Brian McClellan

BLOOD TALLY

2020

Chapter 1

Part of my job – a disturbingly large part of it – is the expectation that I will be sworn at, spit upon, punched, stabbed, and even shot. The fact that I work for the supernatural elements of this world rather than, say, a loan shark doesn’t seem to make a lick of difference. Nobody likes debt collectors. That’s just human – and sometimes inhuman – nature.

I’m lucky that I’m well-equipped for the job. I wear a flak vest, have a handful of magical tattoos, as well as the thick skin of a guy with troll ancestry. I go into every situation armed, though not always openly. And best of all, I have a ring on my finger that belongs to my best friend Maggie. She might be trapped in there just as surely as I’m trapped in my job, but she’s still a powerful jinn; an ace in the hole that nobody sees coming.

Basically I’m trying to say that I have a dangerous job and I’m always ready for those dangers. Which makes it disconcerting when the job is too easy.

I stood outside my truck, wearing my flak vest loose over an old Tom Petty T-shirt, eyeballing the little suburban house that matched the address of this morning’s collection. The house was … picturesque. It was a little three-bedroom on a third of an acre not far from the square in Chardon, Ohio. It had brick siding, seventies-style metal trim, and someone had ripped up all the lawn in order to plant dozens of raised garden beds. A sign beside the mailbox asked passersby to “please not pick from the garden unless given permission” in perfect, hand-painted lettering.

There was another sign in the window. In the same neat, hand-painted lettering, it said “Scrying, Healing Remedies, Palm Reading, and Misc. Sorceries. Weekdays 10 a.m.–4 p.m. or by Appointment.”

Why aren’t you going inside? A voice in my head asked. You’re sweating like a pig.

I took off my ball cap emblazoned with the winged Valkyrie Collections logo and wiped a forearm across my brow. Maggie was right. I don’t do well with heat – I’ve got northern-European troll blood in me, after all. Summer had come on hot and strong this year, and the air conditioning in the truck hadn’t worked right since coming back from the shop after my run-in with Nick the Necromancer and his draugr earlier in the spring.

“I don’t trust witches,” I muttered under my breath.

I could practically hear Maggie roll her eyes. Nobody trusts witches. That’s part of their schtick. But she called you, so this shouldn’t be a problem. Besides, I’ve never met a witch who couldn’t be dealt with by a quick punch to the nose. They’re more dangerous when you don’t know that they have it out for you.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” I continued to hesitate, uncomfortable memories flitting around the back of my head.

Something you want to talk about? she asked.

For the last couple months, we’d been trying to be more honest with each other. Ten years of an ask-no-questions partnership had trained us both to keep a lot back, but the events surrounding that aforementioned draugr incident had forced us to reassess our relationship. We both needed to be more open. “I was seventeen,” I finally said. “Collected from a witch who owed one of our clients. She cast some bullshit hex on me that gave me hives. Ada had to get an OtherOps injunction to make her get rid of them.”

Maggie laughed for just a few seconds too long.

“That’s enough,” I told her peevishly, scratching under one arm at the memory. “Let’s get this over with.” I pulled out an embossed envelope containing the name of the item I’d come to collect, as well as a very brief file on the person I’d come to collect it from. I tapped it against one palm. “What do you have on her?”

Maggie hummed softly to herself for a moment, then said gave an indeterminate Hmm.

“What’s that mean?”

The house is protected by the normal sorts of wards. Basic stuff, nothing fancy, but woven exceedingly well. There’s a rock golem in the corner of the garden who appears to be attached to some kind of alarm. One of the bedrooms is protected from even high-level scrying.

“I repeat my previous question.”

It means, Maggie said, that she’s not very powerful, but she’s quite talented. She uses the tools she has at her disposal better than most witches I’ve met.

“But there’s nothing that’s going to kill me when I ring the doorbell?”

Don’t be dense. She’s a small business owner. You think she’d booby-trap her own front door against potential clients?

“Point taken.” I headed up the narrow flagstone walk to the front door, raising one hand toward the doorbell only to have the door swing open to reveal an old woman. She couldn’t have been taller than five foot two, bent and gray, her face covered in warts, wearing a black cloak and a black, pointed hat. She looked like something out of a cartoon, and she grinned up at me with yellowed teeth.

“Good morning, my dear,” she crooned. “Come for a healing potion, have you? Scrying on a woman? A man? Hoping to cast impotence on a rival?”

I lifted the embossed envelope. “Olivia Martin?” I asked. “My name is Alek Fitz, from Valkyrie Collections. You have an overdue library book I’ve been sent to collect.”

In the back of my head, Maggie laughed about something.

What’s so funny? I asked her.

Just wait and you’ll see.

Olivia blinked at me for a few moments, then retreated into the house, leaving the door open behind her. “Come in, come in,” she called.

I followed, letting my eyes adjust to the dim light of the home. “Are you Olivia Martin?” I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral.

“That’s me.”

“It’s just that your file says you’re twenty-seven.”

“You know,” Olivia responded, “you’re a lot better looking than I expected.” Her voice sounded different, and I couldn’t quite place how. Maggie continued to chuckle in the back of my head.

“Uh, thanks?” I responded. “You’re not quite what …” I trailed off as my vision finally adjusted to the dim light of the interior. Olivia had gone into her kitchen. She’d taken off the pointed hat and the cloak and tossed them on the couch. In the place of the old woman was an athletic blonde with long hair tied in a ponytail over one shoulder. She wore yoga pants and a tank top, padding around barefoot. She was almost petite, with a sweet face and tired eyes. “Oh,” I finished.

She pursed her lips as she returned to me, handing me a glass of ice water. “That’s sweet, but I don’t date cops.”

“I … what? I didn’t ask you on a date, and I’m not a cop.”

“No, but you were thinking it. I can see it in your eyes. You ogled me.” She sighed, as if being ogled was an annoyance she’d learned to live with. “Reapers. Cops. Same difference. Meatheads all around.” She gave me an apologetic smile.

“I did not ogle you.” I had definitely ogled her. “And I don’t date debtors.” Even to me it sounded petulant.

“Good,” she responded.

“Good,” I said.

We stared at each other for a couple of moments before I cleared my throat and pulled on my best professional face. “Never say that to either an OtherOps agent or a reaper. They’ll be super pissed.”

“I just did.” Olivia tilted her head to one side. It was a challenge. One of those “I don’t like authority figures and I want you to know it” sorts. I’d met plenty of them in my line of work, so I didn’t rise to the bait. Instead I gulped down the ice water and found a coaster on her coffee table where I could set the glass.

“Yeah, well. I’m not a normal reaper.” I shook the envelope at her. “You’re overdue, Olivia. You owe my client, Grimoire Lending, a shitload of fines and their book back.”

Something seemed to change in her face. I couldn’t quite place it. “Yeah, well your client – who I’ve had a great relationship with for the last eight years – lent me a cursed book without the proper warnings. I can’t get the damned thing out of my house. So if you can get it to leave, feel free to do so. I’ve already made the minimum fine payment on a credit card.”

I pulled out my phone and checked my email. There was one from three days ago from Nadine that I hadn’t bothered to read, and it confirmed that the debtor was making payments. That made my job so much easier.

“Where is it?” I asked.

“Kitchen table.” Olivia stood to the side as I entered the kitchen. It wasn’t a big house, with the kitchen, hall, and living room all kind of running into each other, with the bedrooms on the far side of the living room. The kitchen was about the same size as my own, with just enough room for a sink, oven, microwave, table, and a workbench covered in various herbs. More cuttings hung from drying racks along the ceiling, just above Olivia’s head – which meant I had to duck to not get a face full of whatever she was preparing for her spells and potions.

The book was leather-bound, clearly old, but not particularly special-looking. It was about the size of a mass market paperback and was titled HOW TO SUMMON A DEMON AND MAKE FRIENDS WITH IT TOO!

“Demonology is some dangerous shit, you know,” I said over my shoulder.

“Oh, I’m aware. A girl’s got to have hobbies though, right?” She stood in the entrance to the kitchen, watching me.

I snorted. Is she strong enough to handle demons? I asked Maggie.

I would say no, except for how precise her wards are. I don’t know a lot about demonology, but I’ve heard that technical skill is more important than raw strength. Still nothing I’d recommend for dabbling.

“What’s the deal with the hat and cloak?” I asked Olivia, examining the book from all angles before taking a seat in front of it.

“The clientele for my sort of work has expectations.”

“Ah. They want you to look like a witch?”

“Exactly. I have the training and experience, but I don’t really fit the picture. Also, I’m technically not a witch. I am a nondenominational practitioner of witchcraft. At least until the lawsuit is over.”

That brought to mind a bit of local gossip I’d heard from Nadine. “You get caught up in that Cleveland Coven thing?”

Olivia came around and sat down kitty-corner from me at the table. She looked genuinely surprised. “You know about that?”

I shrugged. “Just office gossip. The Cleveland Coven is trying to sue everyone and their grandma over the use of the word witch.”

Olivia’s brow wrinkled. “It’s fucking protectionism, and I’m sick of it. Just because I don’t want to join their goddamn Wiccan union doesn’t mean they get to bully around …” The last few words turned into a snarl before she cut herself off. She inhaled sharply, muttering something under her breath and passing a hand across her face to regain her composure. “Sorry. It’s just tough to be a small business owner in this economy, you know?”

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me. I’ve dealt with members of the Cleveland Coven before. They’re” – I thought of the hives I had for seven months – “petty is the kindest word I can think of.”

Olivia leaned back in her chair as if reassessing me. We stared at each other for just a few seconds too long before she cleared her throat. “Have you ever collected an overdue book before?”

“Nope,” I responded, turning my attention back to the tome in front of me. “One of my colleagues usually handles the Grimoire accounts, but he saved up three years of vacation and is going to be gone the whole damned month, so here I am.”

“You do seem more the punchy type than bookish.”

“That’s the second time you’ve implied I’m stupid.”

Olivia had the courtesy to look embarrassed. “I didn’t …”

“It’s fine,” I waved her off. I wasn’t normally that sensitive, but having a pretty woman tell me I look like an idiot just kind of put a damper on my morning. “It comes with the territory. And you’re right, I’m more the punchy type, except for today.” I eyeballed the book for a few more moments.

The hesitation seemed to make Olivia nervous. “I do hope you know what you’re doing.”

I opened the embossed envelope and slid out a metal bookmark. It was gold, just thick enough so the soft metal could keep its shape, and stamped with arcane symbols. There was also a paper with a set of instructions on it. I read the instructions. Olivia stood up, backing up to the far side of the kitchen.

You probably should be careful, Maggie warned.

For what? It’s a book.

It’s a grimoire, and those can have minds of their own.

What’s the worst that can happen? I asked.

Famous last words.

“It’s a pop-up book,” Olivia told me.

“Like, a kid’s book?”

“Not exactly.”

I read the instructions again, shrugged, and slid the bookmark carefully between the cover and the first page. Nothing happened.

Huh, Maggie said. I think that worked. I felt something click inside the book. The curse should be lifted long enough to get it back to Grimoire Lending.

Fancy that. Something went right for once. I grinned at Olivia. “Worked like a charm.”

“Uh …”

Duck! Maggie shouted.

I knew better than to question when Maggie barked a warning, so I threw myself to the floor. I felt something swish right through the air where my head had been and heard a thump against the far wall. Olivia rattled off an angry litany of something that might have been magical spells or swearwords. I rolled over, got to my knees, and found myself face-to-face with one of the most horrific creatures I’d ever seen.

At first glance, it was a tarantula the size of a rottweiler. It had eight smooth, spindly legs, a fat, hairy midsection, and a mouth full of clicking mandibles. There was only one set of eyes, however, and they were almost human. They glared at me with a fury I’d seen in countless debtors whose days I’d interrupted. It hissed and spat at me, hesitating as it looked around as if to get the lay of the room.

I rolled backward and onto my feet in a move that would make an action star proud. “What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a pop-up demon! I told you it was a pop-up book!” Olivia was stuck in the corner and, to her credit, seemed more irritated than she was scared. She made a move to try and get around the demon but backed up again when it turned its attention toward her.

Any suggestions? I asked Maggie. Now that I wasn’t staring down the demon’s mouth, I could see that those spiderlike qualities ended with the general shape. The legs and back were covered in armored carapace, the hair growing through cracks, and light hitting that armor seemed to bend strangely, as if the creature really was two-dimensional.

The house is warded against weapons, so don’t draw your Glock. Otherwise … good luck. Demons aren’t really in my wheelhouse.

The demon clattered one way, then another, then turned and lunged toward Olivia. I read the movement and leapt at the same time, grabbing it by its rear two legs and yanking it away from her. I swung it up and around and whipped it against Olivia’s oven, shattering the glass and bending the metal. The demon grabbed the oven as I tried to pull it back for another blow, set its other six legs, and jerked itself out of my grasp.

I could feel my tusks pressing against my gums, ready to split through the flesh. The tattoo of Mjolnir on my right hand flared into a blue light, but, to my surprise, sizzled and flickered out.

It’s warded against basic sorceries too, Maggie said.

You could have mentioned that!

I did say the wards were very good.

Olivia scrambled past me, diving into her living room and disappearing around the corner. “Careful of my alchemy table!” she yelled over her shoulder. “Just keep it busy for a minute!”

“Keep it …”

The demon leapt at me, legs open like an Alien facehugger. I sidestepped the leap and snagged a leg, feeling three others brush across my arm and shoulder, tearing through my skin with ease. Using its own momentum, I hurled it past me once more. Dried plant matter scattered, wood shattered, and the air filled with the scent of lavender. I barely noticed the blood running down my right arm. A haze settled over my vision, my jaw hurt from the tusks that had ripped involuntarily through my gums, and I glared at the stupid little pop-up demon trying to right itself in the wreckage of Olivia’s alchemy table.

Before the thing could recover, I ripped the door off Olivia’s oven and, like a professional wrestler leaping into the ring with a folded metal chair, took it to my opponent. I slammed the creature again and again, punctuating each blow with another word. “Why. Can’t. This. Shit. Ever. Be. Easy?”

“Alek!”

My name cut through the haze and I hesitated, oven door held over my head. I blinked a few times. Dried herbs filled the air, nearly choking me. The demon was little more than a paste in the corner. The oven door in my hands was barely recognizable as such. Olivia stood in the doorway, a silver crucifix in one hand, a lit candle in the other, and a look of fascinated horror on her face.

“I … guess I don’t need these,” she said.

I dropped the oven door. I breathed deeply for several long moments before I had the clarity of mind to retract my tusks. Was that thing poisonous? I asked Maggie.

Nah, you’ll be fine. Cut pretty deep, though, so you might want some stitches. And bind those wounds quick.

I felt a sudden, rather stupid embarrassment. The kitchen was completely trashed and Olivia’s alchemy station and collection of drying plants – no doubt representing dozens of hours’ worth of work – had been destroyed. The offending book was still on the table, sitting open to the first page. I stepped over and closed it, tucking it firmly under my left arm just in case it wanted to spit any more demons at me.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“Well. I, uh … I’m glad you’re the punchy kind of reaper after all.”

With my rage subsided, my right arm really hurt. I checked the drawers by the sink until I found the kitchen towels, took one, and waving off Olivia’s offered help, tied it one-handed around the trio of gashes. “I’ll get you a new towel set,” I promised. I wanted to offer a new kitchen too, but that wasn’t really within my budget.

“Don’t worry about it.” Olivia glanced with dismay at her kitchen, then fixed me with the same wary, grossed-out look I myself had given the pop-up demon a few moments ago. An awkward silence stretched on.

“I should go,” I finally said.

“Seems like a good idea,” Olivia agreed.

I went to my truck, fished a company polo out from underneath the passenger seat, and tied that around my arm as well so I wouldn’t bleed all over everything. I tried not to look back at Olivia, who was still watching me from her front door.

I thought that went well, Maggie said as I got in and started up my truck.

Oh, shut up.

She was very cute.

Yes, she was. And I just trashed her house.

Not really your fault. Grimoire Lending didn’t warn you about the pop-up demon.

What the hell was up with that, anyways? I followed the instructions.

It was, to be honest, a very tiny demon. Probably some kind of guard dog set to get around the bookmark you used.

Some days, I really hate the Other.

Maggie laughed again. I tried to ignore her as I called in my report to Ada. The phone rang twice before it was picked up.

“I got the book,” I told her without saying hi. “Grimoire didn’t bother to tell me about the pop-up demon hiding on the table of contents, so they get to pay for the hospital bill when I go get stitches. They should also pay Olivia Martin for a new kitchen.”

There was a moment of silence, then a long-suffering sigh. Ada answered me with her frog-like, sounds-like-a-smoker-but-doesn’t-smoke voice. “Did you follow their instructions?”

“To the letter.”

“Fine. File a report. Did you get the scheduling update that Nadine sent you?”

Per usual, Ada didn’t bother to ask if I was feeling okay or would like the rest of the day off. I took my eyes off the road just long enough to glance at my email inbox. A new appointment had been added to my calendar. It said I had a meeting with someone named Boris Novak at 4 p.m. I didn’t recognize the name. “Yeah,” I told Ada. “New client?”

“He is. Be polite. I’m told he can be abrasive.”

“Who is he?”

“You’ve got his file in your email. Take care of it.” Before I could ask anything else, Ada hung up. I frowned at my phone for a moment before returning my eyes to the road. Ada didn’t often leave new clients to me. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust me – it was just she preferred to do the business side of things herself. “This is weird,” I said aloud.

It kinda is, Maggie agreed. She sounded off to me.

“Oh yeah? I didn’t notice.”

Maybe? I don’t know. I could be wrong. She was definitely leaving something out of the conversation.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I muttered. I dropped by the office first, leaving the grimoire to be returned to my client, then headed to the closest urgent care where I could get some stitches. I pulled into the parking lot and went into the waiting room, where I showed the secretary my cut-up shoulder. I plopped down in one of the ratty waiting-room chairs and pulled up my email to check Boris Novak’s file. The file itself was pretty slim – very little information, even for a new client – but something stood out immediately.

“Son of a bitch,” I swore. “I hate working for vampires.”

Chapter 2

The meeting was in the parking lot of a crappy Days Inn in Brecksville, just off the freeway. I’d been to weirder – and certainly worse – meeting spots in my time as a reaper, but it was strange enough to immediately put me on edge. I pulled into the parking lot and cruised slowly, looking for a 2000 Toyota Camry, per the instructions that came with the file I’d been emailed. To worsen my day, a light drizzle had moved in without cooling off the summer heat, leaving everything humid and sticky.

I found the car, and my client, in the far corner of the parking lot.

Boris Novak looked like an old white man in his midseventies. He was thin and wiry, just a little shorter than me – six foot two according to his file – and he had short-cropped gray hair underneath a plaid flatcap. He wore a white and green checkered button-down. His face and hands had the wrinkled, sun-spotted look of any old person. As I drove up, he was struggling to fold a cluster of poster boards and a metal trifold stand into the trunk of his Camry. He stopped his work and leered at my truck as if I’d interrupted something.

I parked and got out. “Boris Novak?” I called.

He resumed his work, practically shoving his poster boards into the trunk and then aggressively slamming it shut. “That’s me,” he grunted. His accent was eastern European. “Are you the mook from Valkyrie Collections?”

I walked closer, looking Boris up and down for a moment before letting myself take a long gander at his profile. Vampires are never like you expect them to be. Their lengthened canines aren’t all that different from a human’s, and while they don’t like sunlight, it only physically harms either the very young or the very old among them. The only signs that Boris wasn’t some middle-class retiree who’d gotten lost on the way back from a golf outing were that the skin around both eyes was slightly blackened and the whites of his eyes were reddish, like he had a particularly bad case of pinkeye.

“Alek Fitz,” I said, offering a hand.

He ignored it, turning away from me and leaning against the bumper of his car. Carefully, holding the flame away from him, he lit up a cigarette and took a long drag.

I let my hand drop. “Are you the mook I’m supposed to work for?” I asked. Whatever patience I had left after the collection earlier today was already gone. You might, on occasion, meet a suave, charming vampire like you see in supernatural romance movies. But most of them were pricks. I already hate this guy, I told Maggie.

Agreed.

“You watch your mouth talking to me, boy,” he said gruffly, gesturing at me with his cigarette. “I told your secretary that I wanted the best you guys have to offer. You the best?” He glanced at me once, did a small double-take, then peered closely at me for the first time. He snorted. “You’re a goddamned troll, aren’t you?”

“Only a little,” I said with a tight smile.

“Fucking rockskins. I didn’t know I was hiring one of you dumb fucks.”

I bit my tongue hard. This was the third time today I’d been called stupid. Rockskin was a new one to me, but the way he said it sounded like it was the worst kind of slur. Probably something from the Old World. “You want me to call the office and have them send someone else?” I asked. I’d been in his company all of thirty seconds and I was already fantasizing about punching him in the face with silver-studded brass knuckles.

“Nah, nah,” Boris said, waving off the question. “You’re here. Might as well get you to work. If you fuck up, I’ll get my money back.”

I was mildly amused at the idea of this asshole trying to get his nonrefundable deposit back from Ada. But I’d definitely been hoping that he’d take me up on the offer on sending someone else. “If that’s what you’d prefer. Sorry, but I wasn’t able to get a full briefing. Mind telling …”

“You don’t even know why you’re here?” Boris cut me off. “Fucking hell. Stupid fucking …” He trailed off, muttering to himself.

What language is that? I asked Maggie.

Serbian, I think. Maggied hesitated, then snorted. Yeah, definitely Serbian. He’s saying something about being fleeced by big business.

