified with a sneer.


    The world collapsed around me.


    My back was on fire, my head rang like a bell, and my jaw refused to move. My vision was blurry, clouded with haze. It took a few blinks to clear my eyes.


    What kind of magic was this?


    Gone were the dusty road and the night sky. Instead, I found myself staring at the high ceiling of what looked like a warehouse. My hands and feet were tied, and there was no way to roll over onto my stomach to ease the pain in my back.


    "He¡¯s awake," I heard Simon¡¯s voice, followed by the appearance of his loathsome face.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    "Perfect. Let¡¯s begin."


    "Let me," Feron said eagerly.


    "You¡¯re too emotional," Valentine replied coolly. "You might accidentally kill him."


    So that blow had knocked me out. I quickly turned my head, scanning the room. There was a table with a couple of kerosene lamps and the battered bag containing our weapons and amulets, the one the police had collected.


    But the most striking feature of the space was the neat stacks of various-sized crates. On two of the largest and longest ones lay Sunset. His hands were bound with thick ropes, which were then nailed to the wood with large-headed spikes. The setup wasn¡¯t exactly sturdy.


    Twisting my neck painfully, I checked my own restraints and confirmed they were the same. I began tugging rhythmically at my hands, trying to loosen the loops.


    Simon noticed and burst into laughter before pulling out a dagger and pressing its tip to my temple. A surge of unbearable pain shot through my body.


    "I thought he was immune," Valentine remarked, watching.


    "It needs physical contact," Simon explained, a sadistic grin spreading across his face. "May I?"


    "You¡¯ll have your fun once I¡¯m done," Valentine replied dismissively.


    Valentine pulled out a similarly curved dagger from beneath his jacket and sliced open my shirt.


    Hooking the blade under the skin on my left chest, he drove it in to its full length. I growled, channeling the pain into another effort to yank free from the ropes. Valentine twisted the hilt left and right, then dragged the knife upward, keeping the blade parallel to the ground. My skin stretched with it, tightening around the blade until it began to tear. Then, with a sharp yank, the vampire ripped the knife free, and I howled, losing any strength to resist.


    It would have been nice to lose consciousness, but the bloodsucker knew exactly what he was doing. He wiped the blade clean with a white handkerchief and sat down on a nearby crate.


    "Why¡¯d you stop?" Simon asked, clearly impatient.


    "This is exactly what I was talking about," Valentine replied. "You have no patience. Right now, his glands are flooding his bloodstream with chemicals that dull pain. Torture would be ineffective. We need to wait half an hour, maybe an hour, and then we can continue."


    "Wouldn¡¯t it be easier to just ask the questions right now?" I interjected.


    "Of course not. You might come up with a plausible lie and then stick to it, stubbornly repeating it until the very end. It¡¯d mean nothing to you, as you¡¯d already be dying. And I¡¯d be left wondering whether you told the truth or not."


    "They¡¯re looking for us," Simon reminded him.


    "They won¡¯t find us in half an hour. Although, we could speed up the process. Check the guard¡¯s storage room for salt."


    "On it," Simon replied with a satisfied grin. He returned quickly, holding a small wooden salt shaker. "Can I do it myself?"


    "Go ahead. Just don¡¯t overdo it. If it clumps, it won¡¯t dissolve properly, and we need it fully dissolved."


    I tensed again, straining against the ropes, but Simon loomed over me with a malicious smirk. He peeled back the torn flaps of skin covering my chest muscle and began shaking out the salt. It felt like liquid fire spreading across my chest, making it hard to breathe.


    The cursed bloodsucker was right ¨C I wasn¡¯t feeling the full extent of the pain yet. It would come later, once my body was exhausted, its reserves depleted. Valentine was an experienced torturer, not someone I could trick as easily as Simon. If it were just Feron, I¡¯d try to enrage him, provoke him into killing me. But with Valentine, that wouldn¡¯t work.


    I stopped resisting the pain and growled instead. Unintentionally, Valentine had given me an idea: I needed to prepare my answers. If only I knew what he planned to ask. It would most likely be about the clan, my family.


    I couldn¡¯t tell the truth under any circumstances, but my first, second, and even third answers to the same question would need to differ from the fourth. The key was to remember that I was already dead, and the dead don¡¯t care about pain.


    Ah, if only my spiritual heart weren¡¯t sealed, I could truly convince myself the pain wasn¡¯t real. I might even be able to try to kill myself!


    The pain from the salt began to fade, dulling slightly, but my thoughts grew foggy. What helped me hold on also clouded my judgment, and the only question I could come up with was: Who knows about Simon?


    At first, I¡¯d say everyone. Three questions later, I¡¯d claim I only told Logan. No, Logan might get killed. They could even get to Bryce if they tried hard enough. They got to Grandfather, didn¡¯t they?


    Ah, what the hell should I lie about?!


    Nearby, Sunset groaned.


    "Can I take this one?" Simon asked.


    "Be my guest," Valentine said with a wave of his hand. "But just preparation. We''ll do the real torture together."


    Together? I thought. The questions were obviously going to be about the attack on his base. How had I not realized this earlier? Who helped me? I couldn¡¯t give up Lindemann. Lucas would find a way to deal with Noah on his own, as long as this information didn¡¯t get out. Otherwise, Valentine would kill him himself, and I had no use for a dead Lindemann.


    The clan, the family? I couldn¡¯t risk saying anything that might make the bloodsucker flee the city after hearing those names. Naming anyone would put them in grave danger.


    But who did I have to offer?


    Gratch? I¡¯d never seen her face, but vampires were always weaving their schemes, both against the world and each other. And, honestly, I didn¡¯t care about vampires¡¯ well-being.


    Sunset growled as Simon slipped the blade under his skin, cursing the man loudly when he ripped it free, tearing flesh in the process.


    "You just copied what I did," Valentine said, sounding disappointed. "Couldn¡¯t you come up with something new?"


    "It¡¯s new to me," Simon replied with a shrug. "Wanted to give it a try. But we¡¯ll do something different next. Watch this."


    I lifted my head and saw Simon holding a salt shaker.


    "Pepper," he announced.


    "Not much of a difference," Valentine remarked.


    "In the eyes."


    "One eye only," the vampire corrected immediately. "It¡¯s a good idea, but the detective might go blind, and you¡¯ll lose one of the sensory channels we can exploit. Pain is worse when the victim can see their injuries."


    "Sick bastards!" Sunset spat, adding a few choice comments about our captors¡¯ mothers. They both laughed in unison.