I shrugged mentally. I didn’t know anything about Serbia that could help me with this guy. “Sorry for the inconvenience, but if you want this job over and done with, it’ll go quicker if you give me the details.”

He snorted again, ashing his cigarette over my foot. I shifted my stance slightly and took a half step away from him. He said, “One of my thralls has up and run away. I need you to track him down, smack him around a bit, and bring him back.”

I felt my eyebrows climb my forehead. “A runaway thrall?” I asked.

“You didn’t hear me the first time, rockskin?”

There were two kinds of deals that a mortal human could make with a vampire. The first and most common of these were bloodbags. Vampires would do a human a favor – usually cash advances, large loans, or a bit of arm-twisting in a field in which the vampire had some influence – and in return the human would pledge to provide a pint of blood every six weeks for the next couple of decades. These were almost always amicable deals, and our involvement as reapers was tracking down people who’d moved or changed jobs or just forgotten about their debt rather than actively running from it. Blood was free, after all.

The second kind of deal was much more sinister, and closely regulated by OtherOps. Once all the proper paperwork was done and a mortal human had given every kind of permission possible, they could become a slave. Thralls, we call them. Once you become a thrall, there’s no going back. You’ve got a couple decades of literal slavery to look forward to and, if you survive that, you get to become a vampire.

Considering my own situation, thralls had never set well with me. Not the practice, nor the people themselves. What kind of an asshole chooses to become a slave? I felt my stomach turn at the thought. “Could you excuse me for a second?” I said. Without waiting for an answer, I returned to my truck. I slammed the door and almost broke the screen of my phone trying to dial Ada’s number.

You okay? Maggie asked gently.

No, I’m not fucking okay, I snapped back. I heard the line pick up. “What the fuck, Ada? We had a deal. I don’t do thralls. No runaways. That’s Jose and Karen.”

There was a long, tense silence. For half a second I wondered if I’d dialed the wrong number, and then Ada said, “No one else can take this job.”

“Well I can’t either. You and I have a deal.”

I felt my chest suddenly tighten, a brief burn going through the barcode tattooed over my heart. It disappeared almost as quickly as it had arrived, as if Ada had thought better of punishing my insubordination. “It’s a complicated job.”

“It doesn’t sound complicated to me. This asshole wants me to track down a thrall and you know I don’t do that.”

Ada let out a long-suffering sigh. “As I said. No one else can do this job. But not for the reasons you think.”

Weirdly, Maggie said in the back of my head, she’s telling the truth.

That didn’t help me. “Are you going to explain what that means?” I asked Ada.

“Not when you’re like this,” she answered. “The job is yours. Figure out how you’re going to do it, and get it done.” She hung up.

I sat gripping my steering wheel for almost a minute before I felt like I could go back and talk to Boris without punching his head off. I could feel Maggie pacing around within her ring, allowing me to feel her presence as if we were in the same room, but not interrupting my dark brooding. It was comforting, like having a friend put a hand on my shoulder, and helped me attain a small level of calm. I took one last deep breath and got out of the car, returning to Boris Novak. He sneered at me, flicking his cigarette butt into a nearby shrub.

“What’s the name of your missing thrall?” I asked.

“Michael,” he answered. “Michael Pavlovich.”

“I’ll need a picture.”

Boris searched his pockets, then produced a wrinkled, wallet-sized photo and handed it over to me. It was of a kid – or at least, what I thought of as a kid. It looked like a typical high school senior headshot of a nerdy-looking chubby teen with braces and glasses.

“How old is this photo?” I asked.

“Five or six years,” Boris shrugged. “Maybe less. Maybe more. Time, it …” He made a dismissive gesture, as if the years didn’t mean anything to him.

So I was looking for someone in their early-to-midtwenties who looked more or less like the kid in the photo. That wasn’t nearly as helpful as I’d hoped. “Do you have any other thralls? I’ll need to talk to them.”

“No. Fuck off. You don’t need to talk to anybody else. Find that fool and bring him back.”

I might have been offended by his unwillingness to make things easier if I wasn’t already at the end of my rope with this guy. I needed to leave before I actually did take a swing at him. “Anything else that would help me track him down? The faster I can do this, the less it costs you.”

Boris muttered under his breath, gave a shrug. “I’ll think about it. If I find anything else, I’ll let you know.” His tone told me that the very idea of making my job easier was an imposition.

“You’re too kind.” I returned to my truck without bidding him goodbye and sat behind the wheel, staring at him while he stared back at me. He flinched first, finally getting in his car and pulling out of the parking lot. I watched until the car was out of sight, then rubbed my eyes. I felt a hollowness in my stomach, a fog blanketing my thoughts that was the first sign of a bad depression. I fought it off. I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself. I needed to get this stupid job over with as quickly as possible.

Whether I was able to contain my anger or not, I still felt betrayed. One of the unspoken kindnesses Ada had always showed as my owner was that I didn’t have to do any of the jobs that required me to bring in an actual person. Even she understood that making me do so was a cruelty. I produced the worn photo of the runaway thrall and studied it for a few minutes. “You know, maybe I should be glad of this,” I said.

Oh? Maggie answered.

“Yeah. Whoever this asshole is, he wants to be a vampire enough that he signed up for slavery. I don’t have the emotional energy for this kind of bullshit. Anyone who willingly becomes a slave needs to be tossed off the top of a tall building.”

I could sense Maggie’s disagreement. Normally, I would have invited her to argue the point. I did respect her opinions on this kind of thing. But not with this. Not right now. I was too damned angry. She said, Well. Probably best to just get it over with, right?

Right. I began to make plans in my head, working through what I’d need to do to track down a runaway. This was out of my normal wheelhouse. I considered calling Jose or Karen to get some advice, but something stopped me. Ada had me working this job for a reason. That reason might be secretive, even from my reaper coworkers. Besides, I tracked people down all the time. Just because the debtor and the debt were one and the same didn’t make any difference. I could do this.

My thoughts turned to Boris Novak. I could still see his leering, stupid face and I still wanted to punch it. He didn’t look like much, but he was still a vampire. Vampires were used to being at the top of the food chain, and there wasn’t a one who wouldn’t break the Rules if they thought they could get away with it. Boris was dangerous, maybe even to me. I made a list of a few items I’d want to keep on hand until the job was over – silver-tipped bullets, fresh garlic. Crosses, despite the press, wouldn’t do shit. But a stout wooden stake wasn’t a bad idea.

You know, just in case I had to defend myself.

I realized suddenly that for the first time I was seriously considering putting one of my clients in an unmarked grave. I scolded myself mentally and shook off the thoughts. This was just a bad day. I could deal with Boris, and I could do it as a professional.

Maybe just a few silver bullets.

My phone rang, jumping in my lap and bringing me out of my thoughts. “What?” I answered.

Ada croaked on the other end of the line, “Have you cooled down yet?”

“Boris just left. I’ll do the job,” I said dully. No need to tell her I was pissed. She knew.

“Good. You have another meeting.”

“Damn it all, Ada. I don’t have time for another …”

“Tonight. Eight o’clock. My house.” She hung up on me again.

My words caught in my throat. Her house. We never had meetings at her house.

Something is going on, Maggie said.

I sifted through my anger until I was able to force my brain to change gears. She was right. Something was going on. This job was bigger than Ada purposefully trying to make my life miserable. What it was, I couldn’t fathom. I took a few long breaths and got out of my truck, heading over to a nearby bush and searching through it until I found Boris’s cigarette butt. I carried it to a nearby trash can and disposed of it. By the time I was back behind the wheel, my head had managed to clear. Nothing to do but go to Ada’s tonight and find out what was really going on.

“Sorry for the mood,” I told Maggie. “It’s been a shitty day.”

No problem. I get it. If I weren’t stuck in here, I would have twisted his head around the wrong way and told him to walk it off.

“Maybe we’ll still get the chance,” I mused, putting my truck in gear and heading out. “To hell with all of this. I’m taking the rest of the day off and getting wings before this damned meeting.”

Chapter 3

My phone pinged that I had a new email on my way over to Ada’s house. I glanced down to see it was from a company called FindYourRelatives.com, and the summary cheerfully informed me that my DNA test – submitted more than two months ago – had finally returned some results. My heart did a somersault at the prospect. I pulled into a gas station, parked, and breathlessly opened my email.

My heart fell immediately. It said, We are delighted to tell you that you are one-eighth Norwegian fjord troll! Unfortunately, you have enough Other blood to prevent us from making human DNA connections. We are unable to connect you with any relatives you may have. We hope that in the future, technological advancements will allow us to definitively isolate the human side of mixed-blood DNA. Thank you for your patronage, and please sign up for our newsletter for future announcements!

I sighed, setting my phone down on the seat next to me and rubbing my eyes. Before a couple months ago, I’d never had even the slightest bit of luck looking for my parents. I knew I’d been sold to imps as a newborn, I knew that Ada now owned me, and that was that. But after Ferryman provided me with their names, I’d begun to look again. Unfortunately, those names were so common and my job kept me so busy that I’d only been able to do internet searches and make phone calls. I’d hoped a DNA test would narrow things down a bit. I’d hoped that my troll ancestry wasn’t so recent as to muddy the waters.

But it was, as it turned out.

Sorry, Alek, Maggie said gently. I knew you were hoping this would clarify things.

“Well, one of my great-grandparents fucked a troll. I guess I’ve got that going for me.” I read through the email again. “I didn’t know Norwegian fjord trolls were even close enough to humans to mate. I guess it gets boring up there during the long winter.” I pulled out of the gas station and headed to Ada’s, my mood sour and my thoughts drifting aimlessly.

Ada lived in an upper-middle-class neighborhood in Beachwood, Ohio. It was an understated subdivision in a rather pleasant little forest, just a few minutes off the freeway. The lots were small, but the trees and tall fences provided a lot of privacy between the big, flagstone-faced homes. If you didn’t know exactly what you were looking for, it was easy to miss the turn into the subdivision as well as the subsequent turn into Ada’s driveway. I’m pretty sure that’s by design.

I pulled my truck into the driveway and put it in park, leaning forward to stare up at the two-story home. To all appearances, it was a normal home in a normal subdivision filled with normal businesspeople and their families of two-point-five children. The fact that it was exactly what it looked like had always bothered me, as if I expected Ada to live in a gingerbread house to lure in unsuspecting children and then eat them.

I brooded for several minutes, thinking about the failed DNA test and my history in this place. “Haven’t been back for a couple years,” I finally said aloud to Maggie. “You know the last time I came by, she hadn’t changed my room? Still had my Metallica poster on the wall and my baseball glove in the top dresser drawer.”

Maggie remained silent. She could sense my moods and tell that I was talking through my own nerves rather than looking for an answer.

I have a … complicated relationship with Ada. The short of it is that she owns me illegally due to some good timing and a missing contract. She works me to the bone, pays me barely enough to live on, and is generally an asshole for ninety percent of the time.

The long of it is that she also raised me. I moved in with her when she bought me from the imps at the age of eight – a slave boy and a widow in a giant house, mostly avoiding each other but still together through circumstance. She took me to school every day, came to my baseball games, then drove me to the Valkyrie Collections HQ where we’d put in a solid four hours of work each evening and most Saturdays. She had no problem working me like a slave even as a child, but in most other ways she treated me like an adopted grandson; real education, meals together daily, even the odd work trip with vacation-like activities.

We never did have proper holidays or birthdays, though. No gifts. No celebrations. That still burns to this day.

I was early, so I let myself in through the garage. I kicked off my shoes in the mud room and hung my baseball cap on the hook, padding down the immaculate tile hallway to the kitchen. I could smell fresh-made lavender tea and hear classical music coming from Ada’s office. I looked that direction for a moment, hesitating against the urge to walk in and make my report like a kid getting off the bus from school.

Instead, I found a new tin of fancy chai mix in the cupboard and made myself some tea. The kettle soon whistled, and I poured the cup, lost in my own thoughts, waiting for it to steep. I found myself thinking about Olivia. Well, thinking about her legs, to be more accurate. They’d been very nice legs, and they were attached to someone competent enough to handle being a witch without a coven. I liked that, even if she had called me stupid.

Tell me something I don’t know about Ada, Maggie suddenly said.

I pulled my thoughts away from Olivia’s legs, surprised by the request. Though we’d become more open and honest with each other the last couple months, Ada still felt like a closed-off subject to me. Maggie had respected that so far. I’m not sure there’s much to say, I said.

Oh, come on. She’s an insufferable old broad, but there’s got to be something endearing about her. Or interesting, at least.

I snorted. Not much.

Maggie was trying to cheer me up. Trying to distract me. She knew how much I didn’t like coming back here. She said, If you tell me something fun about Ada, I’ll tell you how I know Sting.

Sting?

You know, the rock star?

You’re joking. You know Sting?

Kind of.

My curiosity was genuinely piqued. Okay, I’ll bite. I considered again, trying to think of some fun tidbit I could share about my owner. Ada loves strip clubs.

What? The word came out as half a giggle and half a snort.

Yup. Once a month she takes her laptop down to Broadfellow’s downtown on a Saturday night, sets herself up in the corner, and spends six hours reviewing the company funds while the girls dance.

Ada’s gay?

Not as far as I know. She’s talked about her dead husband maybe three times in our entire time together. I’ve never seen her on a date. In fact, I try not to think about it. She’s old, gross, and she owns me. I’m just glad she never tried to give me the birds and the bees talk.

What a weird lady.

You’re telling me. Okay, spill the beans on Sting.

Before Maggie could answer, I heard the sound of slippered feet on tile and Ada appeared from around the corner. Ada was in her late sixties, above average height – a little under six feet – thin and proper, with lips always pursed and eyes always judging. To my surprise she was still wearing a sharp pantsuit and a blouse, big hooped earrings swinging and her hair done up. Ada had always been a “silk pajamas and robe the moment she walks in the door” sort of lady. But she was still dressed for work, which meant this meeting was serious.

“Are you drinking the new chai I brought back from Kolkata?” she demanded in her croaking voice.

I poured several spoonfuls of sugar, then a quarter cup of cream into my cup, stirred it, and took a long sip before answering her. “Yup.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That was four hundred dollars for that little tin.”

I sipped again. “It’s good, but I think you got ripped off.” I waited for another rebuke, but it didn’t come. Another sign Ada was on edge. “Boris Novak is a prick, by the way,” I told her. “Not that you care, but I don’t think he’s worth the trouble he’s going to be. I’m not just saying that because I don’t want to track down a thrall. This is my honest opinion.”

“Hmm.” She made a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat.

I waited for a few moments, hoping she’d engage on some level. “Are you going to tell me what this meeting is about?” I asked, changing tactics. “I can’t remember the last time we had a meeting here instead of the office.”

She made the same noncommittal noise. “Do you have anything constructive to say about Boris?”

“He’s an arrogant old shithead,” I shrugged. I’d used a lot worse words in my head, but my initial anger had burned out after filling my stomach with a couple pounds of wings on the company credit card. “Tagged me as a troll-blood right away. Called me a rockskin – that’s a new one for me. You know the type – believes the Rules are a slight on his very existence. Thinks he’s the top dog and everyone else is food.”

“Vampires.” Ada croaked it like a swearword.

“Exactly. I know we have some good vampire clients, but why the hell would you take this guy on? He’s …” I was interrupted by the sound of a car door slamming in the driveway. I frowned at Ada. For some reason the idea that this meeting was between me, her, and a third party hadn’t even entered my mind. I’d thought that she wanted to talk about Boris. I opened my mouth to ask her about it, but she cut me off.

“Show our guest into the dining room.”

Feeling no small amount of discomfort, I headed to the front of the house, using the few moments alone to try and figure out what exactly was going on. Maggie remained quiet, deep in her own thoughts. I managed to glean nothing in those precious seconds. The doorbell rang a moment before I reached it, and when I opened the door I found a middle-aged man standing on the front step and wearing designer sunglasses with loudly yellow frames, a ball cap without a logo, and a black suit and tie. He was at least eight inches shorter than me, but he made up for it in shoulder size. He looked like an MMA fighter crammed into a suit for a press conference. His nonchalant, jockish body language did nothing to dispel the impression.

He took off his sunglasses and sized me up. “You’re Alek Fitz?”

“I am,” I replied warily.

“Good. I’m Jacques Williams. Ada should be expecting me.”

I shook his hand and was pleasantly surprised when he didn’t try to give me the tough-guy squeeze. I showed him to the dining room, where Ada was already sitting on the far side of the table, a cup of lavender tea in front of her. I rounded the table to sit down beside her, allowing Jacques to take his seat. Ada looked grumpier than usual, a clear sign that she was covering up more telling feelings. There were a few moments of silence while Jacques settled in. I took the chance to examine him closely. There was something off about his face – slightly reddened eyes, skin just a little too pale. It wasn’t until Maggie spoke up that I was able to place it.

He’s a dhampir.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. Dhampir. Half human, half vampire. I’d only met a couple in my line of work. They tended to be quiet, brooding types that ended up working as OtherOps specialists because it was a good-paying job. I wondered if Jacques worked for OtherOps, and side-eyed Ada, hoping she’d come forward with an answer sooner rather than later.

“Has he been briefed?” Jacques asked.

“He’s met Boris,” Ada replied stiffly. “I’ll leave the rest to you.”

“Ah.” Jacques clasped his hands on the table and frowned down at them momentarily. “As I said, my name is Jacques Williams. I’m the US liaison for Lord Ruthven. I trust you know who that is?”

I heard Maggie snort in the back of my head. Augustus Ruthven was one of the Vampire Lords. I didn’t know much about him, to be honest. He was supposed to be one of the more forward-thinking of the old vampires – someone who enjoyed the twenty-first century rather than hiding from it in an eastern European castle. I nodded in response to Jacques’s question. “I know who he is.”

“You understand he is your primary client on the Boris Novak job?”

I looked at Ada again. This I did not know. “I’m not sure what that means.”

“It means,” Ada responded, “that we have taken on a job from Boris Novak – but that job is a front, a farce. We’re really working for Lord Ruthven.”

I was genuinely shocked. “Does Boris know about this?”

Jacques gave me a sallow smile that had only the slightest bit of condescension behind it. He spread his hands. “Let me explain in full. Boris Novak is a hundred and thirty-seven years old. He was turned into a vampire in present-day Serbia just after World War II. His predecessor is unknown. He now lives in North Royalton, Ohio where he owns an online business buying and selling antiques – mostly World War II memorabilia. Boris is what we call a “free” vampire. He exists outside our normal chain of command – he doesn’t report to any of the Vampire Lords, or anyone at all.”

“The thing is,” Jacques continued, “vampires have a … contentious relationship with the rest of the world. We are watched closely by OtherOps and their sister organizations around the world. The Rules that apply to us are incredibly strict, and OtherOps is ready to burst through our doors at a moment’s notice. The rest of the world may see us as lustful, hungry creatures driven by our base instincts, but most vampires just want to be left alone.” He paused momentarily, as if to search for the right words. “As such, we prefer to police ourselves, rather than give OtherOps an excuse for the aforementioned door-bursting.”

A watched Jacques carefully. I have a bad feeling about the direction of this conversation, I said to Maggie. I could sense her silent watchfulness, but she did not respond. To Jacques, I said, “Boris has been a bad boy?”

“Indeed he has,” Jacques said. He paused, eyes turned upward, then corrected himself. “Rather, we think he has. Boris has refused to let us audit his accounts or his thralls. This refusal is a right, as a free vampire, but we suspect that he’s hiding something. So … we are hiring your agency to take a long, hard look at Boris. While you do your job – we won’t interfere with it, of course – you are to compile reports on Boris and inform me of anything suspicious.”

My business alarms were going off. Since when do we spy on one client for another? It was against everything our company stood for. But I’m not the boss – just the working schmuck who has to follow orders – so I bit my tongue. “What do you suspect him of doing?”

“We think he’s been killing his thralls. Part of the Rules stipulates protections for the thralls, and if he’s breaking them, he could invite the wrath of OtherOps down on us all. We suspect that Michael Pavlovich has been murdered, and he’s hired you for a dead-end job to cover his own tracks.”

That was certainly a twist. I leaned back in my chair, glancing sidelong at Ada, who had remained silent through this whole thing. She looked just as irritated as she had to begin with. We did odd jobs on occasion, and those jobs always paid well. But betraying a client was beneath us. At least, it used to be. I wonder if Lord Ruthven has something he’s holding over Ada, I mused.

I was just thinking the same thing, Maggie responded. It’s not like her to be blackmailed. She’s so …

Boring?

Maggie snorted a laugh. By the book.

You say potato … I turned my attention back to Jacques. “So, I do this work for Boris Novak. If I find the kid, I report all is fine. If I don’t, then you guys sweep in and break his legs?”

“It may turn out more complicated than that,” Jacques admitted, “which is why we’re hiring you and not a private investigator of our own. For now, though, that’s a good simplification.”

I took a deep breath and let it come out slowly, staring over Jacques’s shoulder while I considered this whole mess.

I don’t like it, Maggie grumbled. There’s something he’s not telling us.

Is that your lie detector, or just a hunch? I asked. Maggie’s jinn lie detector was pretty spot on, if used against humans or the lesser Other. The more powerful the being, the harder it was for her to pin them down.

Lie detector, she responded. He’s leaving out details for sure.

Of course he is. I sighed inwardly. I don’t like it either, but it’s not like I can say no. Ada has already promised my help, and what she says goes. At least I know why she needs me to do it rather than making Jose and Karen take care of it. There was no way she was going to tell any of the other reapers that we were double-crossing a client. It was a bad precedent to set.