    "I don¡¯t know about Noah¡¯s, but Simon¡¯s mother? You nailed it," I interjected. "The whole family¡¯s like that."


    "You!" Feron lunged toward me, but Valentine stopped him with a raised hand.


    "Nice try, boy, but I won¡¯t let you die just yet."


    Simon abruptly turned back to Sunset, forcing his left eyelid open and shaking pepper directly into his eye. The detective let out a howl of pain.


    "Father," said a vampire in an expensive suit, suddenly emerging from between the crates. "I¡¯ve brought it."


    I had to crane my neck to see, but there was nothing unusual ¨C just a large, battered bag.


    "Good," Valentine said with a nod. "Handle the meat. Simon, you¡¯ve worked with this before..."


    "I wanted to stay for the interrogation," Simon protested.


    "Help Kyle," Valentine said gently. "I¡¯ll call for you later."


    Simon left, looking displeased. Valentine stood in silence for a while, staring at me, then suddenly turned and fired a thin beam of death.


    "I figured you¡¯d notice," came a voice that was painfully familiar.


    I raised my head in disbelief and saw Uncle Bryce standing near the crates. Slowly, he lifted his hand, materializing an orange flame that he launched in a chain-like motion. The ball of fire whizzed past Noah, who didn¡¯t even flinch, and struck the bindings holding my right hand.


    The heat seared my wrist, burned through the wood, and melted the nails that had pinned the ropes down. A sharp pull was enough to free my hand entirely.


    I didn¡¯t waste a second, quickly freeing my other hand while Valentine stood frozen, staring at Bryce.


    "A shame," Uncle Bryce said. "I wanted to hear your questions. Why not ask them now?"


    "No need," Valentine replied coolly. "I¡¯ve gotten my answer."


    Bryce smirked, then, without turning his head, suddenly thrust his right hand to the side. A flash of light erupted, and a vampire dropped out of the shadows, a gaping hole burned through his head.


    "You shouldn¡¯t have messed with Bremor," Bryce said calmly.


    Explosions erupted from all sides, and the ceiling was illuminated by fiery flashes.


    Bryce struck with an air punch, hurling Valentine to the side, but the vampire retaliated with a white wave of death. The attack scraped harshly against my uncle¡¯s shields like sandpaper, and Valentine followed it up with concentrated beams that drove Bryce to his knees.


    ¡°Father!¡±


    ¡°Bryce!¡± familiar voices echoed, followed by the roar of fireballs and the crackle of lightning.


    I finally freed my legs and darted toward the table with the bag. The enchanted cuffs reacted to my presence before I even saw them, immediately starting to drain my blood magic. There was no time to channel it into my chest ¨C I frantically rummaged through the bag, trying to find my dagger.


    To save time, I shoved the entire bag onto Sunset¡¯s stomach and kept digging. Of course, everything I didn¡¯t need seemed to get in the way. I slung the satchel over my shoulder, the strap digging into my burning chest, and felt the weight of my ring with its steel shield slide onto my finger as if it had donned itself. A revolver fell into my hand, and I shoved it into my trousers pocket.


    The dagger was wrapped in a cloth. Grabbing it, I dashed toward Sunset, slashing through the bindings on one of his hands before moving to his legs.


    ¡°Behind you!¡± Bryce shouted.


    I summoned a shield and spun, striking with its edge. It slammed directly into Simon¡¯s head. He had some sort of stone-like skin enchantment, but the combination of ether and steel in my shield nearly scalped him, leaving a ragged wound across his forehead.


    The dagger in my hand pulsed, hungry for blood, demanding more. Simon¡¯s injury wasn¡¯t fatal, but it bled profusely. Feron hissed, and I struck again, forcing him to retreat. A flicker of Bryce¡¯s flame zipped past his face, and Simon decided to flee.


    I lunged after him but was stopped by Bryce¡¯s hand, which barely managed to grab my torn collar.


    ¡°We¡¯re leaving!¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I blurted out, stunned.


    ¡°Wait for me!¡± Sunset called, cutting through the remaining bindings on his legs with an enchanted ring he had found in the satchel. He didn¡¯t leave the bag behind, though.


    ¡°Follow me,¡± Bryce ordered, shoving a vial of potion into my hand and handing another to Sunset. I recognized the taste immediately ¨C acceleration potion.


    Bryce led us to a wooden wall, where he slammed an air punch into it, breaking open a passage.


    ¡°Go!¡±


    The moment we passed through the opening, Bryce threw a vial of incendiary mixture onto the floor behind us, igniting a fire that blocked the way for any potential pursuers. Not that I thought it would be much of a barrier for vampires ¨C they could probably smash through the wall without much effort.


    We ran past an adjacent warehouse, turned left, and nearly collided with a tiny Austin car. Bryce immediately got into the driver¡¯s seat, I took the passenger seat, and John climbed into the back. Bryce started the engine and pressed the gas.


    ¡°Why are we running?¡± I asked, only then noticing the ring with the crest on Bryce¡¯s left hand.


    Pulling the revolver from my pocket, I pressed it to the stranger¡¯s head and cocked the hammer.


    ¡°Who are you?¡±

 Chapter 29

    "How did you figure it out?" asked the man with Bryce¡¯s face.


    "The ring," I replied, keeping the barrel of the gun against his temple. ¡°Wrong crest.¡±


    The man clicked his tongue in annoyance, and the seal changed.


    "Caught on a detail. I still can¡¯t get used to the fact that he¡¯s the Earl now. Relax, Duncan, it¡¯s me."


    The illusion dissolved, and I saw the profile of Bryan McLilly. Still, I didn¡¯t lower the gun.


    "Bryan¡¯s illusions didn¡¯t fool me before, and now a master vampire has been outsmarted."


    "You ought to thank Bryce," Bryan said. "When he found out you spotted me on the train, he came up with this little trick." He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt to reveal part of a gold necklace adorned with pearls and teardrop-shaped lapis lazuli. "It makes illusions impenetrable."


    "And the combat tricks?"


    "Look at my hands," Bryan suggested.


    Every finger, even his thumbs, bore rings with large stones. He turned his right hand palm-up, revealing three thin rods hidden up his sleeve.


    "They geared you up like you¡¯re going to war."


    "Well, that¡¯s pretty much what it is." He shrugged. "The telegram said you¡¯d taken down a vampire. Back home, it¡¯s just the Ferons and Baileys ¨C Bryce is swamped with projects, so they kitted me out and sent me here. By the way, I know."


    "Know what?" I asked, making a mental note not to forget about the telegram.