Ada suddenly cleared her throat. “You are at Mr. William’s disposal for the length of the Novak job. As long as you don’t work against Novak, we haven’t broken our contract with the client and my conscience is clear.”

That’s bullshit and she knows it, Maggie grunted. Even having this meeting is working against Boris.

I forced a businesslike smile on my face and directed it toward Jacques. “I suppose that means mine is as well. Leave me your card, and I’ll make sure to keep in touch.”

Jacques produced a card from his breast pocket and slid it across the table toward me. It said Commander Jacques Williams and then in smaller letters, italicized, acting on behalf of Lord Augustus Ruthven. It had mailing address, email, and phone number underneath.

“Commander of what?” I asked Jacques.

“Royal Canadian Navy,” he said. “Retired, of course. Spent a few years as a vampire liaison for OtherOps, but I’ve been with Lord Ruthven for eight years now.”

I pocketed the card, then stood up and showed Jacques to the door. After he’d left, I watched him walk to his car and leave before I returned to the dining room, where Ada was still sitting in an unhappy silence, both hands curled around her cup of tea. “What’s the deal?” I asked bluntly.

She started out of her thoughts, and her eyes focused on me. She frowned. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” I repeated flatly.

“Nothing. We do both jobs, we get paid twice. Then we step aside and allow the Vampire Lords to administer whatever justice they may or may not see fit to deliver.”

I had an argument on the tip of my tongue, about how I could plainly see she was uncomfortable with this whole thing and how it was better for the business if she was honest with me right now so we could get out of whatever mess we were now in, but the argument died before I could voice it. It wasn’t often I saw her so obviously out of sorts like this. It almost made me feel sorry for her. I finally gave her a nod and returned to the kitchen, where I found my half-drunk chai had cooled. I downed it in a couple of gulps and then stepped out on the back patio, where I watched the bats flit around as dusk began to converge. I had a brief moment of nostalgia, of watching these bats as a teenager living in this very house.

She’s definitely lying about this being nothing, Maggie told me. But I can’t get a line on what else is going on.

I figured. I bit my bottom lip, irritated with this strange protective feeling I suddenly had for Ada. Knowing that you had Stockholm syndrome doesn’t make it any easier. Fuck. I guess I have to find this dumb kid. I pulled the picture out of my pocket, gazed at Michael for a few moments, then put it away again. Whatever is happening with Ada is going to affect me too. Keep your eyes peeled and your senses sharp. I may not like thralls, but I like the idea of being dicked over by a Vampire Lord’s lackey even less.

Chapter 4

I began my search for Michael Pavlovich at the Walz Branch of the Cleveland Public Library. What I really needed was a workable file on Michael. Boris’s refusal to help on that front meant that I needed to construct the file from scratch – known associates, old workplaces, possible cell phone numbers. Very basic investigative stuff. Of course, I could save myself a whole lot of work if I just had access to a preexisting file.

Michael being a thrall, and all the legal paperwork that came with it, probably meant that OtherOps had at least a cursory file on him. Problem was that my friend Justin, who I would normally call for this kind of favor, had been pretty cagey since Nick the Necromancer smashed up a Starbucks, then my truck, trying to get at Maggie’s ring a few months ago. I refused to answer OtherOps’s questions about the attack, and the investigation was still ongoing.

So calling Justin was off the table. Lucky for me, one of my regular informants had sold me a low-clearance OtherOps login and password.

I found a public computer with the screen facing one of the walls and logged into the OtherOps account. It didn’t take long to search their records for Michael and, as I suspected, they did have a file. What I did not expect was how large the file actually was. I checked to make sure no one was around to see me browsing an encrypted government website, then settled in for the read.

Michael graduated from Lincoln West High School in 2015. Within a week of his graduation, his parents reported him missing. He was eighteen, so a bulletin had been posted but no amber alert. Three months later, Michael reported himself safe to the local police department. A couple weeks after that, his thrall paperwork was filed. By the time Michael turned nineteen, Michael was officially a thrall of Boris Novak. But the file didn’t end there.

I tapped the screen. Look at this. Six months after becoming a thrall, Michael and Boris filed jointly for a restraining order against Micheal’s family. Sounds like they were not happy about his new life. Restraining order renewed the following year. His mother died the next year, and then nothing else in the system. Michael was left to his fate. I felt a brief pang of sadness over the thought of a heartbroken mother trying to bring her son back from slavery and the system working against her. Michael might be a dumb piece of shit, but she certainly didn’t deserve that.

Just out of curiosity, I clicked off of Michael’s file and searched for Boris Novak. The website gave me an error with a little message saying that Boris’s file was above my stolen login’s security clearance. I clicked back to Michael and sat back, eyeballing it for a few minutes.

The file didn’t tell me a lot, aside from the fact that Michael had likely alienated all his family and friends by becoming Boris’s thrall. There was a slightly updated photo, this one taken the day the thrall paperwork went through, but the most valuable thing on the webpage was a list of known contacts and their phone numbers. I took a screenshot and emailed it to myself.

Any thoughts on this? I asked Maggie.

She sniffed. That the whole thing is gross.

No disagreement here.

I mean, you shouldn’t be involved. Look, I know it’s not your fault, Ada has your leash and all that, but …

I took a deep breath and waited for a scolding. But?

But you’re tracking down a runaway slave. That’s …

“Despicable,” I finished for her aloud. “Yeah. I know.”

Maggie fell silent. I tried to shake off my own disgust. I sighed softly to myself, logging out of the OtherOps website and wiping my browser history before heading back out to my truck. I sat in silence for a couple of minutes, the two of us unhappily sharing the same head, before I turned myself back to my work. I started on the list of contacts and began to work through them, phone tucked against my shoulder and a pen and paper laid against the steering wheel.

I spent the next couple of hours in that position. I called thirty-seven different numbers – some of them from the list, and others gleaned through internet searches. By the time I was done, I still felt super gross about my job and was hot, sweaty, and frustrated on top of it. I hung up when the last number came back as disconnected and tossed my phone onto the passenger seat. “Nothing, damn it. Nobody has seen him in years. Mom is dead. Dad is working on a fishing boat off the Alaskan coast and won’t be back for a month.” I paused when Maggie didn’t respond. “Look, I know what I’m doing is horrible. I wish I had a choice. But Michael, and people like him, sign up willingly for this shit. They want to be vampires. They think it’s worth slavery to gain immortality. They backed out of the contract. I’m not the goddamn bad guy.”

I knew I didn’t have any real conviction behind the words, but I really needed to believe it in the moment. It came as a kind of reprieve when Maggie finally replied. The comment was out of line. Sorry. You’re right.

I could tell by her tone that she still disagreed, but I also recognized the gesture of reconciliation. It was enough. “Thanks.” I picked up my phone and dialed a number. It rang a couple times before picking up.

“Zeke’s Pawn and Charity, Fred speaking.” The voice sounded exactly like Danny DeVito. It made me laugh every damned time.

“It’s still Fred, is it?” I asked. “It’s Alek.”

“Hey, bud! Yeah, still going by Fred. Damned loan sharks are looking for Zeke. How’s that OtherOps login working for you?”

“Like a charm. Wouldn’t mind a higher clearance level next time.”

“Good, good. I’ll see what I can do, but you know that gets way riskier. Is that what you’re calling about?”

I hesitated for a moment. “Not exactly. I have kind of a weird question.”

“I just had a couple elves in here trying to sell me their sex toy collection, so it won’t be the weirdest part of my day.”

That image cheered me up a little. Even Maggie laughed. “Do vampire thralls hang out?” I asked.

“Eh?”

“Like are there discos or clubs or whatever the hell kids call them these days that cater exclusively to thralls?” One of the things I’d learned in my career is that most of the Other were just like humans. They sought out their own kind to create hierarchies, form protective covens, or even just to socialize.

“Discos? Damn, Alek. What decade is it?” Zeke seemed to consider the question. I could hear him shuffling through some papers. Some bottles clinked, and he said, “Yeah, I think I can help you there. Fifty dollars?”

“Sure. Put it on my tab.”

“Right. You’re looking for a place called Sip’n’Bite.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. You know those soda-stream places that are popping up everywhere? It’s one of those. Pretty good business model, from what I’ve heard. It’s ninety-eight percent a totally normal junk food hangout locale.”

“What’s the other two percent?”

“Say the password, and they add a watered-down shot of blood to your root beer float.”

“Ew.”

“Ew to me and you, yeah. Like crack cocaine to a thrall. Drinking straight blood will make them sick, but watered down … I’m told it tastes like candy to them. It’s a side effect of the contract they sign with their master.”

While Zeke talked, I opened a map on my phone and typed in the name of the place. There were three within an hour drive. One down in Akron, one in Bedford, and one in Parma Heights. “All right, thanks for the tip.”

“Are you working a runaway?” Zeke asked. “Isn’t that normally Jose and Karen?”

I grimaced. “Special circumstance. Keep it quiet for me, will ya? Oh, and don’t think I’ve forgotten about the espresso machine you owe me. Going on three months now, man.”

“I haven’t had any good ones come through,” Zeke protested. “I promised you a good one, and what Zeke promises, Zeke delivers.”

“Sure he does. Have a good one, Zeke.” I hung up and checked the map on my phone again. It was time to do some serious footwork.

I began with the Sip’n’Bite in Parma, then headed down to Akron, and worked my way back up to Bedford. I got nothing from the first two, showing off Michael’s high school photo to the customers and staff. There wasn’t a flicker of recognition from anyone. I felt my chances lagging when I found the Sip’n’Bite in a generic strip mall well off the highway in Bedford. I entered just before close. A couple young teenagers were flirting badly in one corner while the sole employee swept the floor with that dejected look on his face that you can only get working eight hours of customer service. I showed the photo to the lovebirds first.

Both of them shook their heads, but out of the corner of my eye I saw the employee’s head whip around to stare at me. He looked down quickly, but it was too late. He damn well recognized that name, and I knew it now.

I played it casual, thanking the teenagers and then turning around. The employee fled behind the order counter, staring at the floor as he began to empty the trash bins. He was tall and gangly, with a face pockmarked with acne. He had a mop of long, brown hair. He could have been anywhere from eighteen to twenty-five. I cleared my throat loudly, drumming my fingers on the order counter, and he flinched. Wiping his hands on his apron, he came over to me.

“Welcome to Sip’n’Bite, home of the triple-fried chili cheese fingers. What can I get you to sip today, sir?”

I genuinely almost laughed. The poor guy looked like a whipped dog standing there on the other side of the counter. I pretended to peruse the menu, then pulled out the photo of Michael and set it in front of him. “Sorry to bother you at work, bud, but I’m trying to find a guy named Michael Pavlovich. Do you know him?”

“Never seen him before,” he muttered.

He telling the truth? I asked Maggie. There was no answer, though I could feel her presence like someone looking over my shoulder. Despite her earlier apology, she was still mad at me. I decided not to start a fight in my own head. Besides, I was still enough of a professional to know when someone is so obviously uncomfortable with my questions. “That’s more convincing if you make eye contact with the photo,” I said gently, checking his name tag. It said, in cheerful Comic Sans, Hi, my name is BYRON. “Byron, do I actually have to know the password to get the blood in my drink, or can I just ask you for it?”

Byron swallowed hard, staring at anything but me like I was a cop who had just found weed in his glove compartment. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.” His voice trembled.

“Seriously?” I rolled my eyes. “Look, I’m just trying to find Michael. He was reported missing yesterday. I heard he hangs out here.”

Byron’s face screwed up and he looked down at the picture. “He doesn’t hang out here,” he finally said.

“But you do know him?”

Byron looked over his shoulder, even though the kitchen behind him was obviously empty. He remained silent, and it took me a few moments to realize he was waiting for the flirty teens behind me to make their exit. Once they’d stumbled out the front door, hands all over each other, he let out a trembling sigh. “You a PI or something?”

“Or something,” I responded vaguely.

That seemed to be enough for him. “He’s not in trouble, is he?”

“Just missing,” I assured. “I’m trying to find him.”

“It’s just … he’s my cousin. Well, second cousin once removed, technically. I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

I considered the list I’d stolen from the OtherOps database. Byron’s name hadn’t been on it. I was willing to bet his family name was, though. “You think something bad has happened?”

Byron seemed surprised by the question. “I … I don’t think so. I mean I just don’t want him getting in shit deep. I’m kinda, you know …” He trailed off and returned to looking uncomfortably at the floor.

“I don’t know.” This kid is all over the place, I told Maggie. Was I like this when we met?

Only around women, Maggie broke her silence curtly.

I snorted, covering it up by wiping my nose. I removed a roll of twenties from my pocket – my “light bribe” stash – and peeled off a few, sliding them across the counter. “Can you explain to me what you’re worried about, Byron?”

Byron made those twenties disappear quickly. They seemed to give him a little strength. He licked his lips, nodded to himself, then said, “Look, I’m worried about the Mike. And I feel bad.”

“About?”

“He’s had a hard time of things. You know, with Boris. I’m the one who introduced them, so I feel kind of responsible.”

That caught my attention. “How did you introduce them?”

“Mike was hanging out at the Sip’n’Bite in Parma. I was working there as a summer job – you know, family business and all. Boris would come in scouting for thralls. Took a shine to Mike.”

“Has Boris hurt him?”

“What? No, not that I know. But Mike is a sensitive guy. It would be easier on him if Boris just beat him once in a while, but that’s against the Rules, so Boris just … yells a lot.”

“You know Boris well?”

“Enough. He courted me as a thrall back during my senior year. Ended up taking on Mike instead. Man, I was jealous too. Super jealous. Didn’t realize how big of a dick Boris could be. I dodged a bullet.”

I could feel Maggie hanging out in the back of my head, quietly listening to the conversation, quietly judging my entire part in this. I hated it, but I kept my professional face on. “Do you think something has happened to Michael?”

“Honestly? No idea. He’s smarter than most people give him credit for. Came in here two days ago asking to borrow some money. My dad owns this place, so I lent him a hundred bucks out of the register. Been having a feeling like I’m not going to get that money back, though …” He trailed off, staring at my hand still holding the roll of twenties. I peeled off five more and slid them over.

“Consider Mike’s debt paid.”

Relief crossed Byron’s face. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem.” It was Lord Ruthven’s money, not mine. “Any idea where he went after you gave him the cash?”

“No, sorry. He refused to say. Look, I’ve got to finish up. My dad will chew me out if I don’t close on time tonight.”

Maggie made no comment, so I took it as truth. “All right, thanks for your help.” I reached into my endless wallet – one of my favorite magical items that lets me carry around anything I can fit through the opening – and produced a fake business card. It said, Alex Frome, Private Investigator, and gave a number that routed to my real one. “If you see him again, could you call my number? He’s got some people very worried about him.”

Byron nodded along and I left, returning to my truck to meditate on this new information. It was almost dark, the lights of the parking lot flickering overhead while “Turn Your Love Around” played on the radio. I considered the options for my next move, then fished around in my wallet for Jacques’s card. I dialed the number.

“Williams here,” the voice answered.

“Jacques, it’s Alek Fitz.”

“Ah. Alek. I didn’t expect to hear from you for a few more days. Have you already made progress?”

“Maybe. Quick question: what day did you hire Ada?”

“I could check my calendar, but I’m pretty sure we talked on Saturday. That’s the day my sources confirmed that Boris had hired Valkyrie Collections to track down Michael. Is there a reason you need to know?”

“I’ll write up a proper report in the morning, but I’m pretty sure Michael Pavlovich is still alive.”

“Why is that?”

I summed up the conversation with Byron, then explained my thoughts on the timeline to Jacques. “Boris called my boss on Friday. Michael borrowed money from his cousin on Sunday. So Boris couldn’t have killed Michael and then hired us as a cover up.”

Jacques was quiet for a few moments. “Yes, I can see the logic. Unless Boris knew that Michael was going to run away, and he’s done the murder in the last forty-eight hours.”

He seems awfully fixated on the idea that Boris has killed Michael, Maggie commented suddenly.

“Do you have any evidence that Boris is a killer?” I asked Jacques. “Sounds like he’s a regular around these Sip’n’Bites and has never been seen raising a hand in violence against his thralls.”

“Trust me,” Jacques said confidently. “Boris is a killer. Though I suppose that if you can find Michael alive, that’s a good thing.”

He supposes. I rolled my eyes. Fucking vampires. “I’ll keep looking, of course,” I told him. “Business as discussed yesterday, then?”

“Of course, of course. Keep a close eye on Boris. In fact, I want you to string this job along. I’ve heard you get quick results, so I need you to slow things down for Boris so you can spend more time investigating his affairs. Even if he hasn’t killed Michael, I know there’s evidence that he’s breaking the Rules. I need you to get that evidence before it gets to OtherOps.”

I scoffed. I’d never actually been told to take longer on a job before. The whole “reporting on one client to another” had rubbed me the wrong way. But getting paid to waste time sounded kind of fantastic. As long as Boris didn’t walk in on me twiddling my thumbs at a KFC, I could get a nice, relaxing week out of this. Something told me that wasn’t going to go down as easy as I’d like, though.

I agreed with Jacques and hung up. I ran a hand across my face. Well, at least I’d been given permission to head home and spend the rest of the night watching old movies. Maybe I’d even start work late tomorrow. Customer is king, after all.

“Look,” I said to Maggie, “can we agree that neither of us likes this situation and stay friends? You don’t have to help if you don’t want to, but it’s going to be a miserable couple of weeks if you’re mad at me this whole time.”

I could sense Maggie stewing. She didn’t answer.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” I asked.

Fine, she finally answered. It’s not your fault. You just don’t need to be so hard on these thralls.

“Oh, come on. They chose …” I cut myself off. “Ack. Sorry. I won’t start a fight if you won’t. Deal?”

Deal.

“Thanks.” I genuinely felt better already. “Like I said, you don’t have to help if you don’t want to, but … you said Jacques isn’t telling me everything, right?”

Right.

“Was he still not telling me everything?”

Definitely.

“I thought so. Is there a chance that he’s going to frame Boris? Did he kill Michael himself?”

I don’t think so. He wasn’t lying when he said that it was a good thing if you find Michael alive.

“That’s something, at least. But he is widening the scope of my job – actively looking for evidence that Boris is breaking the Rules, rather than just finding out if Michael is dead. Should I call Ada?”

She said you were at Williams’s disposal. Seems to fit the job.

“She also said that I shouldn’t work directly against Novak.”

And that was bullshit. You were already hired to look for evidence that Novak broke the Rules. Williams is just telling you to look a bit wider. I don’t think anything has actually changed.

Maggie was right. It wasn’t hard to talk myself out of calling Ada. It would be a waste of breath and would just continue to look like I was trying to get out of the job. I may be a slave, but I did have some professional pride. “All right. Let’s assume that Michael Pavlovich is alive and on the run from his vampire master. Where the hell do I go from here? Has he hopped a bus to somewhere on the other side of the country?”

I doubt it. None of the contacts in that OtherOps file were outside of the greater Cleveland area, and he only has a high school education. He has nowhere to go outside Ohio.

“Poor bastard. Then we have our next step: we find out where thralls go when they run away.”

Chapter 5

I spent four days wasting time, half-heartedly questioning my Cleveland-area contacts about thralls, Michael Pavlovich, and Boris Novak. It was a fairly fruitless endeavor. Nobody knew anything about Michael. The few people who did know Boris said he was an asshole. And thralls? Well. Nobody gives a shit about thralls. They were the persona non grata of the Other, lower on the totem pole than even imps. A teeny tiny bit of me started to feel bad for them.

I was attempting to sleep in on a weekend – I’d been told to take it slow, after all – when my phone began to buzz. I picked it up and squinted at the phone. It was eight in the morning. I would have ignored it if the number hadn’t said Justin’s Office.

That woke me up real quick. I sat up, wiping some drool from the corner of my mouth, and answered. “Alek Fitz.”

“Alek,” came Justin’s response. “It’s Justin. Long time no talk. You doing well?”

“Justin, it’s fucking eight in the morning on a Sunday. I might work these kind of hours, but I know you don’t. What’s going on?”

There was a long pause. “No small talk then, huh?”

I was worried now, and I rolled over to sit on the edge of my bed. Maggie, wake up.

I’m up. What’s going on?

I didn’t answer her. “No,” I told Justin. “No small talk. Is everything okay?” I felt a spike of fear as I wondered if OtherOps had found out that I was using that stolen login info to search their database. I reasoned with myself that even Justin probably wouldn’t give me a heads up if I was in really deep shit. He’d be knocking on my door with a couple of arresting officers, not calling me at this hour.

“Yeah, everything is okay,” Justin said slowly. “Hey, do you remember all that stuff with Kimberly Donavon?”

It was hard not to, between the necromancer that tried to kill me for Maggie’s ring and the whole situation with Ferryman happening at the same time. I switched gears mentally, but that fear didn’t go away. “I do.”

“You’re not ready to talk about that yet, are you?”

I felt Maggie tense up in the back of my head. I rubbed the gunk out of my eyes. There was no way he was calling just because of that. I hadn’t heard from him for six or seven weeks after I told one of his nosier colleagues to go fuck himself. “Not really,” I told him.

“That’s … not great.”

“Why?”

Another long pause. “Look, I’m not supposed to tell you any of this. My boss was pretty pissed that you wouldn’t testify beyond acknowledging that Nick the Necromancer attacked you. But here’s the deal: we’ve been investigating Kimberly Donavon’s involvement in all of that for the last couple of months while she sits in a holding cell in Canton. She hasn’t said a word since we arrested her, but we finally worked out a deal with her lawyer. In exchange for witness protection, she’s going to tell us about the whole situation.”