    "Everything. Starting with the ¡®Last Watch.¡¯ Bryce figured I needed to know what I¡¯d be dealing with and where to look for you in case you decided to vanish again. Was it Valentine who tried to kill you at the warehouse?"


    "I¡¯d like to know that myself," Sunset interjected. "What the hell are we dealing with here?"


    Bryan winked at him in that characteristic way of his, a gesture so familiar that I finally stopped doubting and lowered the gun.


    "We¡¯ll be in Avoc by morning," the mage answered the detective. "You can ask the Earl yourself."


    "Avoc?!" Sunset and I exclaimed in unison.


    "I have orders to take you home," Bryan clarified. "Do you know how angry Bryce was after that telegram?"


    "What¡¯s in this telegram? I only sent mine this morning."


    "It¡¯s from Lord Flower. He wrote that you¡¯ve been a bad influence on his sister, picking fights with vampires and the local aristocracy."


    "That¡¯s not exactly how it happened."


    "I need to get to the precinct," Sunset interrupted.


    "I can stop wherever you say," Bryan replied.


    "And Duncan. He¡¯s a witness, if not a suspect."


    "I saved your life," Bryan reminded him. "Don¡¯t push it, mister policeman."


    "Wait, Bryan," I interjected. "I have an idea that¡¯ll work for everyone. You¡¯re a bit out of the loop. I called for reinforcements from Farnell. They¡¯ll be in town by morning and will need information."


    "I don¡¯t know anything about that!" Bryan protested. "I searched the whole city for you. I even went to Flower, questioned the neighbors, tried to visit that mad wizard ¨C but he nearly burned me to hell! If it weren¡¯t for the blood, I wouldn¡¯t have found you at all. And even then, the spell malfunctioned ¨C It only gave me the general area. And what did I find there? A shootout! I even stole a car to chase after you. Lost you three times!"


    "Where did you get my blood?"


    "Bryce gave it to me."


    "Fine. I¡¯ll deal with that with my uncle later. You mentioned a mad wizard. Harry Smith?"


    "Let¡¯s say that¡¯s a safe assumption."


    "Let¡¯s stay with him for the night. He¡¯ll let me in."


    "I have orders¡­"


    "Call," I said. "Before we leave the city, make the call."


    "It¡¯ll take a lot of coins," Bryan replied, but he accepted the suggestion and stopped near a nondescript pawn shop, one of the few places still open at such a late hour. "How are you on potions?"


    "Running low," I admitted.


    "Here," he said, handing me his satchel. "Half of it¡¯s yours. Patch up our policeman friend too. I brought more healing potions than I¡¯ll ever need."


    "I need to make a call too," Sunset added.


    "Mister..."


    "I need to get my guys up to speed. They won¡¯t connect the fire at the docks to Valentine on their own."


    "John," I said, "make up your mind. Are you chasing Valentine, or are you keeping an eye on me?"


    "And while you¡¯re deciding, don¡¯t leave the car," Bryan added.


    Aside from the potions, we also rifled through the trophy bag, dividing up weapons and amulets. Sunset ended up with items belonging to the dead vampire, as well as an unidentified revolver. It was a good thing Simon hadn¡¯t laid claim to other people¡¯s belongings ¨C though he hadn¡¯t left much of his own behind, either.


    The call from the pawn shop cost McLilly a fiver, but it was worth it. Bryan returned deep in thought.


    "You were right. The cavalry¡¯s on the way."


    "Then why don¡¯t you look happy?"


    "Because Bryce himself is leading the operation to haul your arse out of the mess you¡¯ve shoved it into. And now I have to make a decision that might affect other people¡¯s lives."


    "But I¡­¡±


    "Shut up, Duncan, don¡¯t tempt me. This is a critical moment, and I need to think."


    McLilly drummed a quick rhythm on the steering wheel with his fingers.


    "I¡¯ll get out here," Sunset said, then turned to me. "Your title, it belongs to clan, right? It¡¯ll be hard for Baron Loxlin to hide."


    "I¡¯m not planning to. But I¡¯d appreciate it if you waited to arrest me until after I¡¯ve spoken with my uncle. Relying on your protection¡­ well, I¡¯d rather skip the middleman and head straight for the coffin."


    "Oh, don¡¯t worry. Next time, they¡¯ll send a special squad just for you. Can you lend me some money?" Sunset asked. "Without a badge and covered in blood, it¡¯s hard to convince someone to let me use a phone."


    Bryan, not putting up a fight, handed the detective a tenner and made his decision.


    "We¡¯re staying."


    Twenty minutes later, we were at the gates of The Anvil. I led Bryan through the wards to Harry, who was waiting for us on the porch. He gave the bloody mess on my chest a long, scrutinizing look but held back any snide comments.


    "Where¡¯s Knuckles?" he asked.


    "Left him with the cops."


    "Is he alive, at least?"


    A pang of guilt shot through me. "I don¡¯t know¡­ It was chaos back there¡­"


    "Is he the one who was in the car with you?" Bryan interjected. "Don¡¯t worry, the bloodsuckers didn¡¯t touch him."


    "And you, young man?" Harry asked.


    "Bryan McLilly, sir."


    "You sure?" Harry replied addressing me. "I can¡¯t seem to get a clear look through his shit."


    Bryan pulled the necklace out from under his shirt. Harry considered it for a moment and nodded, asking only, "And what possessed you to climb over the fence?"


    "I thought it¡¯d be safer¡­" Bryan muttered sheepishly. "You¡¯ve got what looks like a minefield here."


    "And how¡¯d you get over the fence? There are lightning wards running all along it¡­"


    "And besides the visible seals, there are hidden ones too," Harry added. "You triggered one of those, boy."


    "I thought¡­"


    "Inside!" Harry shouted.


    Through the tree branches obscuring the gate, a blue flash pierced the darkness, followed by a faint cracking sound. Harry clutched his chest and dropped to one knee.


    "The bastards figured it out!" he growled, lifting his gaze to the sky.


    I followed his eyes and saw death bursting like a white fountain from the rooftop of a house in the neighboring block. The magic dissolved into the air like a shimmering veil, but before it could disperse completely, it was swept up by an invisible current and drawn toward The Anvil. Harry winced in pain as if each wave of energy was striking him directly.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "Let me through!" I said, pointing toward the house across the estate¡¯s park.


    "Inside!" Harry barked, his face pale. "That¡¯s not all of it!"