Maggie inhaled sharply. If Kimberly spilled her guts to OtherOps, they would know that I was holding Maggie’s ring. They might keep a lid on it and treat her privacy with respect … or the whole thing might go public and everyone would know that I’m carrying around a jinn. In the short term, that would destroy the ace-in-the-hole that gave me an edge in my job. In the long term, it meant that all of Maggie’s old enemies – or any human or Other who decided to try to capture the power of an enslaved jinn – would come looking to kill me and get her ring.

So. Not great news.

“Okay,” I replied lamely.

“Thing is,” Justin said, “we made that deal on Friday. Last night, someone shanked Kimberly in her cell. It was messy too. A corrupt guard made sure the cell door was open and two of the other prisoners tried to kill her. She’s still holding on, but she’s in critical condition. We’re moving her to a supermax hospital wing.”

I digested this news. I kinda hoped Kimberly didn’t make it but immediately felt ashamed at the hope. She was not a bad person, after all. I didn’t have to ask to know that Maggie was cheering for that untimely death. I considered the implications and wondered if OtherOps was going to try to finger me for the attack. “Is she going to make it?”

“The staff thinks so. The reason I’m calling you is this: we’re pretty sure someone put Kimberly up to the whole thing – hiring Nick to kill you and all that. It doesn’t make sense, otherwise. She’s an intermediary. I’m worried that whoever did this – well, they’re trying to shut her up now. And if they have the juice to get someone shanked inside an OtherOps prison, they’re probably a serious badass. I’m worried they might come after you directly, and I wanted to give you a heads up.”

“And?”

“Aaaaaand offer you protection if you’re willing to talk about it.” He kept talking quickly, before I could answer. “If you know something, we can put a couple of specialists on your tail, watching your back for a couple of months while we sort it all out. Even if it’s one of your clients, if they mean you harm, they’re going outside the Rules and it won’t affect your reputation to put a stop to the whole thing.”

I ran a hand through my hair, still trying to shake the last of the sleep from my head. Mags? I could feel her pacing around, the nervous energy trickling through the back of my head. It’s Matthias, isn’t it?

It has to be. The fucker let OtherOps get too close and is trying to clean up his mess now. Once he takes care of Kimberly and Nick, he’ll work out another way to get at me. At us.

Us. Maggie was his old enemy, but I was the bearer of her ring, so by default I was a target too. I was annoyed more than angry. Maggie was my friend. I would do what I could to protect her. How long do we have until Matthias decides to try again?

No idea. He’s patient as hell. I hope it’s not for a while, but …

But what?

I’m making my own plans. I still hope we can lure him in at some point and force him to let me out of here.

It was an option that we’d talked about off and on since I found out about Matthias. It put both of us at extreme risk, but it did so on our terms.

Do we tell OtherOps the whole thing and hope they can find Matthias before he decides to take another crack at us? Maybe they can convince him to let you out.

She considered this for a few moments. If I thought OtherOps could help, I would have said so long ago. But I don’t trust any of their magicians with my ring any more than I do Matthias.

Understood. If Kimberly pulls through and tells OtherOps what she knows, we might not have a choice. For now I’m gonna keep it quiet.

Agreed, Maggie replied.

“Alek?” Justin asked. “You still there?”

“I’m here. Look, I’ve got nothing to add. Sorry. Thanks for giving me the heads up about Kimberly. I’ll watch my back and let you know if anything else happens.”

Justin sighed unhappily. “You’re sure?”

“Definitely.”

“All right. I don’t mind saying I’m worried about you. Let’s get a beer soon.”

“Will do. Have a good one.” I hung up and blinked down at my bare feet for a couple of minutes, considering the conversation. “This is the last thing I need right now.”

Justin is a good guy, Maggie replied.

“Yeah, he is. Shit.” I looked at the calendar on my phone, then scrolled through the notes I’d taken over the last few days. I wondered if I was taking things too slow. It was time, I decided, to get back to work.

I waited a few hours before calling my client. He was answered on the fifth ring.

“Who the fuck is this?” a gruff voice asked.

“Boris, it’s Alek Fitz.”

He snorted. “Rockskin. What do you have for me?”

“I’ve got nothing. I’ve spent all last week trying to recreate a full file on Michael and trace his steps. If you want me to catch this guy, you’ve got to give me more information. I need to know his hobbies, his friends, what he does throughout the day. He’s got a life, doesn’t he?”

Boris made a disgusted sound. “I don’t know what he does. He’s my thrall, not my goddamned boyfriend. I’m out of town. Business trip. I don’t have time for your shit.”

“I’m telling you …”

“I’m telling you to do your job, rockskin,” he cut me off. “You call me again when you find him, yeah?” Boris hung up on me.

I’m beginning to think Boris might be hard to work with, Maggie said lightly.

“You don’t say?” I thumbed through my notes once more, looking for a handful of things I’d written down over the last couple of days. “Ah, here we go.”

What’s that?

I’m pretty sure this is Boris’s address. I’m willing to bet he has several other thralls. If Boris won’t help, I’m going to talk to them.

Boris lived off a deeply wooded, crumbling lane in North Royalton. The gravel driveway was barely visible from the road; just one cracked yellow mailbox marked the location, with the track leading down through the pines. I stopped in the street to watch the property for a moment, wondering how pissed Boris was going to be when he found out that I had come to his home.

“You sense anything?” I asked Maggie.

No wards. No protection of any kind, as far as I can tell. There’s some old barbed wire on the north end of the property, but who knows if that was even Boris who put it there. I sense three people on the premises. They’re all human, but they have that weird aura that thralls have due to their connection with their master.

No Boris?

No Boris, she confirmed. I’d be careful regardless. Vampires don’t live to be over a hundred without making some enemies, so I’d bet at least one of those thralls is armed and has instructions to shoot first and ask questions later.

Noted. I decided to head in on foot, leaving my truck parked in the lane and putting on my Valkyrie Collections ball cap and my flack vest – just in case. I made sure my Glock was loaded, slid it into my wallet, then headed in. There was a large No Trespassing sign just around the hill, and then the house came into sight.

It wasn’t exactly a castle. It was a two-story split level, kind of long and rambling with faded brown and green paint and a half-assed addition that seemed to collide with the hillside about thirty yards to my left. The roof was long overdue for replacement, most of the shingles covered in a thin layer of bright green moss. There was a patch of grass in front of the house, nicely manicured, but the rest of the yard was full of old junk – car parts, scrap metal, wood-ends from a sawmill. I took a guess that one of the thralls really wanted things to be neat and orderly, while the others, and probably Boris himself, didn’t give a shit.

There was a No Soliciting! sign on the front door. You getting anything else now that we’re closer? I asked Maggie.

Yeah. Like I said, no wards. Definitely a bunch of guns, but who knows if they’re loaded or if they’re antiques for his business. One of the thralls is downstairs watching cartoons. Another is off in a barn at the back of the property. The third is taking a nap. Nobody has noticed you yet.

I cleared my throat, straightened my shoulders, and pounded on the door.

Try again, Maggie told me after a minute. I followed her instructions. She said, Ah, napper has woken up. He’s heading down the stairs.

A split second later I heard footsteps, then saw a broad face peering through the window. It belonged to a man about my age, tall and heavy with a wispy beard. I tipped my hat and gave him a polite smile.

“No soliciting,” he replied through the glass.

“I’m not selling anything,” I told him. “Your master hired me to find your thrall-sibling. Just came by to ask you a few questions.”

He stared back at me with a mixture of dull kind of curiosity, one eye squinted at me like he couldn’t quite trust what I was saying. It made him look like he’d just shit himself. “I, uh …”

“It’ll just take a few minutes,” I assured him.

He kept that look on his face for several more seconds before he finally gave a resigned nod. I heard a couple of chains being removed, then a deadbolt sliding, and the door opened up. He was wearing a SpongeBob T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts with tall athletic socks, his hair slick with sweat. “Hi.”

“Alek Fitz,” I introduced myself, offering my hand.

He shook it, his own hand doughy and sweaty. “I’m Sam. Sam Baskin. Look, I’m not sure if you’re supposed to be here.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him, putting on my best put-upon-working-Joe face. “Your master didn’t tell you what I’m doing?”

“He said he hired someone to find Michael, but he didn’t say you wanted to talk to us …”

“Can I come in?” I asked. “Thanks.” I squeezed past him without waiting for an answer. The foyer was old slate tile, the walls covered in a floral paper pattern that looked original to the house. The inside seemed organized much like the outside – there was junk everywhere, furniture and boxes piled up against the walls, but with a neat little pathway carved out through the middle, vacuumed and tidy. A quick glance into the rest of the house told much the same story. The junk itself didn’t quite seem to be hoarder level – it was fairly organized, without visible trash piled up – but it had long ago exceeded collector status.

Sam gave a defeated sigh. “I … I suppose you can come into the living room.” He gave me a consternated look. “Am I supposed to offer you something to drink?”

Boris doesn’t entertain much, does he? I commented to Maggie.

No kidding. I’m getting a better sense of the place now that we’re inside and it is just … wow.

“Nothing for me, thanks,” I said to Sam, following him into the living room. There were a dozen cages hanging from the ceiling, filled with exotic birds. They all began to squawk and talk as we entered, and it took Sam a good minute of shushing before they settled down. While he was doing that, I took another surreptitious glance at the place. Considering the birds, it smelled better than I expected. A bit musty, but whoever cared for the creatures kept them clean. There was one big kennel in the corner, but it was obscured by an old desk. There were couches, but they were underneath piles of boxes – Star Wars toys, hardcover books, stuffed animals, and miscellaneous electronics, at a glance. “You guys have an eBay store to supplement the antiques business?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Sam replied, a nervous smile flitting across his face. “Boris handles all the antiques, of course. We do the buying and selling of all the other stuff.”

“Michael helped with all that?”

“Before he ran away, yeah.”

I took out a notebook and a pen, trying to look professional, and leaned against a dresser that took up much of the middle of the room.

“What kind of a guy is Michael?”

Sam looked around one more time, as if trying to find someone else to answer my questions, before sagging slightly. “He’s a good guy. Quiet. Careful with the pets. Helps keep things at least a little tidy around here.” He flinched when he said tidy, and I guessed that he was the one responsible for the little bit of care going into the look of the place.

I was beginning to feel a little uneasy myself. I’d dealt with hoarders and shut-ins and all sorts of people and places in my time. Some of the situations just didn’t sit well with me, and this was one of them. This isn’t a nice place, I told Maggie. I don’t see any way that Boris is breaking the law, but I can’t believe he makes people live like this.

Maggie made a sound of agreement.

“Did you know he was going to run away?”

Sam shook his head.

Gently, I said, “I’m not going to tell Boris if you did.”

“I didn’t, I promise. Look, we all know our contracts. Boris might yell a lot, and he’s dirty as hell, but he’s not too bad a master. I’ve heard of worse. Mike didn’t give any sign he was planning on leaving. We just woke up one day and he was gone. Left a note for me saying that he’d muddied the trail and not to follow him.”

“His handwriting?”

“Definitely.”

“What does muddied the trail mean?”

Sam shook his head.

I asked, “And what day was this?”

“Last Tuesday.”

“Boris went looking for him?”

Sam shrugged. “I guess. Boris is gone a lot, what with his work. He said Mike would come back on his own soon. Threatened us all if we tried to leave. Then went about like business as usual. I was honestly surprised that he bothered to hire someone at all. He didn’t seem to care all that much. Then on Friday he got blood-drunk and started ranting about how if he didn’t make an example of Mike, then we’d all leave him.” It took Sam a moment to realize what he’d said, then his face went white. “But like I said,” he added quickly, “Boris is a good master. Great, you know?”

“Of course, of course,” I assured him gently. On the other side of the room, in the kennel that was out of sight, I heard something move around. It sounded bigger than the birds. I ignored it and brought Boris’s file up on my phone. “There are two other thralls, right? JD Butler and Ed Czechowski. Do they know where Michael went?”

Sam shook his head. “JD is brand new, and Michael and Ed have always avoided each other. Can’t say I’ve heard them exchange more than a few sentences.”

I wasn’t going to waste my time, then. “If you don’t mind me asking, what made you want to become a thrall?”

For a moment I thought I’d made a major misstep. Sam turned visibly pale, cleared his throat, and looked over one shoulder. He glanced around the room at anything but me before muttering, “Wanna be a vampire, you know? Immortality. Play video games for the next few hundred years.”

Humans are very odd, Maggie commented.

I pulled the conversation back to my quarry. “Do you have any idea where Michael might have gone?”

“If I did, I would have told Boris.”

“Right. Is there anything you might have … overlooked? Any little details that could be helpful in me tracking down Michael?”

Sam glanced off to one side, looking even more uncomfortable than normal. “I don’t know.”

Definitely lying, Maggie snorted.

I forced Sam to meet my gaze. “You’re sure?”

“Well … I mean, Boris probably already told you this, but Michael was getting sweet on a girl at his work.”

I wrote this down, using the opportunity to cuss Boris out in the back of my head. That asshole couldn’t have at least mentioned that Michael had a job? And a girlfriend? Aloud, I said, “Where does he work?”

“At a little garden shop down in Hinckley. Mum’s Hearth and Yard. I don’t know his girlfriend’s name. I don’t …” He trailed off, looking down at his hands.

Even without Maggie saying anything, I got the distinct impression there was more information. “Sam, my job is to bring Michael back safe and sound. There are proper Hunters out there who get their kicks from tracking down and murdering runaway thralls. If I don’t find him, one of them might.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. I’d heard a story or two. But it wasn’t necessarily the truth either. “His girlfriend’s name would be really helpful.”

I could see him wrestling with the decision. Finally, he said, “I think he wrote her name down somewhere. I’ll go look around his room. Be right back.” He hurried out before I could say anything. I heard his footsteps go up the stairs, then down a long hallway to the other end of the house. I pursed my lips, feeling a little pleased and a little crappy. Maggie, thankfully, kept her comments to herself.

I’d been alone for maybe twenty seconds when I heard a shuffle in that kennel in the corner. Curious what other pets they kept, I began to walk that direction but came up short when I heard a soft male voice say, “Hey. Hey, you. Come here.”

I paused. It was hard to pinpoint the exact location of the voice. “Excuse me?”

“Shush. I’m not talking to you.”

I glanced over my shoulder, then began to peek into boxes looking for some kind of radio or phone or something. “Who are you talking to?”

“Who do you think? Genie lady, would you tell your human to shut up for a moment so we can have a conversation?”

Uhhhh … Maggie said in my head. What the hell was that?

If my hackles hadn’t been up before, they were now. Maggie?

I have no idea. I can’t even tell where it’s coming from.

“It’s coming from the kennel in the corner, dummies. Human, bring your genie lady friend over here.”

You can hear me? Maggie demanded. It was the first time I’d ever heard her speak – inside my head – to someone else. It was weird.

“Of course I can hear you. Now you, human. Alek? Come over here.”

Slowly, hesitantly, I walked to the corner of the room. It was occupied by a kennel about six foot by six foot and maybe four feet tall. At first glance, it contained a whole bunch of old towels, a litter box, and an exceptionally large cat. The cat was maybe twenty or twenty-five pounds with a sleek blue-cream torte coat. It took a few moments of watching him before the cat gave itself a little shake and I could see that the fur on his back was actually wings that blended in perfectly with the rest of him.

Holy shit, Maggie said. That’s a sphinx!

I stared cautiously at the animal. I thought sphinxes had human faces. And were female.

“That’s rude of you to talk about me like I can’t hear you both. I’m an Egyptian sphinx, not a Greek one,” the cat – or rather, the sphinx – said. “And the human face things has a little truth to it but is kind of garbled, and … I’m not going to sit here and argue with you about what I am. I just need you to open the kennel.”

I could see that the kennel was latched, but it also had a little lock on it. Nothing fancy, just the kind people used on their luggage. “Why?” I asked.

“That’s a stupid question and you know it.” The sphinx’s brow furrowed, and he licked down one leg before staring back up at me. “Because I’m not an exotic pet. I’m an intelligent being. Because Boris is a jerk and Sam is going to be back here any moment.”

It took me two seconds of thinking about my own situation, then Maggie’s situation, then this admittedly adorable catlike creature talking to me before I bent over and fixed the lock between two fingers. I gave it a single hard wrench and felt it give way. I flipped the latch for good measure, then watched the front swing open. It was in that moment that I remembered how the sphinx from the tale of Oedipus definitely used to eat people.

I could have sworn that the sphinx smiled at me. Then, with the fwip of his tail and flutter of its wings, it slipped through the kennel door and disappeared into the labyrinth of junk within the house. I eyed the spot I saw him disappear, but I didn’t have time to think about it. I heard footsteps on the stairs and hurried over to the spot I’d been standing and pretended that I’d been on my phone the whole time. Sam appeared a moment later, a scrap of paper in his hands. He gave it to me.

“Her name is Ava Holmes,” he said. “I guess they’ve been dating for six months or so. She works with Mike at the garden center.”

I took the paper. It had the one name and a phone number written on it, but nothing else. It would have to do. “Is that all you’ve got?” I asked.

“I … I think so. Honestly, it’s weird having someone in the house. You better go. If you leave me a card, I’ll give you a call if I can find anything out.”

I tried not to glance toward the kennel in the corner. I wanted to make my own exit before the open kennel was discovered. “I appreciate it.” I handed him one of my cards and let him herd me toward the front door, pretending not to notice the look of relief on Sam’s face as I left. I was soon back in my truck, glancing toward the woods, hoping to have another glimpse of the sphinx. “That was weird,” I told Maggie.

You’re telling me. Sphinx are really damned rare. I can’t imagine where Boris would get one.

“I was talking about Sam and the house. But yeah, that too.” I checked the scrap of paper, writing down the name and number in my phone so I didn’t lose it, then put my truck in gear. I was beginning to feel like letting that sphinx out of its kennel was going to come back and bite me. “At least we have a lead now. Let’s get out of here.”

Chapter 6

I spent the rest of the day researching genealogy. Or rather, researching how to research genealogy. While I knew about DNA matches from my own work, the whole genealogy thing was way out of my wheelhouse, and I was surprised to find out that it wasn’t just a passing hobby – it was a thriving business, with millions of people into the same kind of genetic matching sites I’d tried to use. Thousands of online forums were dedicated to people trying to find their ancestors in the great, jumbled dustpan of American history that was the European western migration.

Many of those forums were dedicated to the mystery of trying to reconcile mixed-blood DNA. Apparently this was a well-known problem in the field. Nobody had an answer. But the forums did tell me something important: this was especially a problem for victims and former victims of Paronskaft.

Paronskaft was the largest of the imp companies that used to buy and sell human babies. My old nemesis, Kappie Shuteye, sat on the board of Paronskaft back in the seventies and eighties. Studying up on these forums I’d found, it turned out that mixed-blood humans were especially valuable to Paronskaft and that there were thousands of freed slaves trying to find out who their parents were.

But that was freed slaves. People whose contracts had been found when OtherOps raided Paronskaft back in the eighties. As far as I could tell, the fact that I was still enslaved made me unique.

And didn’t give me any help with getting free.

I remunerated on this all night, and then I went by Mum’s Hearth and Yard just after opening the next morning. There was only one employee working – a woman in her sixties who identified herself as “Mum” and did not like my questions about either Michael Pavlovich or his girlfriend, Ava. I was met with a curt “Ms. Holmes isn’t in for a couple of days” and a “You leave Mikey alone, he’s a good boy.” She wasn’t the slightest bit impressed by my fake OtherOps jacket, and within a few minutes I found myself back in my truck, watching the entrance to the garden center with no small amount of irritation.

It didn’t help that Maggie found the whole thing hilarious.

I tried a search for an Ava Holmes in the Hinkley area. Nothing came up. I searched for the phone number I’d been given and had the same luck. I fumed for several minutes as I tried to figure out what to do with the brand-new lead I thought I had. Maggie chuckled in the back of my head. Once I’d cooled down, I dashed off an email to a friend of mine who worked for Verizon, asking her to get me an address connected with Ava’s phone number. In return, I got an out-of-office email. I was just about to give up and head home for a couple hours when my phone rang.

“Hey, Alek, it’s Zeke.” Zeke was not a subtle guy, and I could hear in his tone after four words that he was calling to sell me something.

“What is it?” I asked grumpily.

“You having a bad day, big guy? I might have something to cheer you up.” He didn’t wait for me to ask, rushing on with, “You know how you said you’re trying to track down a thrall?”

“Do you have a lead for me?”

“A small one, I think. I’ll hook you up for two hundred dollars.”

“You tell me what it is, and I’ll decide if it’s worth that much,” I retorted. It was the same old song and dance that we both knew well. Who won often depended on if I was getting desperate or if Zeke badly needed money. He must have had a loan shark breathing down his neck, because he took only a few seconds to think about it.

“Okay, okay. Listen to this: Bay Village police department got a quiet tip last night that someone’s been stealing stock from a little local clinic.”

“What, like drugs?” I asked. “That’s not useful.”

“Nope. Blood. Seems that the manager found them two pints short last night. Could be your missing thrall.”

I considered the information. Thralls weren’t exactly like vampires – they didn’t need blood to survive. But being connected to a vampire magically gave them a thirst. Usually their master would grace them with the table scraps, but a thrall on the run wouldn’t have access to those scraps. On the other hand, now that I knew about places like Sip’n’Bite, I wasn’t so sure a thrall would need to steal to survive anyways. I said as much to Zeke.