    The park erupted in chaos. Lightning crackled, fire roared, and metal screeched. Pulses of multicolored magic raced along the tree trunks. A large rat bolted into the open, only to hit a steel seal head-on. Gray, half-meter-long spikes shot up from the ground, tearing it apart. The next rat, however, leapt over the mangled remains.


    The rats came in an unbroken stream, triggering and discharging traps and seals at the cost of their bodies.


    Harry growled, forcing himself to stand, and summoned his spellbook. Flipping through a couple of pages on the right, he tore out an ether-fire spell, threw it onto the gravel in front of the house, and clenched his fist.


    The spell detonated with a soft pop, sending waves of fine, fiery threads outward. They carved shallow grooves into the rats¡¯ bodies but dropped them dead on the spot.


    "Inside, you idiots!" Harry shouted, unable to hold out any longer as he collapsed to one knee again.


    Bryan and I grabbed him under the arms and dragged him into the house. The doors slammed shut behind us on their own, the locks clicking into place with an audible snap.


    "That way!" Harry rasped, pointing toward the door to the hall.


    We swiftly maneuvered him toward the doorway, from which bursts of metal, ether, and an unfamiliar, foreign death magic were spilling. My own heart skipped a beat when the lacquer on the floorboards beneath us disintegrated into powder.


    "Stop!"


    The wizard shook off our support with surprising determination, though he still wobbled on his feet. His face had gone ghostly pale, and large beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. Spreading his arms wide, he unleashed a surge of force that tore the doors clean off their hinges.


    The doors flew past us, landing with a thundering crash on the far side of the hall.


    For the first time, I saw the room where Harry worked his magic.


    It was a vast chamber filled with shelves lined with energy-storing stones, the floor and ceiling marked by intricate, multi-layered seals. Torrential streams of elemental power surged through the seals, forming a column of light that only occasionally burst beyond its bounds.


    Ether and metal churned so densely within the column that it looked like you could swim through them. The earth magic I¡¯d seen earlier was absent, but streaks of death magic, like white scars, poisoned the flow generously.


    "Where¡¯s the anchor?" I asked. There had to be a physical object to focus and control such a massive flow of energy.


    "I am the anchor," Harry replied.


    In that instant, it all made sense ¨C why the ritual was taking so long, why the wizard couldn¡¯t leave this place, and why the death magic in the flow was affecting him so severely. If it were a mineral geode acting as the anchor, as was usually the case, the death magic would have far less impact. But then Harry would have needed a dozen experienced mages to manage the flow. Instead, he had done it all himself, staking his own life in the process.


    Responding to Harry¡¯s gestures, the power of metal swirled like smoke, binding the death energy and collecting it into a ring near the ceiling. The wizard exhaled with relief, but the magic streams constantly strained against the seals, crackling and kicking up dust from the floor.


    "The system is destabilized. If it¡¯s not fixed, there won¡¯t be much left of the mansion. Nathan!"


    "Sir?" piped up Cap, who appeared at the top of the staircase.


    "Emergency! Do as instructed!"


    "But where¡¯s Klint?" the boy hesitated.


    "At the police station," I barked. "Do as you¡¯re told!"


    The kid practically vanished, blown away from the stairs by my tone. I turned back to Harry.


    "What exactly are the instructions?"


    "A secret," Harry said, his tone sharp. "But even if this place blows to hell, he¡¯ll stay safe." He paused, grabbing a flare of ether magic that had escaped one of the seals and forcing it back into place. "I don¡¯t know how long I can keep this contained. Just hold on. And this should improve your chances."


    Harry reached for his spellbook again and began casting forms of magic at us with a generous hand.


    A tingling sensation spread over my skin, my head spun, and my body was filled with a lightness and strength I hadn¡¯t felt even from Bremor¡¯s finest potions.


    Behind Harry, the energy column flared violently with plumes of raw magic. The air itself buzzed like a hurricane, its sharp-edged streams slicing clean through two shelves and the reservoir stones they held.


    At the same time, the front door began to rattle under a rapid, relentless pounding.


    Harry waved his hand, and instead of the book, two rune-covered rods appeared, floating in the air before him.


    The first was long and knotted, resembling a polished root of some ancient tree, glowing faintly with ether. The second was a slender iron, etched with dark, razor-sharp sigils of steel.


    Harry seized both rods and whirled to face the ritual seals.


    Another flare of ether protuberance lashed out; he caught it with the wooden staff. A surge of metal energy followed, and he bound it with the iron rod.


    "Catch!" Harry shouted, his voice barely cutting through the chaos.


    He hurled the rods over his shoulder, but neither Bryan nor I managed to catch them. We scrambled to pick them up from the floor.


    "What are these?" I asked, but Harry had already stepped into the seal, his movements slowing as he drifted toward the center of the energy vortex.


    The only thing I noticed was the faint streams of magic stretching from the energy column to the rods, like¡­ like ammo belts feeding a machine gun.


    The pounding on the door intensified, now sounding like a deluge of pebbles poured from a bucket. Then came the grating of claws, the shriek of a rooster, and the high-pitched squealing of pigs.


    Nervously, I swung the staff Harry had given me, and to my surprise, it blasted apart a floorboard two meters in front of me.


    Bryan caught on and tried the same. The plank in front of him shattered as if struck by an axe. Ether and steel ¨C telekinesis and blades. The spells were crude, terrifyingly energy-intensive, but effective, as blunt and destructive as a sledgehammer.


    Maybe it was Harry¡¯s magic, or maybe we¡¯d simply lost our minds, but Bryan and I started laughing like maniacs.


    At that moment, a massive bird slammed into the window. The barrier held firm, but fire soon spread across the glass, bullets rattling against it in rapid succession. Finally, the same damn bird managed to break through.


    Simultaneously, Bryan and I swung our staves, smashing and slicing the bird in half.


    A bird? No, a rooster.


    More bloodthirsty cackling followed, and then a horde of chickens dove at the window, claws scratching furiously at the glass. Rats surged in behind them, their red eyes glowing in the dim light.


    Without thinking, Bryan and I moved in sync, twirling the rods like clockwork, piling up a mound of rat and chicken corpses beneath the window.


    But the pressure on the door was intensifying. The blows no longer sounded like scattered pebbles; it was as if someone was pounding the wood with a battering ram. Or firing an old cannon. Only the magical barrier kept the onslaught at bay.


    While we were holding our own against the chickens ¨C despite their heads snapping at us with razor-sharp beaks ¨C the rats were another story. The agile little bastards managed to dart closer. And I can confidently say, no ordinary rodents have glowing red eyes like those or fangs sharp enough to pierce boots.