“Oh, come on. Someone is stealing that blood. Could be your runaway.”

“Or it might be that the manager counted wrong. Have the cops even opened a case, or was this just a tip?”

“Just a tip. These small clinics always try to handle things internally.”

I snorted and was ready to hang up on Zeke when Maggie suggested, He could be avoiding Sip’n’Bites, worried that someone like you is staking them out.

Good point. I guess it’s worth our own stakeout if we’ve got no other leads today. “That,” I told Zeke, “is worth no more than a hundred bucks. If you need it now, I’ll send it over immediately.”

Zeke grumbled a little but agreed. He gave me the address of the clinic. I hung up and sent the payment over digitally, then punched the address into my GPS and started driving. It was in a little strip mall tucked between two hair salons and behind a Walmart. I watched the front for a few minutes, trying to come up with the best course of action. This was a shaky lead at best, but I did have time on my side. For once. “You okay for a stakeout?” I asked Maggie.

I’m game, just park closer.

It wasn’t a big place, so I found a shady spot as close as I could get to the clinic itself. “This work?” I asked Maggie.

Oh yeah, this is perfect. No wards, no magical anything. The place is an open book. I’ll take the first watch. If I get bored, I’ll wake you up.

“Thanks.” I turned up the radio, pulled my hat down over my head, and dozed off to the sound of Queen’s “Who Wants to Live Forever.”

Stakeouts are by far the most boring part of my job. They are twelve hours of nothing, with as little as a three second window of excitement when you realize it’s all been worth it – and sometimes not even that, when you’ve got the wrong building or are following the wrong guy. Maggie made things infinitely better because she enjoyed people-watching with her jinn senses. We’d play word games, chat about the inanity of life, and sometimes listen to an audiobook.

The day crawled by slowly. I caught up on sleep, pondered the Kimberly Donavon situation, and spent hours reading genealogy forums. I even had a pleasant little daydream about Olivia Martin, though I doubted I’d ever see her again. I’d just gotten back from grabbing coffee from a local shop when a thought struck me. “Hey. You never told me how you know Sting.”

Maggie didn’t respond immediately. When she did, her tone was more coy than usual. I changed my mind.

“Oh, come on, we made a deal.”

It’s embarrassing!

“I told you a secret about Ada. You tell me a secret about yourself. You back out now and you’re no better than her.”

That was a low blow.

I spread my hands. “I’m waiting.”

What if I tell you something else?

“If that something else is as good as how you know Sting.”

I dated Vlad Dracula.

I almost spit my coffee all over my dashboard. Fortunately, I caught myself, managed to swallow and put the cup down before staring at myself in the rearview mirror. “You did not date Dracula.”

Well. What amounted to dating in those days. More like a torrid love affair, I guess you’d call it. It was a few decades before I got trapped in the ring. A few decades after he became a vampire. Funny enough, I was the cougar in that relationship.

I gagged comically.

Oh, pretend like you wouldn’t shack up with someone as famous as that?

“Famous for impaling his enemies on spikes!”

Vladdie was a very conflicted man. And he saved Wallachia from Ottoman incursion.

I laughed out loud at “Vladdie.” The idea of the most famous of the Vampire Lords falling for the wiles of a desert spirit – who would have been a couple hundred years old at the time – was pretty dang funny. “So what was Vladdie like as a little vampire kid?”

Oh, you know. Humans that gain immortality always go through phases – manic, then stupidly reckless, then mopey, then downright depressed. Then they either figure out how to kill themselves or get a hobby. I met Vladdie in Spain right at the end of his reckless phase. I went back to the Carpathian Mountains with him and watched him enter his mopey phase. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

“Oh?”

Don’t get me wrong. He was dynamite in the sack. He just started crying a lot near the end. I don’t have the temperament for that.

“And I don’t think I needed to know that Dracula is a good lay.”

Knowing is half the battle.

“I’m not sure you’re using that in the right context, G.I. Jane.”

I chuckled to myself and adjusted in my seat to get comfortable, reaching down to slide the bench backward a little bit. What I touched instead of the adjustment lever was silky soft. For a split second I thought that I’d grabbed a T-shirt, but when I closed my fingers and gave it a tug, a muffled “Ow!” came from beneath my seat. I felt my heart lurch into my throat and I suddenly felt wildly vulnerable, like someone out for a swim that feels something touch their leg in the murky depths. “Maggie there’s something under my seat.”

I don’t sense anything, I …

I heard something slide around underneath me, the sound raising all of the hair on the back of my neck. Without warning, a little figure popped out from between my legs, hopped onto one knee, and deposited itself on the passenger seat. It happened faster than I could react, and I found myself eye-to-eye with the sphinx from Boris’s house.

“Please don’t tug my tail,” he said, sounding distinctly put out.

“I, uh … please don’t hide under my seat?”

“Deal.” He began aggressively grooming his shoulder.

I pushed myself against the door, thinking about sphinxes eating unwary travelers. “What are you doing in my truck?” I asked him.

“I needed transportation after I escaped from Boris.”

“You mean after I let you out?”

The sphinx stopped grooming long enough to shoot me a withering look, as if I had insulted him with the very idea that he might need help.

I continued, “You have wings.”

“And flying cats attract attention in North America.”

“Okay, that’s fair. Have you been here the whole time?”

“I have.”

Can he still hear me? Maggie whispered.

“Yes, I can hear you.” The sphinx stopped grooming himself and looked at me with what came across as deep disapproval. “I suppose you’ll do. The two of you seem interesting, and I gather that you work a lot, which is ideal.”

“I’ll do for what?” I asked.

“For my new home. I need a place to bed down. If you live in an apartment, I’ll need a litterbox – changed daily, of course – but if you’re in the country you can just leave a window cracked for me to get in and out.”

“Wait, what?”

He continued over me. “I’ll need four cans of tuna daily. Albacore in water, not that garbage they put on sale every other weekend.”

I held up a finger. “Whoa, whoa. You are not coming to live with me. I don’t even know who the hell you are.”

He drew himself up, his tail wrapping around his feet and his wings fluttering slightly. “I am the last Prince of the Nile, the Herald of Sekhmet! You will address me with the respect I am due, as well as offerings of albacore tuna.”

Sekhmet has been dead since before I was born, Maggie said skeptically.

That seemed to deflate the sphinx a little. “Yes, well. Being the Herald Prince of a dead god isn’t as illustrious as it sounds. Why do you think I’m in Ohio rather than Egypt?”

Weirdly, that made me feel a little sad. Almost by instinct, I reached out and scratched the sphinx behind the ears. He stiffened momentarily, then leaned against my hand. “That is an acceptable offering.”

I could feel myself melting on the inside. I like animals, but I hadn’t had a pet for over a decade. I just couldn’t justify it with how much time I spent on the road. “What’s your name?”

“I don’t believe I have one. Boris spent a lot of time calling me his four-legged investment.”

“That’s not a name. How about King Tut?”

“My ancestors knew Tutankhamun, and I think that’s wildly disrespectful,” he sniffed. “Don’t stop scratching!”

We could call him Oedipus, Maggie suggested.

“Oedipus is a Greek legend. He also had sex with his mother, which doesn’t reflect well on me. You, nice genie lady, need to remember that I can hear you.”

Sorry. Maggie sounded a little sheepish.

“How about Eddie? It’s like Oedipus, but … not.”

The sphinx purred loudly, leaning harder into my scratching. “That’s acceptable,” he muttered, suddenly collapsing on the bench next to me and cuddling up against my leg. “Now take me to my new temple.”

“You mean my home?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t go home yet,” I told him. “Still have lots of work to do.”

“Then keep scratching.”

I hate to interrupt all those scratchings, but I have something, Alek.

Eddie’s sudden appearance almost made me forget we were on a stakeout. I turned my attention back to the task at hand. “What am I looking for?”

Hold on. A good minute passed, then another, then another. I was just about to ask Maggie what I was holding on for when she finally said, See that lady right there?

A middle-aged woman with an ask-to-see-the-manager haircut and dye job entered my field of vision, walking across the parking lot and getting into her Prius parked underneath a tree on the far end of the strip mall. “I see her.”

That woman just came out of the clinic. Her nametag says S. Montgomery. That bag she’s carrying has two pints of blood in it. I’m pretty sure it’s against protocol to take those home at the end of the day.

I took my hand away from its scratching duties, eliciting a soft meow from Eddie, and snapped a couple of photos of the lady and her car with my camera phone. “Well, that’s definitely not Michael. But it could be an accomplice.” I looked down, struck with a thought. “Hey, Eddie, what do you know about Michael Pavlovich. Eddie?”

Soft snores answered me. I poked him gently. He didn’t budge.

“Real helpful,” I muttered. I checked the clock – it was just after seven in the evening – and wiped the sweat from my brow as S. Montgomery pulled out of her parking spot and headed toward the road. I waited a few moments, letting her get into traffic, before following at a distance.

I really don’t like that I can’t sense Eddie, Maggie whispered. Or that he can hear me.

I glanced down at him. I could hear his snoring above the sound of the truck. I whispered back mentally, I guess we have a cat now.

Careful with that. Like he said before, he’s not a pet. He’s a sphinx. Very intelligent.

Very catlike, I shot back.

Don’t let that trick you. I’ve only ever seen sphinxes at a distance, but I’ve read that they can be terrifying.

He seems a bit … small to be terrifying? Does he have magical powers or something?

They were the heralds of Sekhmet for a reason. But hell if I know what he’s actually capable of.

Plowing through four cans of tuna a day, apparently. I can’t afford that shit. I don’t even spend that much money on my own food when I’m not using the company credit card. I glanced down at Eddie once more, sighed, and turned my attention back to our quarry.

S. Montgomery had plenty of errands to run. We went to the grocery store, pharmacy, Chick-fil-A, and then finally to a little subdivision in Westlake. I watched her pull into the driveway of a little house with a neatly mown lawn and nice flower bed, then parked myself somewhat down the road from it. She unloaded her groceries, carrying them inside.

“What now?” I asked aloud.

Nothing exciting about her, Maggie reported. As far as I can tell, she’s a complete civilian. No connection with the Other.

Which meant that we might have misread the entire thing. “Well, that’s a day wasted.” I wrote down the address in my notebook just in case.

Maybe not, Maggie said. She’s coming back out. And the blood is still in her car.

S. Montgomery returned to her car and, to my surprise, backed out of the driveway. I slid down in my seat, pulling my hat down over my face as she drove by. Once she’d gone, I turned around and followed. “Okay. Guess we’ll see where this goes.”

She led me back toward Cleveland, pulling off at the same exit as the zoo and driving up into an older neighborhood filled with those ancient three-story homes that have long since gone to shit. It was not the kind of neighborhood where I would expect to find a middle-aged white woman in a Prius. She pulled up in front of one of the houses, walked up to the door, and left a bag on the front step without knocking.

That’s the blood she stole from the center, Maggie told me. And that house definitely has wards. Lots of them, some I don’t even recognize.

That was very odd. I let S. Montgomery depart without following and watched the house for well over an hour. It got dark and no lights came on in the house. Neighbors were starting to eyeball me, so I wrote down the address and headed home. On the way, I called Jacques.

The dhampir answered after a single ring. “What do you have for me today?”

“Not a lot. Been taking it slow like you said. I did go by Boris’s house yesterday and met one of his thralls.”

There was a moment of silence. “You just walked up to a vampire’s lair without permission?”

“Yes?”

I could practically feel Jacques raising an eyebrow at me. “That was either very stupid or very brave.”

“No security. Nothing interesting going on. His thrall was kind of a putz.” When Jacques didn’t respond, I continued, “I’m certain that Michael is still alive. I’m also fairly certain that while Boris is a shitty master, he isn’t actually breaking the Rules.”

Jacques made a hmm sound. “I’ll be the one to determine that. Did you take pictures of his compound?”

“Should I have?”

“I did ask you to gather information about him.”

I honestly felt a little stupid. “Right. Well if I end up back there, I’ll be sure to do so.”

“You probably won’t get another chance. Once Boris finds out you snooped around, he’ll be very angry. Watch your back.”

“He’s my client,” I said flatly.

“Boris is unpredictable,” Jacques responded firmly. “I’m warning you for your own safety. Whatever lack of evidence you have of his crimes, he is dangerous, and he does break the Rules. Continue your task. Continue your reports.” Jacques hung up.

I considered this for a few minutes as I drove down the darkened highway. Finally, I asked Maggie, “Does he sound super annoyed that I haven’t discovered evidence of Boris breaking the Rules?”

A bit, yeah. But I guess that’s understandable. He’s pretty convinced that Boris is a liability, and he’s probably paying Ada a lot of money to dig up some dirt.

“Man, I don’t want to get involved in a vampire spat.”

Seems a bit late for that.

“No kidding. Something isn’t right with this whole thing. Jacques is still holding back information. I’m basically being ordered to dick around. I still have no idea what Jacques has on Ada to get us to double-cross a client. All I’ve got is that place our S. Montgomery dropped off the blood and a borderline-hoarder vampire that our client wants to prove is guilty of … something.” I zoned out, letting my subconscious work on these puzzles while I drove with one hand, “The Weight” by the Band playing softly on the radio and Eddie snoring on the bench next to me.

I got off the highway in Wickliffe, hoping that Nadine had checked my mail for the last week and left anything important on my desk. As we neared the office, I could feel my head begin to nod with exhaustion. Even with the nap this afternoon and orders to stretch things out, I had slept even less than normal. I didn’t think this would be a problem until I felt a distinct sting on my left hand, pain lancing up my arm through the bones and jerking me awake.

“Maggie, what was that for?”

She cut me off as I turned into the office parking lot. Wake up, troll boy. Boris is waiting for you, and he’s really fucking pissed.

Chapter 7

It was after ten at night, but the Valkyrie parking was still lit by a dozen overhead lights. There were two cars present as I pulled in. One was the familiar Crown Vic with Security written down the side that belonged to our rent-a-cop, Ted. Ted raised an eyebrow to me, glancing significantly toward the Camry parked over in the corner. Boris leaned against the Camry, wearing a scowl. I sighed and waved Ted off, throwing my truck in park and stepping out with a word of greeting on my lips as Boris flicked his cigarette away and approached.

The word of greeting never got out. I blinked once and Boris was halfway across the parking lot. I blinked again and he was looming large in my vision, red lips snarling, teeth jutting. I felt something connect with my jaw and my head snapped back, everything exploding in a cascade of stars. Another fist connected with my stomach once, then a second time.

Everything happened so fast that I didn’t have even any time to react. Blindly, I managed to catch another punch and wrenched hard, jerking Boris around and throwing him against the side of my truck. I could barely think, let alone speak, but I managed to get out, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

I’m a strong guy. With my blood up, I’m worth three normal humans. Boris, however, was something beyond me. He shoved against my truck, pushing us both back and away and spun out of my grip. He retreated to a half dozen paces and lifted his fists like a boxer, baring his teeth. I licked my lips, tasting blood, only now feeling the pain of my tusks jutting out through my gums. I spat out blood on the concrete and snarled at him. I was hurt and I was angry, and I could feel that red mist descending over my vision. It took a concentrated effort not to use the power of my tattoos – it wouldn’t look good to kill a client, after all.

Boris took advantage of my hesitation. He darted in, smashing fists against my stomach and ribs at an astonishing speed, snatching the breath out of me. I tried grabbing for his arms, but he didn’t fall for that again. He was suddenly up close, snatching me by my shirt and baring those damned fangs again. He snapped at my neck. I felt his hot breath, then the needlelike jabs just above my collarbone.

Fuck that, Maggie suddenly said. I felt something hot flare from my right hand and, in a moment of clarity, I slapped Boris in the back of the head. The world exploded once again, this time in a fire that hurled me backward, head over heels, slamming against my own truck. Boris and I were separated, and I didn’t even waste time to breathe before I was scrambling to my feet, looking everywhere for him.

He’d landed a couple dozen feet away and was writhing in pain, slapping at the flames still smoldering on the back of his head. Despite the hit Maggie had given him, he managed to get the fire out and stand. Though most of his hair and the skin on the back of his head was missing, he looked more angry than in pain. I reached for my endless wallet again, wondering if silver bullets would even put this guy down, when there was a loud bang and Boris jerked sideways. He howled, turning to his left, where Ted the rent-a-cop now stood outside his cruiser with a romance novel lying on the hood and an automatic shotgun held to his shoulder.

“You so much as twitch toward me with those teeth,” Ted warned, “and I’ll switch from rubber bullets to silver ones.”

Boris stiffened up but didn’t move. I let out a long sigh of relief and took a long walk around the perimeter of the parking lot to cool myself down. By the time I got back to stand beside Ted, the red mist was gone and I’d managed to retract my tusks.

“Thanks,” I told him.

“No problem. You want me to put this fucker down?”

“He’s a client, unfortunately.”

“No kidding?” Ted didn’t sound impressed. “Since when does Ada allow this kind of bullshit from a client?”

I didn’t answer, walking gingerly over to where Boris stood, still looking furious but with his hands held slightly out front. He must have gotten that preternatural sense that Ted wasn’t quite human, because he didn’t seem ready to test Ted’s resolve. Boris glared at me, then glared at my ring.

Hope you didn’t give yourself away there, I told Maggie.

Me too. But hell if I was gonna let him bite you, even if he wasn’t biting to kill.

He wasn’t?

Don’t think so. Not even he is that stupid. He is incredibly powerful, though. That blast I gave him should have taken his head off.

“You want to explain yourself?” I asked him.

He snorted and touched the burnt crispiness that used to be the back of his skull. “You stole my property.”

“I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” I retorted. Eddie, I swore to Maggie. I resisted the urge to glance toward my truck where, as far as I knew, Eddie was still snoring away.

“You came to my lair without permission. You tricked my thrall into letting you have access to my inner sanctum. Then, just to insult me, you allowed the sphinx to go free.”

I looked briefly toward Ted. I wasn’t sure if he could hear us. I wasn’t sure if he really cared what we said, but he was still eyeballing Boris as if he wanted to put a silver bullet in his head. “You have a sphinx?” I asked, feigning ignorance, “because I understand that they’re rare – and they’re very expensive.”

“That little shit cost me two hundred thousand dollars. You will find him and return him, or I will …”

“You will what?” I cut him off. “Try to kill me? Because you better believe this attack is going in your file, and if I wind up dead you’re going to have an OtherOps sweeper team kick in your front door, and I don’t think Sam is gonna do much to protect you.” I could feel myself getting angrier as I spoke, my voice rising. “And go ahead and report the missing sphinx to OtherOps. You know that keeping an intelligent Other captive is against the Rules, right? Are you that dumb?” I shook my head, continuing before he could retort. “No, you’re going to write the whole thing off. I’m going to pretend to my boss that this wasn’t as big of a deal as it sounds, and you’re going to never, ever accuse me of stealing from a client again. Or next time, I will take your fucking head off. You understand?”

He glanced warily at Maggie’s ring. He might or might not have guessed what was in it, but he certainly knew where the sorcery had come from. “Fucking rockskin.”

“There’s the Boris I know. Angry slurs. Unhelpful and shitty. Ted, thanks for the help, but you can go. I think we’ve got an understanding.” Behind me, Ted yawned loudly and got back into his cruiser. I didn’t take my eyes off Boris, watching for any sign that he might try for me again. I said, “Look, I don’t really give a shit what’s considered ‘rude’ in vampire culture. I went to your house to talk to your thralls because you’ve been expecting me to do this job without any information whatsoever. If you don’t want Michael found” – I spread my hands – “then feel free to fire me right now. I don’t give a shit.”

Boris stared at the ground. He’d gone from furious to sulking. It wasn’t a pretty picture, and for a moment I could imagine Dracula weeping into Maggie’s arms. Without looking up at me, he said, “An example must be made.”

“Oh, I get it. But I’m not one of your thralls. I’m a goddamned professional. You punch me and I punch back.”

Am I getting through to him at all? I asked Maggie.

Hell if I know.

“How much?” Boris suddenly asked.

“How much for what?” I asked, taken aback.

He glanced toward Ted’s cruiser, then at me. “You find Michael, you kill him.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“He has … stolen property from me. Valuable books.”

I felt my head jerk back. “What, like grimoires?”

Boris hesitated for a moment, choosing his words. “Do you know of the blood tally?”

I shook my head.

“It’s a collection of documents. Very valuable,” he said. “And an example must be made. Kill him and return the books to me, and I’ll pay you an extra four hundred dollars.”

“A junior reaper makes that in an afternoon,” I told him. My veins had gone cold. Under normal circumstances, Boris’s attack on me would allow me to void the contract without even asking Ada. Under normal circumstances, I could call OtherOps right now and report this whole conversation and have Boris locked up. But I already knew that Jacques wasn’t going to care two cents about this. In fact, this only proved his point that Boris was dangerous. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask me that. Get the fuck out of here.”

Without waiting for an answer, I returned to my truck and sat behind the wheel. “You still in here?” I asked out loud.

A few moments passed, then a timid voice came from beneath the bench seat. “Is he gone?”

“He’s leaving,” I said, watching Boris. The vampire stared at the concrete for a minute or two, then finally walked over to his Camry and left, avoiding my gaze as he pulled out of the parking lot. Another minute passed, and then a fluffy head poked out from underneath the passenger seat. “He’s gone,” I confirmed. Eddie slid out of his hiding spot and jumped onto the passenger seat, sitting regal and straight-backed, head high as if he hadn’t been hiding a moment ago. He blinked slowly at me, then began to groom himself.

When no thank-you was forthcoming, I just shook my head and resisted the urge to make a comment to Maggie. Eddie could hear us, after all. I sank into my seat, the adrenaline finally wearing off, letting myself feel all the little aches and pains from being manhandled by a vampire and then tossed across the parking lot by Maggie’s sorcery. The only reason I wasn’t more beat up was because of my troll heritage.

I realized I should check my truck for dents but dismissed the thought. I didn’t want to know.

“I think he cracked one of my ribs. You know, the one that was just starting to heal from that damned ghoul.”

Breathe in deep, Maggie instructed.

I did so, feeling a sharp pain down my left side. “Maybe?”

Just bruised.

I touched my neck, searching for the source of the blood trickling down my chest. Boris had managed to get me pretty deep before Maggie tagged him, but he’d missed my jugular. Probably what Maggie meant when she said he wasn’t biting to kill. I found an old T-shirt under the seat and pressed it against the wound, then searched my face and arms in the rearview mirror for more scrapes and scratches. All told I had seven or eight, and my chest and stomach were going to look like I got kicked by a horse later in the week.

My head cleared enough to think about what Boris had actually told me. Michael has stolen something valuable from him, and it explained Sam’s story about Michael’s disappearance. Boris must have initially written it off as a normal runaway. It wasn’t until after he discovered this blood tally missing that he got truly pissed. I dug the phone out of my pocket and dialed a number. “Jacques, it’s Alek,” I said when he answered.

“Yes?”

“Boris just tried to hire me to kill Michael. Is that good enough evidence for your needs?”

There was a long pause. “I see. Unsurprising, though I suppose that proves that he hasn’t killed him himself yet.”

“Well?”

“No. Unfortunately, that’s not enough for us to act against him. We need proof of him breaking the Rules.”

“Isn’t that conspiracy to murder?”

“In the human world, yes. Among our kind … well, it’s just wishful thinking.”

“Of course it is.” I closed my eyes, pressing the old T-shirt harder against my neck. I took a few calming breaths, then said, “He claims that Michael stole something called a blood tally. What is that?”

Jacques inhaled sharply. “You’re sure that’s what he called it?”

“Yeah.”

“I see.” There was a long, thoughtful pause. “Every vampire has a blood tally. It is a collection of documents outlining every debt owed to and from the vampire, and all past payments. It’ll contain everything from their bloodbags to interactions with other vampires. It’s not necessarily valuable to anyone but the vampire himself, but …” He trailed off. “When you find Michael, bring me Boris’s blood tally.”

“That’s theft,” I pointed out. “I’m not going to steal from a client.”

Jacques’s voice was clipped, professional. “The blood tally may give us evidence that we need to act against him. Bring it to me and I’ll pay you sixty thousand dollars in cash.”

“Oh.” Plenty of people have tried to bribe me. Mostly debtors, but the occasional client. But never for that much money.

“Do we have an agreement?”

“I … uh …”

“Good. Keep up the good work, Agent Fitz.” Jacques hung up.

“Nobody ever says goodbye anymore,” I muttered. I blinked at my steering wheel, then glanced over toward Ted’s cruiser. Ted was back to reading his romance novel. “That was weird,” I told Maggie.

That was beyond weird. You’ve got some wonky shit going on here, Alek.

“Yeah …” I chewed on that for a moment. Sixty thousand dollars was a lot of money. Especially to someone like me, who lives on the bare minimum income afforded to me by my master. Tossing my phone next to Eddie, I gave him a scratch. “I hope you’re worth it, bud.” Eddie shifted around, leaning into my scratching hand but continuing to groom himself. I leaned forward to turn up the radio, whistling along with Blue Oyster Cult’s “Don’t Fear the Reaper,” and headed home.

I live in a run-down old servant’s quarters off one of the big estates in Gates Mills. It’s not much – just a bungalow that belonged to one of Ada’s rich friends – but it was a place to lay my head between jobs. I walked in, leaving the door open behind me so Eddie could follow. He entered hesitantly, slowly, the cat equivalent of a scowl on his face. He kept that look on his face as he did a circuit of the small house, spending a few minutes examining each room until he returned to the front door where I had waited, watching him during his exploration.

“This is not a very big temple.”

“Sorry,” I spread my hands. “It’s all I’ve got.”

“A small temple is easier to guard, I suppose. And I have to admit, the locale is stunning.” He padded over to the window and jumped into the sill, looking out into the deep darkness of the forest outside. “I miss the desert, but these forests are so full of life. I will enjoy exploring. I can sense a river nearby?”

“Yep.”

“Excellent. I shall fish when you are gone too long.” He settled on the sill, fluttering his wings before folding them back along his sides and starting to groom one leg, pausing only to say, “I shall consecrate this as my temple tonight.”

“If you pee on anything, I’m taking you back to Boris.”

Eddie lifted his head, glaring at me. He seemed about ready to snap back when my phone rang. It was a restricted number. I almost didn’t answer it, but I knew I had plenty of informants with unlisted contact information, so I took a deep sigh and answered. “This is Alek Fitz.”

“Hi Alek,” a male voice said.

Is that who I think it is? Maggie asked.

Hell if I know. “Hello? Who am I speaking to?”

“It’s Nick.”

“Nick … ?”

“Nick Dempkin.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

The man on the other end made an exasperated sound. “Nick the Necromancer.”

Fucking hell, Maggie groaned.

“Nick, aren’t you in prison?”

“I am.”

I looked at the clock on my phone. “What are you doing making a call at this hour?”

“Never mind about that,” he said. “I’ve only got thirty seconds. You need to come see me tomorrow at the OtherOps prison in Medina. Visiting hours are between ten and two. Be there at ten.”

I rubbed my eyes with one hand. “Nick, I don’t have time to drive down to Medina tomorrow. What the hell is this about?” I did have time, actually. But I didn’t want to deal with his shit. He’d tried to kill me, after all. I could feel Maggie fuming in her ring, the very sound of Nick’s voice setting her off.

Should have let me kill him when I had the chance, she grunted.

Nick said, “Kimberly Donavon is dead. That means that the spell keeping me from talking about why she hired me is gone, which means that I can make a deal with OtherOps now. I’m either going to talk to them, or I’m going to talk to you. Make the choice. I’m out of time.” He hung up.

I stared at my phone. “Seriously. No goodbyes. You okay, Mags?”

She was silent for a few moments. I could feel her sudden trepidation. This is bad.

“Should I call Justin and confirm that Kimberly is dead?”

No, Nick was telling the truth. We need to shut him up, and do it fast.

I nodded. I guess I was driving to the prison in the morning. I had no idea what I could offer Nick that OtherOps couldn’t, but I had better find out quickly.

Chapter 8

I was trying to consider a half dozen different problems on the way to the Medina OtherOps prison in the morning. Jacques Williams was testing my professional and personal ethics. I was still exploring the online world of genealogy to try and find my parents. The most immediately pressing of my problems was that Nick the Necromancer could now spill the beans about Maggie’s presence to OtherOps, which we’d already decided we needed to prevent. But the one that kept flitting around the back of my head was my run-in with Boris the night before.

“You really think he’s that powerful?” I asked Maggie.

I do. Some vampires are naturally powerful – guys like Lord Ruthven and Dracula. Most, however, slowly get stronger with age. Boris isn’t running with the Vampire Lords, which means he shouldn’t be anything special, and he’s only been a vampire since the forties. You should be able to take him in a fistfight. The fact that he manhandled you …

“You don’t need to bring that up,” I grunted.

She went on over the top of me. The fact that he manhandled you so badly and he was able to walk off the blast I gave him means he’s much stronger than he should be.

How?

No idea. Vampires can gain strength a handful of ways – time and progeny are the most common.

Like, from their thralls?

Yeah. Each vampire pulls a little strength from their thralls and former thralls. But they’re not allowed to have more than four at any time. Since Boris isn’t that old, it can’t be that.

“So he might have some other way of gaining power. Do you think that has something to do with why Lord Ruthven wants an excuse to wipe him out?”

Quite possibly. The Vampire Lords don’t like a challenge to their authority. Boris being a free vampire would normally just annoy them. But if he’s figured out a way to gain power independent of simply living a long time, well …

It explained a lot about the situation – or at least why Jacques and his boss had it out so bad for Boris. I knew there were more layers to this than I’d been told. The blood tally Michael stole when he ran away was involved somehow. But I couldn’t connect the dots as I pulled into the OtherOps prison in Medina. I put all of this out of my thoughts and headed inside, fiddling with Maggie’s ring while one of the guards filled out the visitor forms. After a few minutes, I was shown down the hallways and into a cafeteria-like room where a couple of inmates were talking with their families or just watching one of the TVs mounted on the walls.

Nick was sitting in the corner. He looked odd without all the black makeup. He had a severe haircut, an orange jumpsuit, and a bored look on his face. It reminded me that Nick might have been a wildly powerful necromancer, but he was still a nineteen-year-old kid. He nodded to me from across the room, and I went to join him. As I sat down across the table, I noticed that I’d read that bored expression wrong. He was reserved, maybe even a little haunted. He leaned forward.

“Were you followed?” he asked.

I was surprised at the question. “Who the hell would follow me here? It’s not like it’s a secret where you’re locked up. Speaking of which, I thought they sent you to New York.”

“My great uncle has some pull with OtherOps. He paid for this prison to get a high-level suppression team just so they’d transfer me back here.”

“Rich uncle. Nice.” I crossed my arms. I did not want him to think we were chums. Maggie had agreed not to make a scene, but I could feel her watching Nick like I might watch a spider on the ceiling. She might not be able to kill him right now, but she was going to keep an eye out for the opportunity. “Okay, you got me here. Talk.”

Nick hunched his shoulders and glanced toward the other prisoners. “They shanked Kimberly.”

“I heard about that.”

“No, I don’t think you did. It happened right before I called you last night. She was under guard, in the hospital wing, and someone finished her off in the hospital. Like I said, my uncle has pull, so I get to hear things really fast. As of this morning, they still have no idea how someone got in to kill her. There’s literally nothing on the security cameras.”

I felt a cold chill on my spine. Getting past an OtherOps guard detail and the cameras meant that she’d been targeted by high-level sorcery.

Matthias.

“You’re worried that you’re next, aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m worried that I’m next,” Nick hissed. “Originally, I thought that Kimberly hired me on her own. But I’ve been putting the pieces together since she first got shanked and I’m guessing Kimberly was hired or coerced or something to hire me. That person is now trying to cover their trail so OtherOps doesn’t get a whiff of them. I’m guessing the only reason I’m not dead is because of the high-level suppression team.”

I realized two things at once: first, that Nick didn’t have nearly as much information as I did, and second, that he was a much cleverer guy than I’d given him credit for. He put all this together with the whispers he could get in prison. “So Kimberly’s death has removed the compulsion that keeps you from talking about why she hired you. Why aren’t you already in witness protection?”

“That’s my second option,” Nick said. His eyes flicked around the visitors room once more and he took a deep breath. “Personally, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in some OtherOps safe house, under guard, always watched and protected. And … I know that you don’t want OtherOps to find out about your ring. About your jinn friend.”

I touched Maggie’s ring without thinking, then forced my hands flat on the table. “So?”

“So I’m giving you first shot at an alliance.”

Maggie snorted loudly in the back of my head. I said flatly, “You tried to kill me, and now you want to team up?”

“That was just business,” Nick said. There was a flash of something across his face, and it took me a moment to realize it for what it was: pure terror. “It’s not business anymore. It’s personal. Kimberly wasn’t a bad person. She just wanted revenge for her brother. And now she’s dead, and I’m next in line.”

Is any of this ringing true? I asked Maggie.

All of it, she said hesitantly.

He really wants to team up?

Yeah …

He’s terrified of whatever killed Kimberly. I thought about this for a moment. I don’t consider myself a bad person either, but my gut instinct was to leave Nick to his fate and hope it happened before he could make a deal with OtherOps. Even as the thought went through my head, I knew that I couldn’t do it. I may work for some pretty horrible clients, but I’m not a sociopath. What do you think?

I think we hear him out.

The answer surprised me. An hour ago Maggie had repeated her desire to turn Nick into a pile of ash. Now she was considering this? I suppose that helped me out of a moral dilemma.

Nick nodded at Maggie’s ring. “What does your friend say?”

It was my turn to glance over my shoulder. But there was no one close enough to overhear us. “She still not thrilled with your attempt to kill me or kidnap her.”

“Like I said,” Nick repeated, swallowing hard, “that was business. I’m sorry.”

He is, Maggie scoffed, though he’s probably sorrier that he got mixed up in this shit than he is for what he actually tried to do.

I considered Nick for a couple of moments before reaching into my endless wallet. I fished around and came up with a business card that I’d gotten from Kimberly back before OtherOps took her in. It had a phone number and the name MATTHIAS in small letters in the corner. I set it on the table and pushed it over in front of Nick. “He’s a magician,” I told him. “Apparently he and Maggie had a spat back in the day. He trapped her in the ring. We’re not sure just how aggressively he’s still trying to recover Maggie’s ring, but he’s definitely the person who put Kimberly on Maggie’s trail. I’m pretty dang sure he’s the one who arranged Kimberly’s death.”

Nick stared at the card. “My uncle always said magicians are bad news.”

“That’s one way of putting it. So. You called me here. What exactly does an alliance do for me? You’re stuck in a cell for the next few years, I imagine.”

Nick tore his eyes away from the card and leaned back in his seat, looking at the wall behind me with a thousand-yard stare. I was beginning to imagine he’d rethought his course of action when he finally spoke up. “All you need to do is retract your earlier statement that I attacked you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m still on the hook for that Starbucks, and for bringing two draugr into a public place, but those are misdemeanors. If you retract your statement, my uncle’s lawyers can have me out of here in a week.”

“And?”

“And I give myself much better odds of surviving this stupid magician if I’m free to use my own powers and I have a reaper on my side.”

Is he still … I asked Maggie.

This is all true, she told me reluctantly. No double-cross, no deceit. This is really his plan.

I didn’t like the idea of recanting a statement to OtherOps. They were already mad enough that I wouldn’t give them more details about why Nick attacked me. They were going to be pissed when I took away their biggest leverage against him. On the other hand, I didn’t have a firm counter for a magician. If Matthias decided to cut the cat-and-mouse bullshit and attack me straight out, I would probably be a grease stain within moments. Having a genuine sorcerer of my own to counter him – even one as inexperienced as Nick – might be my best chance.

I think this might be a good idea, I said slowly to Maggie. But I’ll let you make the call. We’re equally involved here.

I could practically feel Maggie pacing around in her ring, grumbling angrily to herself. I held up a finger to Nick, indicating that he should give us a minute to let Maggie think. Ask him some straightforward questions.

I said, “If you get out of here, are you going to run for it?”

“No,” Nick answered, his expression darkening. “You don’t deal with magicians by hiding from them. They’ll always find you.”

“You won’t double-cross me?”

“You’re … the two of you are my only real allies in this. So no.”

“What about your rich uncle?”

“He’s rich, not a magician. Besides, I don’t want to involve him in this.”

“And you won’t say a word to OtherOps about Maggie or her ring?”

“I promise,” he said with a nod.

Maggie sighed. He’s on the level. Okay. Make the deal.

I put out my hand. Relief flashed across Nick’s face and he took it, shaking firmly. “You won’t regret it,” he said.

“Sure damned hope not,” I told him, getting to my feet. I pulled out one of my business cards and scribbled my home address on it. “Once you get out, get in contact and we’ll make a plan to deal with Matthias. I’ll retract my statement to OtherOps this afternoon.” I took my leave, checking out of the prison and heading downtown, where I spent the next couple of hours with a very irritated OtherOps agent. I managed to avoid running into Justin and answering those uncomfortable questions, and then I headed back to Hinkley over on the west side.

When I walked into Mum’s Hearth and Yard, Mum herself was nowhere to be seen. A young woman, probably nineteen or twenty with dark hair, a round, thoughtful face, and a Mum’s Hearth and Yard T-shirt greeted me from behind the register. I gave her my best smile and tugged on the OtherOps windbreaker I’d thrown on. Her T-shirt said Ava on it, and I thanked some nameless deity that I’d found Michael’s girlfriend.

“Hi there, Ms. Holmes,” I said in as nonthreatening a manner as I could manage. She blinked back at me sweetly. I couldn’t feel a drop of guile in her expression. She looked so sweet and naive that it made my face hurt.

“Can I help you with something, sir?”

“Yeah, I’m really sorry to bother you at work, but I was hoping that you could help me find Michael Pavlovich.” I produced one of my fake business cards, one emblazoned with the OtherOps logo and a number that forwarded to my real one.

Her brow wrinkled momentarily, and she gave me a very serious, considered nod. “Mum told me you came in a couple days ago asking about Michael.”

“That’s right, I did.” I was suddenly very tired. Tired of lying to people. Tired of hunting. Tired of being forced to be the bad guy. I kept that gentle smile glued to my face. “Do you have any idea where he’s gone?”

“I do.”

“… really?” The forthrightness of it was so unexpected that I wasn’t really sure what to say next.

“I do,” she repeated herself. “Are you really trying to help him?”

“I am.”

She hesitated for a few moments, examining my business card like a forensic expert. Finally, she said, “Okay, I believe you. He’s lost, Mr. Fitz. Scared. He has dangerous people trying to catch him. He needs help.” She searched her pockets, then produced a scrap of paper on which was written an address. “I met him for lunch at this boys home in Brooklyn Centre yesterday. You should be able to find him there.”

I took the paper. “Oh. I … thank you.” I felt a huge surge of guilt. “Dangerous people” probably meant me. This innocent kid had just handed me her boyfriend on a silver platter, thinking I was the cops. I could practically feel Maggie’s disapproval. A sudden thought interceded with the guilt, however, and I fixed Ava with a curious look. “Do you know who these dangerous people are?”

She nodded seriously and glanced around the room, though we were the only two people in the garden center. She leaned across the counter and said in a near-whisper. “He’s being chased by his master. And …”

“And?”

“And the Vampire Lords. They want to kill him for something he has.”

I was speechless. There was no way that Michael could know that I’d been hired by Jacques on behalf of Lord Ruthven. Besides, Jacques didn’t want to kill Michael. He just wanted the blood tally. Unless … unless Michael knew the value of the book he’d stolen, and he knew that the Vampire Lords would come after it.

This whole thing had gotten more complicated. And more dangerous.

Ava continued, nodding as if she’d just unburdened herself of a mighty secret. “Just try to help him. Make sure he’s safe. I don’t want him to get hurt. He doesn’t trust OtherOps, but I do. I know you’ll do the right thing.”

I swallowed a lump in my throat and held up the paper. “I’ll do my best. Thank you for the help, miss.” I returned to my truck, where I stared at the scrap of paper in my hand for a few minutes. The address looked familiar, and it only took a quick Google search to find out why.

It was the address that the lady from the clinic had dropped blood off at the other day. “Well,” I said to no one in particular. “I sure feel like shit for tricking that kid. But this makes my job easier.”

Chapter 9

The fact that Michael knew the Vampire Lords would want the blood tally made me wonder what he planned on doing with the damn thing. Was he going to sell it? If so, to whom? Did he even have those kinds of contacts? Was he trying to use whatever information or power it might grant for himself? Was he just trying to keep it away from Boris? There were too many variables here. What I did know was that I was being lied to by Boris, Jacques, and Ada. I might be a slave – nothing more than a working schmuck – but I expected to be treated like a professional by all parties involved.

I left Mum’s Hearth and Yard and headed straight toward the address that Ava had given me in Brooklyn Centre. On the way I called Nadine. She picked up after two rings.

“Hey, hun! Haven’t heard from you for a while. Spending a lot of time on the road?”

“You could say that,” I answered. “Did Ada brief you on the job I’m on?”

Nadine made a disapproving hmm noise. “She told me it was need to know. Need to know, my ass. I know where all the bodies are buried, and she doesn’t think I can be privy to some little dual-vampire double-cross job? I feel slighted, darling. But I know it’s not your fault. What can I do for you?”

It was awfully strange that Ada hadn’t given Nadine a full briefing. Nadine was right – I couldn’t think of a single job whose details had ever been above her pay grade. It only reinforced my belief that Ada was being blackmailed and she didn’t want anyone to know about it. “I’m sorry, Nadine. She’s being super weird lately. Look, I need a favor.”

“Yeah?”

“Something I don’t want Ada to find out about.”

“Oh, you know she finds out about everything eventually.”

“Eventually is fine. Just not for, say, a week?”

Nadine chuckled. “I think I can do that.”

“I need a safe house. One where I can keep someone who doesn’t want to be there.”

“Is that so?”

“Ada has me on a runaway thrall job, but the whole thing doesn’t add up. I want to bring in the thrall, stash him someplace safe, and give myself some time to figure out what exactly is going on.”

I could hear the clicking of Nadine’s long nails on her keyboard. A few moments passed before she said, “All right, I can do that. Jose and Karen have a couple places they stash runners when needed. I’ll send you an address within the hour.”

“Excellent. You’re the best, Nadine.”

“I know I am. Have a good one, hun. Good luck with your runner.”

I hung up just as I got off the freeway and began to navigate the narrow, suburban streets of Brooklyn Centre. It was a crumby neighborhood. Some of the houses had boarded-up windows, most had overgrown lawns and long-rotted siding. I found the house I’d tailed S. Montgomery to the other day, double-checked the address that Ava had given me, and got out of the car to take a longer, more thoughtful look. Ava had called it a “boys home.” That could mean anything, to be honest. It was the only house on the street with a recent coat of paint, a repaired front porch, and a kept yard.