    Whoever was behind this had deliberately created and unleashed these monstrous hybrids.


    The front door exploded into splinters.


    A massive pig stormed through the gap, charging straight into the line of ether. I brought the blunt force of my rod down on its head, slamming its crimson eyes and oversized tusks into the floor. The pig flipped over from the force of the blow.


    Bryan struck next, slashing open its belly and spilling its guts onto the floor. But the cursed creature scrambled back to its hooves, trampling its own intestines as it lunged toward me.


    A bullet to the forehead finally stopped its charge, but not for long. Behind it came another pig. And another. Bryan swept low, severing their front legs with the precision of a butcher, while I aimed shot after shot at their heads.


    Rats, chickens, pigs¡­ Had someone opened a portal to a hellish farm?


    The pigs distracted us from the rats. A pair managed to sneak up on Bryan, sinking their teeth into his boot and calf. With a swing of his staff, McLilly reduced them to nothing but heads still clamped around his leg. Their jaws remained locked tight, even as their bodies were gone.


    The flood of creatures became overwhelming, forcing Bryan to unleash a lightning bolt from the rod hidden in his sleeve. That¡¯s the thing I love about lightning ¨C It doesn¡¯t need precision at close range.


    The electrical charge leapt out of the window, hit one rat, jumped to another, zapped a chicken, and so on, frying everything in the stream of beasts trying to pour through the window. Not a single critter was spared.


    I wanted to crush the convulsing carcasses littering the floor underfoot, but the chaos at the door demanded my attention.


    A relentless tide of monstrosities poured in. I swung my rod like a hammer, trying to expand the area of effect for the ether press. The rats were flattened into pancakes, while the chickens mostly avoided me ¨C though a few piglets and rabbits weren¡¯t so cautious.


    The rabbits were the worst ¨C fast, vicious, and baring fangs like Lucas Lindemann on a bad day. Only the shield from my enchanted ring kept them from ripping out my throat.


    Fangs. They all had fangs.


    A rabid dog burst through the door, its blood-red eyes locking on me. I hit it with an ether hammer, shattering its bones, but it didn¡¯t stop. The creature kept crawling toward me, its body twisted and broken.


    Something glowed beneath its collar.


    I grabbed it with telekinesis, yanking it upward ¨C and immediately recognized the Fairburn Sphere. The runes on the sphere began glowing, flooding with ether, ready to release whatever horrifying energy it was containing.


    "McLilly!" I shouted, holding the sphere aloft. "Cut it off!"


    Bryan swung his staff, severing the dog''s collar along with its neck. The head flew off, and I hurled the death-tainted sphere out the window.


    The mound of carcasses beneath the window blackened, shriveled, and disintegrated into ash.


    A scream erupted from outside, followed by a short burst of gunfire. The bullets shattered the window, but hit no one inside. Then silence.


    I guessed I had hit my mark, but saving us all from the sphere¡¯s deadly blast had cost me precious seconds. Three rats took advantage of my lapse, sinking their fangs into my legs.


    The first I hurled away with telekinesis ¨C and immediately regretted it as a chunk of flesh remained in its jaws.


    Darkness crept into the edges of my vision as I blindly swung my rod, trying to fend off the remaining creatures.


    Then, to my astonishment, the wound on my leg sealed itself almost instantly.


    Bryan¡¯s lightning rod finally fizzled out, but the tide of beasts had thinned. The stragglers were mangled by either the transformation or Harry¡¯s traps ¨C singed and slashed, limping cripples, literal halves of animals, and deformed monstrosities. They lacked the speed and ferocity the first wave had demonstrated.


    I managed to fend off the remaining rats, carefully crushing the heads of the ones still latched onto my leg, though I refrained from pulling them off just yet.


    ¡°Did we fight them off?¡± Bryan asked, swiping at another rat.


    The creature¡¯s head hit what looked like empty air to his right. I fired.


    The void resolved into a shadow, which Bryan slashed at with his staff, and I spun on my heel, ether hammer raised, checking for another shadow behind me.


    Just in time.


    The hammer struck the invisible figure, but instead of knocking it back, it pushed it forward. At least the revolver was wrenched from its grip. A dagger slashed across my fingers, forcing me to loosen my hold on the rod. I dropped the weapon and immediately raised my pistol.


    The shadow punched me in the gut, solidifying into none other than the sneering Simon.


    The blow threw off my aim, and instead of his head, my shot landed in his shoulder, forcing him to drop the dagger.


    My FN¡¯s slide locked back, exposing the empty chamber. I didn¡¯t have time to reload.


    Simon, meanwhile, slipped on a rat carcass and fell, landing right next to his own revolver.


    I stomped on his vile head, then brought the butt of my pistol down hard for good measure. When his hand darted toward the revolver, I crushed it under my heel, hearing the sickening crunch of his fingers. I nearly slipped on them myself but managed to steady my balance.


    Yanking out my grandfather¡¯s dagger, I felt Ferrish¡¯s anger and bloodlust surge through the blade.


    Simon scrambled to his feet, but I kicked him hard in the stomach. He slammed into the wall but used the momentum to dart past me, earning only a gash on his forearm. I grabbed him by the hair before he could escape, yanking him back and pressing the dagger to his throat.


    ¡°Stop!¡± Valentine¡¯s voice boomed.


    My dagger froze a hair¡¯s breadth from Simon¡¯s neck as I glanced at the vampire. His hand was wrapped tightly around Bryan¡¯s throat.


    Simon laughed, a guttural, mocking sound that forced me to press harder. The blade nicked his skin, and he choked on his laughter.


    ¡°You¡¯re such a loser, Duncan,¡± he rasped.


    ¡°Says the man with a blade at his throat,¡± I shot back, locking eyes with Bryan.


    There was no fear in his gaze.


    With just his lips, he mouthed, ¡°Do it.¡±

 Chapter 30

    Valentine was silent, and I kept my mouth shut too, though the dagger in my hand demanded blood. We were frozen in the middle of the hall, littered with meat and soaked in blood. Carefully, I averted my gaze from the vampire¡¯s eyes to catch sight of Harry¡¯s barely visible figure, suspended in a stream of raw magic. The wizard wasn¡¯t moving, and I couldn¡¯t tell whether that was good or bad.