I’m glad you’re not just handing him over to Boris or Jacques, Maggie said suddenly.

I considered putting on my flack vest or wearing my Glock openly but dismissed both notions. There was nothing violent about a place like this, and I didn’t want to introduce violence just by the way I was dressed. Yeah, well I’ll probably still have to do just that. But I’d like to be better informed before I do.

Understood. Maggie was silent for a moment, then continued. The place is warded. Pretty complex sorcery, though sloppy in places – I bet they need to be remade every few weeks.

Any idea why a boys home would be warded?

Honestly? Probably to keep away predatory Other. There are plenty of things that go bump in the night and love to prey on children who have been tossed out on their own.

That’s super gross.

No disagreement here. I could be wrong, though. Maybe he knows.

As the words left Maggie’s mouth, I saw the front door of the house open, and a man stepped out on to the porch. He was small and unassuming, easily a foot shorter than me. He wore black slacks and a black button-down topped by a black and white clergy collar. His sleeves were rolled up and he was drying his hands on a towel as he smiled toward me.

“Hello, good sir!” he called out in a Scottish accent. “Can I help you with something?”

I put on my Valkyrie Collections ball cap and walked up to the foot of the porch, stopping just shy of the bottom step. “Good morning, Father. I’m looking for a boy named Michael Pavlovich. I was told I could find him here.”

“Ah? Who told you that?”

“An acquaintance.”

“I see.” The priest’s friendly face had changed when I mentioned Michael. His expression became more closed, his smile forced. Despite this, he tossed the tower onto his shoulder and took a step down toward me, offering a hand. “My name is Father Orrock. You can call me Bill.”

I shook his hand. “Alek Fitz. Valkyrie Collections.”

His eyes darted toward my hat. “Yes, I’m familiar with the company. Can I offer you a cup of tea, Mr. Fitz?”

Is he going to poison me? I asked Maggie.

Hell if I know. He’s not happy about your presence, but I doubt he’s dumb enough to poison a reaper.

It’s pretty hard to poison someone with troll blood, so I shrugged. “Sure,” I responded. “I would love a cup of tea.”

The smile grew more sincere. “Good. Come on in, my friend.”

I followed the priest into the kitchen. The house was old and well-worn, but clearly cared for. The beat-up wood floors were decorated with secondhand rugs, the walls hung with secondhand portraits. I recognized a few as eighteenth-century philosophers from an old art book of Ada’s. A wide staircase led up to the second floor, and I caught sight of a scrawny young man of maybe twenty sitting at the top of the steps, staring at me from beneath the banister. He had sunken, haunted eyes and did not blink when my gaze lingered on him.

I took an offered seat at the kitchen table while Father Orrock filled an electric kettle and plugged it in. He said, “Earl Grey or Scottish Breakfast?”

“I’ve never had Scottish Breakfast.”

He took a jar out of the cupboard and shook it at me. “You’re in for a treat, then. It’s similar to English Breakfast, but it has more guts behind it.”

You getting anything now that we’re past the wards? I asked Maggie.

She hesitated. It’s … tough. Each floor appears to be warded independently. Like I said, the wards aren’t great, but they’re still there. It’s like trying to watch an old tube TV through a bad reception. There’re at least a dozen people in the house. Mostly … younger. Early twenties. Late teens. Like that kid on the stairs.

“What is this place?” I asked Father Orrock.

He turned to me with a look of surprise on his face. “You don’t know?”

I shook my head. “Should I?”

He pursed his lips but didn’t answer. He seemed to consider his response for some time before he came and sat across the table from me. “So the deal hasn’t been broken?”

I spread my hands, truly flummoxed. “What deal?”

Again, he didn’t answer immediately. The kettle soon began to whistle. He poured us each a cup and then filled two little mesh balls with loose leaf tea and dunked them. He set one in front of me, then produced cream and sugar. Once he was sitting again, he gazed at me for an uncomfortably long amount of time, then called over my shoulder.

“Luke, my lad!”

A voice – probably belonging to the young man at the top of the stairs – responded. “Yes, Father Orrock?”

“Could you tell Michael to gather his things, please?”

“He’s here?” I asked, getting halfway up from my seat.

“He is,” Father Orrock made a calming gesture. “He’ll be down in a moment. To answer your earlier question … this is a halfway home for runaway thralls.”

I blinked back at him. “Oh. I guess that makes sense. Is that why Mrs. Montgomery brought you blood the other day?”

“You’ve been watching us that long?” Father Orrock stirred his steeping tea absently. “Hmm. I have friends who supply me with blood so that I can keep the thralls from going mad. Can I ask bluntly: did your colleagues, Jose or Karen, tell you about this place?”

“They didn’t. I had a tip off about stolen blood from a clinic and followed that lady here.”

He gave a sigh of relief. “Good. Jose, Karen, and I have a deal, of sorts. I have the same deal with reapers all around the area: they search for their runaways elsewhere. Never here.”

I knew I was completely out of my depth. I’d never done a runner before – I’d never even given them any thought. “How the hell did you get Jose and Karen to agree to something like that?”

Father Orrock laughed softly. “Well, for one, I convinced them that the runaways never stay here for more than sixty days. This isn’t a place for them to live – just a stopping point for the weary on their long trip to freedom. I made it clear to Jose and Karen, as I do to all reapers that find this place, that I am not a man of violence. But I am friends with the local police and OtherOps agents. I can make life inconvenient if you loiter around my house.” He cocked his head at me. “You don’t know this world, do you?”

I shook my head. “I’ve worked for vampires, but only on bloodbags. Never runners. This is a … special job. That’s why Jose and Karen aren’t on it.”

“I can see you’re uncomfortable with it.”

I bit my tongue. He was fishing for remorse. I’d met enough priests to know they were good at that sort of thing. I didn’t take the bait.

He went on, “Like I said, this is a halfway house. It is a place they can stay briefly until they move on to find someone who can help them break the hold their master has over them. As you probably know, thralls are not your typical contract with the Other. They stand in between – in transition – from humanity to Other. Do you know, Mr. Fitz, the statistics on thralls?”

I glanced over my shoulder. No sign of Michael. No sound from upstairs. I can’t tell if he’s doing the talkative priest thing on purpose or not, I told Maggie.

Shush, I’m trying to listen through the wards. She paused. Huh. I just realized the wards are two-way. So people from outside can’t scry in, but people inside can’t scry out either. Why the hell would he do that?

Beats me. “I don’t know any statistics,” I told the priest.

Father Orrock spread his hands earnestly. “A full seventy-three percent of thralls are disaffected youth. They are the unwanted, the discarded, the unloved. They are foolish, but they are not fools, if that makes any sense. Most thralls are not looking toward a life of immortality. They are simply trying to find community and acceptance. They are preyed upon by vampires – vampires like Boris Novak, who wish only to increase their own power through contractual progeny.”

“I don’t follow,” I said honestly.

“What I’m trying to say, Mr. Fitz, is that a great number of thralls are not willing acolytes lusting to join the ranks of the undead. They are victims. Because of the contracts they are coerced to sign, their victimhood is reinforced by the state, forcing them into slavery even after they’ve realized they’ve made a grave error. Those contracts allow vampires to send people like you to gather their property and return it to them.” He practically spat the word property.

I drummed my fingers on the table, watching him warily. You hearing this?

I don’t disagree with any of it, if that’s what you’re asking. Maggie responded.

Seriously?

I’ve been trying to tell you that since you got the job. Like I told you, I dated Vlad Dracula. Not only that, but my ring once floated around a vampire coven for a few weeks. I was lucky to get out of there undiscovered. The whole thrall experience is a messy, horrible business.

I was ready to disregard the priest entirely, but the fact that Maggie agreed with him so quickly brought me up in a complete about face. I ran a hand through my hair, not caring if Father Orrock could see the conflict in my expression. Well, there’s not much I can do about it but get Michael to the safe house.

“Okay,” I said. “I get it. But I still have a job to do. Is Michael coming down or isn’t he?”

Father Orrock gazed back at me thoughtfully, his head still cocked, wearing a half smile.

“Shit,” I said as realization set in, throwing myself back from the table and to my feet. Maggie, those wards are two-way so that Orrock can distract people while his thrall friends make a run for it! I spun toward the door, only to find my way blocked by a number of young men and a single young woman. They all had the same look: a bit emaciated, with sunken, haunted eyes. Luke was among them, but Michael was not. I didn’t stop to think, simply shoving my way through the group. None attempted to stop me, but they didn’t get out of my way either. I shoved and stumbled, making my way out onto the porch where Maggie immediately barked directions in my ear.

Left on the street, then two blocks over. He’s running north!

I took off in pursuit, cutting through backyards and leaping dilapidated fences. I quickly reached an avenue, crossed it, and kept running north.

He’s faster than you, Maggie told me. He’s heading toward the highway. He’s got a book bag of clothes and a big tome. The blood tally is my guess.

I didn’t respond, directing all my energy into a sprint. Trolls are known for being strong, not for their long-distance skills. I gambled and took the next left, running toward the underpass so I didn’t have to chase Michael through highway traffic. By the time I reached the north side of I-71, I was panting hard from the effort. I could feel Maggie listening carefully in the back of my head. I already had that sinking feeling when she gave a frustrated sigh.

Lost him. He must have gone over the highway and then turned east.

“Goddamn it,” I said aloud. I waited on the street corner for several minutes, hoping that Maggie’s senses could pick up my quarry. Finally, with the shake of my head, I walked back to Father Orrock’s halfway house.

I could tell something was wrong the moment I turned onto the street. I could see my truck, but … as I drew closer, I could also see that all four of my tires had been slashed. I ran a hand across my face, feeling angry and tired and not just a little bit humiliated. I walked up to my truck and stood staring at it, hands on my hips, for several moments. On the porch were all of the runaway thralls, staring at me in that eerie silence while Father Orrock sipped his cup of tea. He raised the cup toward me when I looked toward him.

“Was this you?” I asked.

“It’s a rough neighborhood,” Father Orrock told me seriously.

“Right. I bet this is the other way you keep Jose and Karen from coming back here, hmm?”

Orrock shrugged. “As I said, it’s a rough neighborhood.”

Don’t you dare laugh, I told Maggie. I walked over to my truck and popped the hood, giving it a once-over to make sure the engine hadn’t been fiddled with as well. When I shut it, Father Orrock had come down to stand nearby, appraising my tires as if he didn’t know exactly who had slashed them.

“Would you like some help?” he asked.

I glared at him, taking out my cell phone to call the office. “No,” I told him. “No, I would not.” Once I’d asked Nadine to send someone with four new tires, I put on my flack vest and strapped my Glock to my side. I was pissed, and I wasn’t going to be caught off guard again.

“That’s wholly unnecessary,” Father Orrock told me.

“It’s a rough neighborhood,” I told him. Then I walked up onto the porch, through the small gang of runaway thralls, and into the house. I could hear Father Orrock following me.

“Excuse me, where are you going?”

I ignored him.

Where are you going? Maggie asked.

I walked upstairs and began to check every bedroom. Father Orrock ran a tight ship, and each of them, even the occupied ones, was clean and organized. I kept checking until I found a room that looked like it had been left in a hurry. It wasn’t much – the covers were tossed aside, a spare T-shirt was lying on the ground, and a couple of comic books had been discarded on the floor. I turned toward Father Orrock. “Was this Michael’s room?” I asked.

Father Orrock had set his tea down somewhere and was now watching me warily from the hallway. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “You need to leave, now!” All pretense of friendliness was gone.

“Tell me where Michael slept, or I’m posting the address of this place – and what exactly it is – online. You might scare off reapers with this nonsense, but you won’t scare off a whole vampire brood.” Even as I spoke it, I knew it was a bluff. Father Orrock’s operation was clearly successful in part through secrecy. I wasn’t about to fuck that up out of spite. But I was also super pissed in the moment, and I hoped that covered for my bluff.

“How dare you,” Father Orrock snapped.

“You made this personal when you and your kids here slashed my tires. Now tell me where Michael slept.”

Father Orrock hesitated for a few more moments and then nodded. “It was that room.”

You’re not going to do what I think you are, are you? Maggie asked.

Again, I ignored her. I walked inside and stripped the pillowcase off the pillow, then turned it inside out. Carrying it in one hand, I pushed past Father Orrock and headed back out to my truck where I tossed the pillowcase inside, then turned to lean against the driver’s side door, crossing my arms and staring angrily back at the porch. No one followed me back out, but I could see Father Orrock’s face in the living room window. Staring back at him, I settled down to wait for my new tires.

Chapter 10

There are a lot of reasons that professionals don’t hire witches for scrying. Confidentiality is a big one: witches share everything with their coven. The stereotype that witches are a bunch of chatty old women – and sometimes men – who will talk about anything with literally anyone is a stereotype for a reason. Another reason involves their chain of command. While there are occasional witches with inherent power, most of them have struck a deal with a powerful Other and that Other will find out why its servant was hired.

For me, it’s trust. Collecting that debt when I was seventeen and then getting hives for my effort has given me a lifelong aversion to any witch. I’m a professional, and I want other professionals to treat me as such. Beyond my own experience, I don’t know anyone who works with the Other that doesn’t have a horror story about the witch next door or the cousin who hired a coven for some such thing.

So witches are always off the table. Or at least, they were.

Olivia Martin’s house was much the same as when I was there a little over a week ago to collect that grimoire. Only one thing had changed: there was a little sign in the window that said CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS. CONSULTATIONS AVAILABLE BY APPOINTMENT.

I flinched at that sign, thinking back to how clearly pissed she’d been over the whole Cleveland Coven lawsuit. Me smashing up her kitchen had forced her to close her doors at a time she probably needed her regular income more than normal. I stood on the front step, waiting for her to open the door before I’d even knocked. No one came out to greet me. I could hear the sound of heavy metal playing through the window and someone singing along with it badly.

I’m having second thoughts, I told Maggie.

Don’t come crying to me. I told you this was stupid. Witches can’t be trusted. You’re the one who insisted on driving all the way out here.

The drive over from the west side had let me cool off a bit. I was less pissed at Father Orrock and his thrall runaways than I was with myself now, and only in the last few minutes had I really decided that I might be acting out of anger. But like Maggie said, I’d already driven all the way out here. Before I could change my mind, I knocked hard on the door.

I heard a thump, then a bunch of swearing. A few moments passed before the music turned off and footsteps pounded angrily across the living room. As the door swung open, I heard, “Goddamn it, can’t you read? I’m closed for … oh. It’s you.”

Olivia was wearing an old Jack Daniel’s T-shirt and cutoff denim short shorts. Her hair was tied back by a handkerchief and there was a splash of green paint across her nose. She glared up at me, a paint roller held off to one side. I craned my neck to look over her shoulder. In the last eight days she had disposed of the broken oven and table and all of her hanging racks. The kitchen was empty except for the fridge, the walls taped off for a paint job, everything from the counters piled in one corner of the living room.

“Were you listening to Sabaton?” I asked.

She sniffed. “Yeah. So what?”

“I didn’t peg you for a Swedish historical metal sort of lady.”

“Shocking.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Can I help you with something, Alex?”

“Alek.”

She glared at me.

I smiled back with my best charming smile. It didn’t work. I continued, “I was hoping to hire you for some scrying.”

Her glare softened a little but did not go away. “Since when do reapers hire nondenominational practitioners of witchcraft?”

“The fact that you’re not a coven member helps with the decision. Also because I’m stuck up a tree right now.”

She tapped the roller absently against her leg, not seeming to notice the fact that she’d just gotten paint all over herself. Finally, she pointed the roller back toward her kitchen. “You tell me why Grimoire Lending is giving me the runaround on their insurance, pinning me for six thousand dollars’ worth of repairs on my kitchen, and then we can talk about your bit of scrying.”

“I don’t …” I don’t know almost came out of my mouth, but I stopped myself before it finished. I frowned over her shoulder and took out my cell phone. When she began to ask me what I was doing, I held up one finger. Searching through my contacts, I found one and dialed the number. It rang twice before it picked up.

“Grimoire Lending, Client Outreach, this is Jacob speaking.”

“Jacob,” I said, “this is Alek Fitz from Valkyrie Collections. I need to talk to someone about a recent overdue book collection.”

“Hello, Alek! I can handle that for you.”

“Oh, good.” I put on my very best annoyed businessman voice. “Then maybe you can explain to me why Olivia Martin is threatening to sue both Grimoire Lending and Valkyrie Collections over that goddamn popup demon that attacked me last week.” Olivia gestured urgently at me. I waved her off. “I had to smash up her kitchen to destroy it and your insurance should be paying for the whole thing. So why is she calling me every couple hours pissed as hell?”

There was a long period of time when I only heard the sound of typing on a keyboard. Finally, Jacob said, “She’s really that mad, huh?”

“Wouldn’t you be? Her kitchen was trashed. We were attacked by a cursed book you failed to warn either of us about. I mean, her lawsuit against Valkyrie Collections will get thrown out in minutes. But against Grimoire? Shit, man, that could stretch on for years and it’s going to cost you guys a bunch of money. I’m ninety percent sure if you write her a check immediately she’ll go away. But I’m also sure that if I have to spend the rest of the year going to court cases to testify against you guys, Ada Valk is going to seriously reconsider her relationship with Grimoire Lending.”

Another long silence. “Could you hold, please?”

“Sure.” Instrumental music began to play, and I muted my phone.

“What the hell are you doing?” Olivia demanded. “I’m not threatening to sue anyone. If I pulled some shit like that, I would never be able to borrow another grimoire again.”

I said, “I’ve never worked with Grimoire Lending before, but I know they take their reputation very seriously. It’s a gamble, but …”

“Don’t gamble with my career!” Olivia cut me off. “Look, you smashed up my kitchen, I lost months’ worth of work of herbs, my AC broke two days later. I don’t have time for this.” To my surprise, she slammed the door in my face.

I stared at the door unhappily, still listening to the on-hold music on my phone. Well that went well, I said to Maggie.

She snickered in the corner of my mind.

I need to have a more supportive friend living in my head.

And I need my house stuck on the finger of someone just a little smoother, Maggie replied. We can’t all get what we want.

I was just about to turn away when I heard a phone ringing inside the house. Curious, I stayed and tried to listen. All I could hear was muffled talking. Nothing came of it, so I headed back to my truck. I was at the sidewalk when Olivia’s door opened. I glanced over my shoulder at her. She was eyeballing me with a mixture of irritation and … something. She’d gotten rid of her paint roller and was holding a cellphone.

The music on my phone suddenly switched off. “Mr. Fitz?”

“I’m still here,” I said.

“Jacob here. We’ve taken care of the problem. Ms. Martin shouldn’t be bothering you anymore. Please call me back if there are any further issues.”

I thanked him and then hung up, turning back toward Olivia. I jerked a thumb at my truck. “Should I be running?” I asked.

“No,” she replied petulantly. “Come on in.”

I joined in her in the living room. It smelled strongly of paint, despite all the windows being open. It was also at least ninety degrees. I could see why she had been in such a bad mood when I arrived. “So …”

She set her phone down and whirled on me. “You’re lucky.”

“Yeah?”

“The owner called. He offered me twenty grand to sign some papers promising I wouldn’t sue them. Also gave me two years unlimited, free borrowing if I never say a bad word in public or private about Grimoire.”

“Reputation is king.” I smiled at her. The flicker of a smile crossed her face. I could see the genuine relief in her eyes and guessed that she was stretched even thinner than I thought. I sympathized, I really did. “Sorry about your kitchen,” I said. “I should have tried to help earlier.”

She waved away the apology. “I’m feeling pretty good about that help right now. So tell me what you need scryed.”

I can’t believe that worked, Maggie said in disbelief.

I grinned inwardly at her. See? I can be smooth. Sometimes.

Olivia cleared away some of the mess, and we sat down on opposite ends of her couch. Over the next five minutes, I sketched out the basics of the Michael Pavlovich job. I left out a lot of the details and leaned hard on my own distaste with the job. I’d already decided to be as honest as I could with her about what I was doing and why. The last thing I needed was to regain her trust only to trick her into helping with a runaway – especially because I had no idea how she’d feel about the whole situation morally. I didn’t know why I wanted to keep her trust, but I felt like it was a good idea.

When I’d finished, Olivia pursed her lips and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and thoughtfully. “Tracking down runaway slaves is gross,” she told me.

“I’m aware.”

“On the other hand …” She spread her hands. “A good portion of my income comes from spying on people’s most intimate moments. And I’ve made a love potion or two in my time. I don’t do it anymore,” she hurriedly added, “but I have. So I’m not going to judge. At least not too much.”

Oh yeah. That’s another reason professionals don’t like working with witches. When learning how to make a date rape drug is part of your internship, your profession might not have much moral depth.

“So you’ll do it?” I asked.

“Can you pay in cash?”

I pulled out my roll of bribe twenties and peeled off ten of them, setting them on the coffee table. She raised one eyebrow.

“Give me the pillowcase,” she said.

I handed over the pillowcase I’d taken from the halfway home and leaned back on the couch while Olivia puttered around her living room, checking the boxes of stuff from her kitchen and making a small pile of ingredients on the coffee table. She finally seemed to finish her search. She turned the pillowcase back to the right way out and picked over it carefully for several hairs that she set on a little silver plate. When she’d finished that, she looked up at me expectantly.

“Yes?” I asked.

“Could you wait outside? I know this is weird, but I scry better naked. It’s a nature thing.”