    ¡°Don¡¯t even hope,¡± Noah said. ¡°August guaranteed this will take at least a couple of hours.¡±


    ¡°Fairburn? So you¡¯ve been working together from the very beginning?¡±


    ¡°Buying time¡­¡± The vampire smirked. ¡°Pointless. You should make a decision already.¡±


    ¡°Are you suggesting I drop my weapon to save my friend?¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t recommend it. You¡¯ll both die anyway. This way, at least you can take an enemy with you.¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± Simon cried out indignantly.


    Noah ignored him and grinned, baring his teeth. A ringing sound echoed in my ears as the corpses of the chimeras ¨C those that hadn¡¯t been cut or smashed enough ¨C started twitching again. And then I realized I was witnessing the famous vampire¡¯s call.


    It also became clear that Valentine ¨C or perhaps Fairburn ¨C had used vampire blood as the basis for the chimeras. Which meant we hadn¡¯t killed the entire farm. And here I was, my only weapon held against my enemy¡¯s throat, gripping his blood-soaked hair with my wounded hand. If he jerked, I wouldn¡¯t be able to hold him.


    ¡°Just remember,¡± Valentine said, ¡°the moment Simon dies, so does your friend.¡±


    I shoved Feron in the thigh, forcing him to kneel, and dragged a revolver toward me with my foot. It lay nearby. The weapon was heavier than my FN, and my grip, despite the fact that my wounds had already closed, was still slippery and unsteady. If the new creatures were as fast as the last ones, I¡¯d miss.


    ¡°A strange waste,¡± I said. ¡°Why put so much effort into this? Breaking seals, training, watching over him?¡±


    ¡°He became too rebellious, too disobedient.¡±


    ¡°Is it really so hard to find leverage over him? Simon is still useful. Whatever you were trying to achieve with the old man¡¯s death, your scheme has failed. Killing an agent like him¡­ In the end, you could just turn him¡­¡±


    I laughed.


    ¡°And what about this?¡± I asked, pressing the barrel of the gun to Feron¡¯s head.


    Valentine¡¯s eyes flared with anger, though he gave away no other signs of irritation. But I could tell.


    The doors burst open, and two ragged figures with red eyes and the thin fangs of newborns stumbled in. Through the window leapt a guard, followed by a dockside whore. Warehouse workers? Dumb meat with no thought in their eyes, just the hunger for blood on their faces.


    Last came a creature covered in charred scabs and oozing lymph from deep cracks in its flesh. Instead of a left hand, the stump of its forearm ended in jagged bone shards. The gunner I had caught with a sphere explosion?


    Was this all? Or was there another army of them outside? I didn¡¯t see the pair I had passed on the road.


    ¡°And what does this change?¡± Noah smiled.


    I cocked the hammer.


    ¡°Stop!¡± the vampire barked. His minions froze.


    ¡°Don¡¯t take me for an idiot, bloodsucker,¡± I said, attempting to dictate my terms. ¡°Release my friend before your lackey loses the last of his wits.¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s to stop you from killing him once I grant your wish? Spare me the talk of honor and promises ¨C I won¡¯t believe a word of it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll lose my last bit of leverage, and you¡¯ll kill us anyway. We can¡¯t take you on alone.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough. But you¡¯ve tricked me once already. I really did believe Bryce Kinkaid was the one barging into the warehouse.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s your call.¡±


    ¡°Just kill him already!¡± Simon shouted.


    I slashed the insolent fool across the ear with my dagger to silence him. Containing the dagger¡¯s fury was hard enough as it was. Ferrish whispered to me of power and might, of all that I could achieve under his patronage. All it would take was one slash across the throat, one pull of the trigger¡­ anything to end Simon.


    The dreams were sweet, and the spirit raised the stakes even higher. Now, not only could I break free from the seals, but I could also gain the chance to survive, to escape the vampires.


    The visions pressed heavily on my temples, my principles, and my conscience. I saw myself dissolve into the ether, rise into the sky, and reappear anywhere in the city I wished. Somewhere else, under different circumstances, this would have been impossible.


    But here and now, the air was saturated with ether, and the master of the place was preoccupied, fighting ¡®death.¡¯


    And really, what choice did I have? What could I possibly do against the master vampire armed with a warlock tricks?


    And then there were the minions. For all the madness in their eyes, even the scorched husk wasn¡¯t rushing to attack.


    Ferrish had lost his patience. The spirit simply couldn¡¯t comprehend why I was hesitating ¨C after all, the prey was in my hands, the hunt was over, and it was time to claim the trophies. His offer now came with a clear deadline. Moments slipped away like water through my fingers.


    All I had to do was pull the trigger¡­ and I wouldn¡¯t have to spend years breaking the seals. I could become a warlock, walk the path of my father and grandfather, be useful to the clan, avenge my grandfather!


    All I had to do was pull the trigger¡­ and Bryan McLilly, the man who had saved my life just hours ago, would die. And what would happen to Harry? Nothing good, if Valentine was in league with Fairburn.


    If I left, they¡¯d die. And what would I say to Bryan¡¯s mother? How would I look his brother ¨C the one married to Sally ¨C in his eye? I didn¡¯t want power earned at that cost. I couldn¡¯t live with it.


    Ha! Big words, Duncan Kinkaid! You¡¯re already dead.


    I¡¯m sorry, ancient spirit, but you didn¡¯t understand me last time, and I doubt you¡¯ll understand me now. With all due respect for the role you¡¯ve played in raising my family and the clan, humans and ethereals think differently. I won¡¯t abandon my friends. At least, I¡¯ll try to make a difference.


    A pang of regret shot through my hand, the dagger¡¯s rage left it, and the blade became nothing more than an ordinary piece of metal in my grip.


    ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡± Valentine asked.


    I hadn¡¯t noticed I¡¯d started smiling. I¡¯d failed the final test, yet I didn¡¯t feel regret. My grandfather wouldn¡¯t have approved of this decision. I know he¡¯d have scolded me if he¡¯d had the chance. But deep down, he¡¯d have been proud of me. Because the Kinkaids don¡¯t seek power for themselves!


    ¡°Our chances of survival,¡± I replied. ¡°Aren¡¯t they hilarious?¡±


    ¡°Are there any?¡± Valentine quipped.


    ¡°Well, at least for one of us. You got anything big and fiery left?¡± I asked Bryan, tossing the dagger aside. Instead, I pulled a vial of incendiary oil from my satchel, yanked out the cork with my teeth, spat it to the ground, and poured the contents over Simon¡¯s head. Then I made sure to rub it in, not forgetting his face.


    ¡°Ugh, disgusting!¡± Feron spat, coughing as some of the oil got in his mouth. ¡°What is this filth?¡±


    ¡°Incendiary oil. The same one that eats through metal. Remember?¡±


    Bryan gave me a thumbs-up and aimed his fist at Simon. His hand looked bare, but I remembered he had artifact rings hidden there.


    ¡°Well, there you go,¡± I said to Noah. ¡°And you said time wasn¡¯t on my side.¡±


    ¡°Clever,¡± Valentine praised. ¡°Maybe we can negotiate?¡±


    ¡°What?!¡± Simon, Bryan, and I said in unison.


    ¡°You promised me his life!¡± Simon roared.


    ¡°I even gave you the chance to finish him yourself! And what? You screwed it up again! So shut up, Simon! Duncan, the seals. They¡¯re actually quite easy to break if you know how.¡±


    ¡°Are you mocking me? You killed my grandfather, you bastards!¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°And who are you to play the noble prince?¡± Valentine shot back. ¡°How many corpses have you planted at my place?¡±


    ¡°What corpses?¡±


    ¡°The drained ones. Lucas helped you, didn¡¯t he? I knew that bastard couldn¡¯t be trusted.¡±


    ¡°Hold on, are you saying it wasn¡¯t your boys who forgot to dump the leftovers?¡±


    ¡°Have you completely lost it? First rule of vampires ¨C don¡¯t foul where you live. Why do you think Lindemann¡¯s kids were running around in the slums?¡±


    ¡°Are you seriously going to tell me you didn¡¯t kidnap Finella?¡±


    ¡°Flower¡¯s sister?¡± Valentine frowned. Then understanding lit up his face. ¡°That slimy bastard!¡±


    Bryan choked as Valentine¡¯s grip tightened on his throat.


    ¡°Careful there!¡± I snapped.


    Valentine came to his senses.


    ¡°I¡¯ll wipe out his nest and then crush that cunning slug! Lindemann told you I took the girl, didn¡¯t he? Don¡¯t answer; it¡¯s obvious. Let me share a fun fact: about an hour before you paid Simon a visit, Lindemann called me. Told me you¡¯d be dropping by and sent his daughters to, let¡¯s say, ¡®encourage¡¯ me. He even told me not to be gentle with them ¨C said I should toss them into the garbage bins for better effect. I remember thinking, why the bins? Turns out¡­ Bravo, Lucas, masterful play!¡±


    Valentine seemed to simultaneously despise, hate, and admire Lucas while I tried to piece together his emotional tirade with the facts I knew.


    ¡°So this whole thing is his scheme?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t even grasp half of it! Where do you think I got this army of abominations?¡± Valentine pointed to the chimera remains scattered around us. ¡°All I had to do was bring them to heel. And how did I find you, strike a deal with August, all in just a few hours? That bastard made sure we¡¯d destroy each other. You could even say he handed me the weapons.¡±


    ¡°And why would he do that?¡± I asked, more out of stubbornness and a desire to buy time than genuine curiosity.


    ¡°Because the dead don¡¯t talk. August becomes indebted to Lucas for killing a wizard, Flower owes him for saving his sister¡­ and then John will reassure the Bremorians that Lucas has been protecting them, keeping me in check and stopping me from making reckless decisions¡­ A truly slimy bastard!¡±


    ¡°But,¡± Simon interjected, ¡°then he won¡¯t keep the cops off us. We don¡¯t have the time he promised.¡±


    Valentine slowly nodded.


    ¡°Correct,¡± the vampire said. Bryan¡¯s Adam¡¯s apple crunched under his fingers. The boy¡¯s eyes bulged as he clawed at his throat, desperate for a breath of air.


    I pulled the trigger.


    Simon¡¯s head exploded in a fountain of fiery spray, miraculously missing my oil-coated hand. Mindless vampire meat lunged into the attack. I shot the closest one, a guard, in the head, took a step back, and fired at the whore. Then a bullet each for the ragged fledglings.


    The last one, the armless creature, got the closest, snapping its fanged jaws at my revolver. The bullet tore through its throat and the back of its skull, flinging the body onto Simon¡¯s burning brains.


    I was out of bullets. Face-to-face with a grinning Valentine.


    The vampire deliberately raised his free wrist to his lips and bit into the veins. If they¡¯d been human, the blood would¡¯ve gushed out, but instead, only a few drops beaded up. Valentine leaned over Bryan, who was already turning blue, forced the boy¡¯s jaw open, and let a single drop of blood fall into his mouth.


    ¡°Two for one. Excellent trade,¡± he smirked.


    Two¡­ Bryan and me¡­ Harry¡¯s spell was keeping Bryan from dying, but the displaced cartilage in his throat wouldn¡¯t let him breathe.


    I threw the revolver at the vampire and dove for the rod lying on the floor. Reaching out, I caught the pale spark of death on the back of my hand. My hand reached the staff but couldn¡¯t grasp it.


    Outside, the wail of police sirens pierced the air.


    Valentine whistled. Two well-dressed vampires appeared in the doorway ¨C not the mindless meat I had just shot down. I reached for the rod with my other hand, but it, too, caught a spark of death.


    ¡°Grab these two and let¡¯s go.¡±


    I smacked my oiled hand against my forehead and tried to reach for the nearest flicker of light, but the white ray of death turned it into a handful of ash.


    ¡°Make sure this one doesn¡¯t kill himself on the spot.¡±


    The two vampires efficiently twisted my arms behind my back. Metal cuffs clamped around my wrists. They hauled me to my feet, which I immediately used to kick the nearest one squarely in the kneecap. The vampire hissed and struck me across the face, sending me crashing back down onto the blood-soaked floor.


    A vampire¡¯s head landed next to me. Then another. Moments later, headless bodies collapsed around them.


    Uncle Bryce leapt through the window, clearing the pile of meat beneath it. Cousin Evan and Bryan¡¯s older brother followed through the door, the latter in a half-feline shifter form.


    Valentine clapped his hands, turning back to Bryan, whose face was blue from lack of air.


    ¡°Where do you find the strength?¡± he asked. ¡°But I won¡¯t fall for that trick a second time!¡±


    Bryce exchanged a surprised glance with the others, shrugged, and disappeared in a flash of lightning, reappearing inches from the vampire. I didn¡¯t see the blow ¨C not that Valentine did either. The vampire slammed into the wall, and the hilt of a dagger protruded neatly between his startled eyes.


    The shifter MacLilly pounced on his brother while Evan rushed to me.


    ¡°You¡¯re real!¡± I realized. ¡°But how?!¡±


    ¡°At the cost of a pile of firestone and two melted engines,¡± Evan replied. ¡°As soon as we heard about the Grand Hunt, we bolted. Are you alright?¡±


    ¡°Bryan! Valentine crushed his windpipe!¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± said MacLilly¡¯s older brother. He plunged a claw into Bryan¡¯s throat and opened the wound, letting air whistle through it. ¡°Easy, little brother, you¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    ¡°Evan, take charge,¡± Bryce said, pulling the dagger from the vampire¡¯s skull. ¡°I¡¯ve got a choice to make.¡±


    It seemed Ferrish was feeling generous.


    ¡°Bryan,¡± I said, nodding toward Simon¡¯s body. ¡°Try to claim the offering while the body¡¯s still warm.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s your kill,¡± Evan said.


    ¡°I missed my chance.¡±


    MacLilly¡¯s brother helped Bryan retrieve a dagger from under his jacket and reach the scorched hole in Simon¡¯s head. The moment the blade touched the body, Bryan¡¯s windpipe snapped back into place with a crunch, and the wound he¡¯d been breathing through healed itself. Ferrish hadn¡¯t given him a choice ¨C still, it wasn¡¯t Bryan who shot the bastard, even if he did contribute to the hunt.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s a gift,¡± the warlock rasped.


    ¡°Policemen are swarming the streets,¡± Evan reported. ¡°They¡¯re closing in on the block. If we¡¯re leaving, it has to be now.¡±


    ¡°I promised I wouldn¡¯t run,¡± I replied. ¡°Besides, someone needs to make sure Harry finishes the ritual without interference. There could be someone outside. Someone from the Fairburn family. But there¡¯s likely someone else too. Bryan, are you up for bringing Sunset?¡±


    ¡°No problem,¡± MacLilly said, his color rapidly returning to normal.


    ¡°And you¡¯d better knock me out. Harry and the detective may be friends, but Sunset¡¯s a sharp and meticulous man. I won¡¯t be able to come up with a good enough lie in this state. One more thing,¡± I nudged Simon¡¯s body with my foot. ¡°This corpse here is Davie. A hired killer and Noah Valentine¡¯s favorite lackey,¡± I added, pointing to the vampire¡¯s body.


    ¡°That¡¯s not enough,¡± Bryce said, regaining his composure. ¡°Tell me everything. And you,¡± he gestured to Bryan, ¡°go fetch the detective, but take your time. Give us a few minutes.¡±


    In the fifteen minutes Bryan managed to delay Sunset by leading him around the burnt-out park, I told my uncle everything I knew and took a dose of sleeping potion.


    I woke up late in the evening, the sun setting outside the window. In the chair next to the bed, Uncle Bryce was reading a newspaper. The date on the front page informed me that I¡¯d been out for three days. I hadn¡¯t realized my wounds were that serious.


    ¡°Vampire feuds continue. Lucas Lindemann¡¯s head remains missing,¡± said the headline.


    ¡°Was it you?¡± I asked my uncle.


    ¡°Duncan!¡± He looked delighted as he put the paper aside.


    ¡°Did you take out Lindemann?¡± I repeated.


    ¡°Oh no, it was Valentine¡¯s children seeking revenge,¡± he said with a smile, but when he noticed my skeptical expression, he admitted, ¡°That¡¯s the official version. In reality, Evan ambushed him. They had quite the interesting conversation. Turns out the vampire had been nursing a grudge against Valentine for years and had been collecting information he tried to bargain with. He wasn¡¯t directly involved in the attack on your father, but he knew a thing or two ¨C filled in some of the gaps.¡±


    ¡°What did we find out?¡±


    ¡°The nest in Bremshire that Kirk wiped out belonged to Valentine¡¯s firstborn.¡±


    ¡°A simple revenge plot?¡±


    ¡°Duncan,¡± Bryce sighed. ¡°He was a respected vampire, a master with status. He wasn¡¯t exiled.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re saying the prince gave him permission?¡±


    Bryce nodded.


    ¡°It¡¯s just a theory, but it makes sense. There was an attempted invasion ¨C It failed. The vampires suffered heavy losses but didn¡¯t give up. They waited and devised a new plan: kill Gregor, disgrace the family, install Sean as head, and then return his warlock son to him. I think the new Earl of Bremshire would¡¯ve been willing to make some concessions after that.¡±


    ¡°Sean was involved too?¡±


    ¡°No idea. But now we know where to start digging. And I¡¯ve finally matched old man in power. Thanks to you. Thank you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡± The praise ¨C and the realization that I¡¯d done something useful for the clan ¨C was satisfying. It made everything worthwhile. ¡°What about the Fairburns?¡±


    ¡°Harry said he¡¯d handle it.¡±


    ¡°What about the Sparrow brothers?¡±


    ¡°The older one is fixing up a car. Harry bought himself a brand-new Royal. And the younger one? He¡¯s busy hitting the books.¡± Bryce grinned mischievously. ¡°Oh, and some young lady stopped by here¡­ asking about your health.¡±


    ¡°Finella?¡±


    ¡°No. Lord Flower was rather adamant about you two not speaking anymore. If I were you, I wouldn¡¯t push it. Especially since Miss Sheridan is chasing after you herself.¡±


    ¡°Ellie? She was just checking on a friend¡¯s health!¡±


    ¡°Duncan, listen to your elder. After all the adventures you¡¯ve been through together, she¡¯s probably built you up as her hero. Don¡¯t miss your chance. She¡¯s a fine girl from a respectable family.¡±


    ¡°Can we talk about something else before you marry me off?¡±


    ¡°Marry you off? Hmm...¡±


    ¡°Uncle!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m joking.¡± Bryce reached for the coffee table and picked up a few sheets of thick paper. ¡°What do you see here?¡±


    I looked closely. Etheric runes shimmered on the surface.


    ¡°A chain of spirit wards,¡± I answered. He flipped to another sheet. ¡°A fire arrow¡­ And this one¡¯s more complex. A seal for temperature stabilization. Am I right?¡±


    ¡°No idea,¡± Bryce said. ¡°I haven¡¯t opened my third eye today.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?!¡±


    ¡°Harry finished the ritual two days ago. The place of power has been established; there was a massive etheric surge. Most etheric amulets within a ten-kilometer radius shorted out. The wizard used it to unravel the rune chains and extract the seal from your third eye.¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°No clue. He said you two discussed it, and you were very clear that you were ready to become a wizard.¡±


    When did that happen? Though¡­


    Lord Loxlin: the Baron and the Wizard. I think I like the sound of that!