Despite myself, I could feel my cheeks turn a little red. “Of course, of course,” I said, just a little too quickly. I hurried out the front door as she began to draw a pentagram on her coffee table. I returned to my truck, where I busied myself by checking emails and perusing some of the genealogy forums that I’d gotten to know so well over the last week. Maggie and I were in the middle of a discussion over the moral implications of the different kinds of necromancy when Olivia opened her front door and waved me inside. I checked the clock. It had been almost forty minutes.

Her brow was furrowed when I came in, and I saw a book lying out on the coffee table next to the pentagram and other ingredients. I sat down on the couch at her indication. She knelt across from me at the coffee table, not meeting my eyes. She opened her mouth, seemed to think better of whatever she was about to say, and remained silent.

“Something went wrong,” I guessed, feeling my own frustration bubbling when I could see the answer in her expression.

“Here’s the thing,” she said. She drummed her fingers on the book, then flipped it closed so I could see the cover. It was called The Magic of the Common Man. “You said you’ve never actually tracked down a thrall, right?”

I nodded.

“First thing you need to know is that runaway thralls always cover their tracks. It’s surprisingly easy.” She tapped the book again. “This says it’s a tincture of garlic, rosemary, silver dust, and a handful of other junk that they apply to their necks not unlike cologne. It’s a basic protective tincture against vampires used for thousands of years, and it also keeps their masters from being able to find them through the sorcerous link created by their contract. Unfortunately for us, it also protects them from basic scrying. I can tell that Michael is still alive. I can tell he’s scared and in hiding. But I can’t tell where he is or what he’s doing at the moment.”

“Well,” I said, not bothering to hide my disappointment. This whole thing had been a waste of time, and that same depressed anger was starting to come back. “Shit.”

Olivia held up one finger. “I can keep an eye on him. I call it a rolling scry: as long as I renew the spell every twenty-four hours, my sorcery will keep looking for him passively. I can tell you if he moves a great distance – like hopping a flight – and if the tincture wears off I should be able to give you a firm location.”

Information helped me fight off my irritation. “Okay, that could be useful.” I got up, feeling a sudden pressure of pent-up energy. I needed to go for a walk, get some lunch, think this whole thing over. “I appreciate the help. How much will it cost me for this rolling scry?”

Olivia pursed her lips. “I can keep it up for a few days for no extra charge. Longer than that, I’ll need another two hundred dollars.”

“Fair enough.” We shook hands, and I left pleasantly surprised that my interaction with a witch had gone well for a change. I drove to the closest McDonalds, ordered a shitload of nuggets, and sat in a booth, cramming them into my face while I considered my predicament. Olivia seemed fairly confident she could find Michael. But until then? What do you think Boris’s blood tally has that’s so valuable to Jacques? I asked Maggie.

He claimed there’d be evidence of wrongdoing.

There’s got to be something else. A book of contracts could have anything in it.

Maggie hummed to herself thoughtfully. Agreed. Maybe … maybe we forget about Michael for a little while. Olivia is the competent type. She’ll keep her eye out for him to slip up.

And what do I do in the meantime? I asked. Waste more time on genealogy forums?

You could do that, but it’s not quite what I had in mind. Personally, I’d like to know what Boris was doing the day we met him.

I leaned back in my booth, absently counting the McNuggets left in the box and wondering if I should get another twenty to help lift my mood. I thought about this for a while. He had a trifold stand and a bunch of poster boards.

Yeah. And he really didn’t seem to want you to see them, if I remember right. I was going to say something at the time, but he was such a piece of shit it slipped my mind.

Maybe it was just me grasping at straws, but that did seem weird. Auction? I suggested. He might have been selling some antiques.

Maggie didn’t answer. I ruminated on the thought for several minutes, finishing up my nuggets and getting another box of them for the road. Maggie was right. If I couldn’t find Michael, it was time to find out if there was anything out of the ordinary in Boris’s blood tally.

Chapter 11

I spent the rest of the evening sleuthing, conducting a more thorough search on Boris and his background than I had before, even going so far as to call in a favor with a contact at the Cuyahoga County courthouse. Despite all my efforts, I found nothing beyond what I already knew. Boris did have a thriving antiques business, most of the buying and selling done online. His eBay store, the one run by his thralls, didn’t tell me anything else. It wasn’t until early the next morning, sitting at my kitchen table at home, that a thought suddenly hit me and I called up the Days Inn in Brecksville.

It took three tries to get through to the desk. A tired voice answered with a yawn. “Days Inn, how can I make your stay better?”

“Hi there,” I said in my most cheerful voice. “I was hoping you could help me with a problem. I attended a seminar there on July 16, and I promised the lovely old man who ran the seminar that I’d follow up with him. Unfortunately, I’ve misplaced his business card.”

Lovely old man? Maggie commented wryly.

The receptionist answered with another yawn. “Sorry, our ballroom gets rented out for a lot of stuff. Can’t help you.”

“Oh, surely you can check your logbooks. I was there!”

“Man, look, I’m …”

“If it helps,” I said cheerfully, “I can come down myself this afternoon and help you look!”

I could practically hear the guy roll his eyes. “No, no,” he said tiredly. “That’s not necessary. Give me a minute, I’ll look.”

I was on hold for significantly longer than a minute. I was beginning to think he’d hung up on me when the line switched over. “You still there?” he asked.

“I am!”

“All right. The only rental we had that day was to Humble Beginnings.”

“Gosh, that doesn’t sound familiar.” It certainly didn’t sound like a business run by someone like Boris. “You’re sure that was the only seminar that day?”

“I’m sure. It started at two and got out at four. Sorry, can’t help you any more.” He hung up.

I jotted down the name Humble Beginnings. “Well,” I said aloud to Maggie, “I’m not convinced this is the right thing, but four is when we met with Boris, so the timing lines up.” I typed the name into my phone and hit the search button. I muttered to myself, “Okay, tattoo parlor in California. A job search website. A …” I trailed off, clicking on the fourth website down.

At first glance, it looked like a therapist’s website. It had a tasteful picture of a flower garden at the top. Underneath were the words Have You Ever Wanted to Start Again? The middle of the page was taken up by a long, rambling box of text that went on for some time about how difficult life could be and how life could get better if you just decided to start a new life. I skimmed it, my eyes beginning to glaze over, when Maggie said, Go to the bottom of the page. You see that?

The word immortality caught my eye immediately. It was just kind of slipped in there, mentioned casually during this long essay. But the word was hyperlinked. I clicked it and found myself taken to a different part of the website. I leaned forward, intrigued, and began to read more carefully. I clicked four more hyperlinks and was taken to two different websites before I finally found what I didn’t know I was looking for. It said,

Would you like to become a vampire in a quarter the amount of time it takes normal thralls? Would you like to join a growing community of immortals bound together by friendship and sacred covenants, spread all throughout the Great Lakes area? Come to one of Boris’s seminars!

Seminar: $200

Enthrallment: $5000 plus admin fees. Seminar fee waived.

Beneath all that was a list of locations and dates all around the region, from Northern Michigan all the way over to the middle of New York State. I ticked off the dates that had already passed, then took a screenshot of the ones coming up. I now knew exactly where Boris had been – and was going to be for the next few weeks. It only took a quick internet search to find out that all the websites I’d been through on this weird little digital jaunt were registered to Boris’s antiques company. I let myself stew on this for almost an hour, clicking every hyperlink on all the websites and doing a handful more searches, before my phone rang.

It was Jenny, my contact at the Cuyahoga County courthouse.

“Hey, Alek,” she said slowly. Jenny and I had dated briefly five years ago before we quickly realized my insane schedule was not going to leave us happy for long. We still talked a few times a year. “You remember that guy you asked about yesterday? Boris Novak?”

I could feel Maggie perk up in the back of my head. “Yes?” I asked.

“Well, I was filling in for a coworker in the contracts department this morning and decided to do a search for Boris in our physical records. I found something kind of weird. He has an enormous file here. Nothing digital. All paper records, all stuffed into a miscellaneous bin in the basement.”

“Huh,” was the only answer I could manage. Contracts with the Other were technically public record, though few people knew how to get their hands on them. Cleveland had digitized their records years ago. They should have all come up in the searches I’d been doing over the last week. “Why weren’t they in a digital file?” I asked.

“No idea. The company who did the digitization was kind of a pain in the ass. The head of our contract department has been bitching about them for years. He claims they’re lazy, corrupt, or both.”

Corrupt, Maggie sniffed. I wonder …

You wonder what? I asked her.

I wonder if Boris paid them not to digitize his files.

“So what are these mysterious contracts?” I asked.

“I’m not really sure,” she told me. “They’re really long, and I don’t do contracts. There’s lots of stuff about ownership, property rights; that sort of thing. I’ve got nothing better to do. Give me an hour and I’ll send you some scans.”

True to her word, a half dozen scans came through to my email in short order. Now, I’m not a contract lawyer and I’m definitely not an Other contract lawyer. But I collect on debts for a living, so I’ve read thousands of these during my career. The first thing I noticed was that these were very long – almost a hundred pages each, which meant they were incredibly comprehensive. The second thing I noticed was that whole pages were redacted, which meant that these were copies of the contracts, not originals. Redacting was a way one company of Other could keep another from finding out the wording they used.

I picked one at random and spent the next couple hours reading it and rereading it carefully. All the legalese made my head hurt, but I could tell it was a work of art. It was crafted carefully, every word chosen for a reason, leaving no loopholes and allowing no wiggle room for either party involved. By the time I’d finished, I felt kind of ill. Even Maggie had long ago gone silent, reading along with me, and I could sense her palpable disgust from the corner of my mind.

I finally closed the PDF and set my phone aside. At some point in the last hour, Eddie had come along and sat in my lap.

The moment I set my phone down, he said, “We’re out of tuna.”

Deep in thought, I walked to my truck and grabbed a few cans of tuna I’d forgotten to bring in the night before, returning inside and opening one of them before setting it on the kitchen floor.

Eddie sniffed it once. “This isn’t albacore.”

“It’s all they had,” I said distractedly. I didn’t have time for him, to be honest, and I hoped he’d shut up and eat.

Eddie settled back on his haunches and stared at me. I ignored him. Okay, I said to Maggie. I know what’s in the blood tally that Jacques wants. I just can’t believe he’s kept it a secret this long. I picked up my phone and called Jenny back. “Hey, can you do me another favor?” I asked.

“Yeah?”

“Look through those contracts – just the first page of each one – and find me one for someone named Sam. Should be pretty recent.”

“Hold on.” She set down the phone, and I could hear the shuffling of papers. It didn’t take very long before she was back. “Sam LASTNAME HERE??”

“That’s it. Can you scan it and send it to me?”

“Sure.”

I hung up, then looked through my notes until I found Boris’s landline. A familiar voice answered the phone.

“Is this Sam?” I asked.

“… Yes?” the thrall responded.

“Good. If you want to help Michael get through the next week alive, you’re going to meet me for lunch.”

Three hours later, I was sitting at a smoky little bar in a strip mall in Brook Park. The place was “outdoorsy,” with wood paneling and lots of shelving for knickknacks and a large bison head above the door. Not really my kind of place, but it was practically empty in the middle of the day, and the lone bartender sat in the back playing some game on his phone with the volume turned up while I conducted my meeting. Sam – Boris’s tall, overweight thrall – shoved himself into the booth across from me, glancing around the establishment like his master might be hiding behind the pinball machine in the corner. The poor guy was wearing cargo shorts and a League of Legends T-shirt, completely soaked with sweat, his brow wrinkled in consternation.

“Boris told me not to see you again,” he muttered, hunching his shoulders.

“But you’re here anyways,” I said. I sat straight in my own booth, fixing Sam with my I’m-done-with-this-shit gaze and drumming the fingers of my left hand on the table.

Sam’s own gaze settled on me. He swallowed hard. “I’m just trying to help Mike.”

“And I’m hoping you can,” I said. “But I need you to answer some questions for me.” I produced a printed-out version of a contract from the Cuyahoga County courthouse – his contract – and slid it across the table. “You know what this is?”

Sam flinched. His eyes didn’t linger on it for more than a second or two before he pointedly looked away. “Of course.”

“Good.” I pulled the contract back toward me and flipped absently through the pages. It was a thick stack of paper, printed on both sides. “There’s an awful lot of redacted stuff in here.”

“Yeah.” Sam didn’t meet my eyes. “It’s for … what’s the word? Propriety?”

“It’s proprietary?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Business stuff. I don’t understand it all, myself.”

“Yet you signed the contract.”

“I mean, I understood what I was signing. I just don’t know the business jargon.”

Maggie sighed. He totally didn’t understand everything in that contract. You do this shit for a living and you don’t understand it all.

I said as much to Sam and continued, “Look, I’m not here to ask you to spill your master’s secrets. I just want you to clarify a few things. On the surface, this contract appears far better for the thrall than most thrall-master agreements. From what I understand, most contracts go something like this: the thrall agrees to serve the master for a fixed period of time, after which the master will release the thrall from all debts, turn them into a vampire, and then cut them loose. Usually with a big cash payment to get them started on their new trip into immortality. Correct?”

Sam nodded unhappily.

“Standard agreement is twenty years?”

Another nod.

“And yet …” I shuffled through his contract again. “And yet, Boris’s contract is only five years. That’s barely a fourth of other vampires. Hell, that’s barely any servitude at all! Merely time you might otherwise spend on a college degree, and you’re a goddamn immortal. Pretty sweet deal. How long do you have left, by the way?”

“Two hundred and three days,” Sam answered, still not meeting my eye.

“Just keeping your head down? Waiting for it to be over? For you to have your own immortality and move out of that garbage heap and get your own place?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “What’s the catch?”

Sam finally looked up at me. He took a long, trembling breath, then looked back down at the contract. “It’s not so bad.”

“Not so bad?” I echoed. I turned to page thirty-four, where I’d highlighted a bit of language that Maggie had pointed out to me. I read, “The undersigned agrees to swear an oath of fealty from the moment of his immortality until he is truly, completely dead. Man, there isn’t even a release clause in here – at least not one I could find. Boris couldn’t let you out of this contract if he wanted to.” I leaned forward. “Do you know why vampires are only allowed to have four thralls at the same time? You ever heard of the country of Vlorech?” I know I hadn’t. It wasn’t even on Wikipedia. I got the story from Maggie, and she admitted she only knew the rumors. “It was a small country in Eastern Europe where a Vampire Lord made the entire population into thralls. He had such powerful will that he could command the populace like a goddamn hive queen. He committed atrocities that made Dracula look like a white knight. It took a coalition of the Ottomans and Christian powers of Europe to put him down, after which both sides agreed to salt the earth and remove all reference to Vlorech from their histories.”

Sam sulked across from me.

“Look, I know that when you sign on for a sweet deal like this you aren’t going to spend a lot of time on the overarching geopolitical implications. But in addition to those five years of thralldom, you also agreed to become Boris’s vassal vampire for eternity. You are contractually obligated to obey him.”

I continued, “He can compel you to do whatever he wants. Can you even comprehend eternity? Let’s say you only live to three hundred before you get bored and off yourself, or a Hunter corners and kills you. You’ve still lived four lifetimes. That’s a long time – and during that whole time, you’re still a slave of Boris.” I was finally getting to the crux of my problem with this whole thing. I rapped my knuckles on the table until Sam finally looked me in the eye again. “I need you to tell me something very important – something in here that is redacted.”

“What?” he asked.

“Does this contract provision for you to continue the cycle that Boris started, where your own thralls become vampire vassals to you, and then theirs to them, and so on?”

Sam shifted around in his seat. For a moment he looked like he was going to try and leave. Finally, he said, “Yeah. That’s the idea. Each of us gets our own little kingdom. The longer we live, the bigger the kingdom we get.”

“All of them, ad nauseum, vassals of Boris.” I breathed a sigh of disbelief. It’s kind of genius, I told Maggie.

It’s kind of terrifying, she responded. The Vampire Lords have their own vassals and coalitions, but nothing to this extent. Boris might already have a hundred vassal vampires. It won’t take him long to have thousands, then tens of thousands. If he survives long enough, he’ll have millions of full-fledged vampires who obey him. Sam himself will have thousands.

It’s a goddamned vampire multilevel marketing scheme, I snorted. Returning my attention to Sam, I said, “Have you considered the implications of all this?”

He shrugged.

“Right.” I got up, took off my hat, running one hand through my hair.

“Wait!” Sam suddenly said. “You told me this was all going to help Michael.”

“I was telling the truth.”

“How?”

I gave him a tight, businesslike smile. “Sorry. If I tell you, then Boris will just kill both of us.” I walked back to my truck, drove around for a few minutes to sort all the details out in my head before finding a shady place to park. I called Jacques. The dhampir answered on the first ring. “Alek, how is the hunt going?”

I put on my best exasperated voice. “Boris’s thrall is slippery. I tracked him down to the south side, but he was staying with … friends and they tipped him off.” I’d already decided not to tell him about the thrall halfway house. I was pissed about my tires getting slashed, but if a Vampire Lord found out about it, Father Orrock and all his charges would end up dead. “I got a glimpse of him, but he hopped across a freeway and lost me.”

“Did he have the blood tally?” No disappointing lecture. No ominous threats. Just a quick, succinct question.

“No idea,” I lied. “Is there anything I should be looking for?”

“Hmm.” Jacques typed something on a keyboard. “It should be quite large. A proper tome, probably. If you caught a glimpse of Michael, you would have seen the blood tally.”

“I don’t think so. He must have stashed it somewhere.”

Jacques was quiet for some time. I could hear him breathing on the other end, and his voice had just a tinge of annoyance when he finally said, “All right. Track him down. No more wasting time. No more worrying about Boris. The blood tally is all that matters. Deliver it to me by the end of the week and I’ll give you another ten thousand on top of what I offered last time. All of this will stay between you and I.”

“See,” I replied, “that’s what I’m worried about. If I take Michael back to Boris without the blood tally, Boris will find out what happened to it, and then he’ll come after me.”

“If you get me that book, I’ll take care of him and his thralls. Do your job, Agent Fitz.” Jacques hung up.

I took a few deep breaths. I’m out of my depth, I told Maggie.

I’ve gotten that impression, she replied demurely.

Boris’s blood tally contains the original contracts for this vampire MLM, without redactions.

That’s almost certain.

Can someone else use those contracts?

Maggie thought about this for a moment. The language itself will be valuable – that’s why the copies at the courthouse are redacted, after all. When it comes to the contacts themselves … most Other won’t fiddle with contracts because they’re afraid of OtherOps finding out, but Lord Ruthven might just be strong enough to take over another vampire’s blood tally. And if he’s not, he could probably find a magician willing to use that blood tally to bend Boris to his will. Blood rites can be complicated, and only the old gods know their power better than the Vampire Lords.

So if Lord Ruthven can get his hands on the blood tally, there’s a chance he just steals Boris’s MLM straight up?

And the feudal army that comes with it.

That thought brought up something else that had been bothering me. If Boris has an army of vampires at his call, why aren’t they looking for Michael?

Maggie sniffed. Contract or not, the stubborn old prick probably doesn’t want to admit to his subordinates that he lost the blood tally. They’re still predators. He can’t show weakness around them.

I waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, I said, Any advice?

I’ll be honest … I’m kind of out of my depth too. New, proprietary language in a contract? This is corporate-level shit. It’s the kind of thing Vampire Lords and Lao and the Lords of Hell deal with. Not jinn. At least not my kind of jinn. Wars get fought over this kind of thing.

Fuck. I lifted my phone again and called Ada. She listened in silence as I explained the whole situation, in detail, including the attempted bribe from Jacques. When I’d finished, I was met with a long silence and then she said,

“So?”

If I was expecting anything from her, that was not it. “What do you mean, so? One of our clients is creating a vampire MLM using contract language that would make any high-level attorney weep with joy. You know the implications of this, right? Boris could be the king of his own vampire nation in a hundred years. He could upend the Rules, make war on OtherOps. Shit, he could wipe out humanity.”

“You don’t think you’re being a little too dramatic?” Ada asked.

I thought about this for a minute. “No. No, I don’t. Have you ever met a vampire who wouldn’t do anything for more power if he thought he could get away with it?”

“Well … a hundred years, though. You and I will be long dead by then.”

I ran my hand through my hair, scoffing. “That’s really fucking callous, even for you.” I paused for just a moment. This was no help at all. “I know Jacques is blackmailing you.”

I could hear Ada grow still. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I’m not an idiot. Jacques has something over you, or you wouldn’t ever have agreed to a job in which we betray one client for another. You’re greedy, but you value your professional reputation too much.” I felt the barcode over my chest tighten slightly. I ignored it. “What is it? What’s he blackmailing you with?”

“Never you mind,” Ada snapped. “I always knew you were too clever for your own good. Get your nose out of this shit and do your job. Make the delivery. Keep the money from Jacques. Just get this over with.”

I gripped my steering wheel with the hand not holding the phone. “No,” I said.

The barcode tightened further. “What?” Ada demanded.

“I said no. The blood tally has all the original contract language that Boris has been using to set up his feudal system. It’s dangerous enough in his hands, but if one of the Vampire Lords gets their hands on it? Shit, I can’t even imagine. I’m not going to give it to him.” My chest hurt like hell now, and I could feel Maggie pacing around in the back of my head.

Alek, she could kill you, she warned.

I went on, “Be a coward if you want. Try to protect whatever gross secret that Jacques has. But he’s not blackmailing me. I’m going to find Michael, destroy the damned blood tally he’s carrying, and then hand Michael back to Boris. If any of them are pissed about the situation, they can go fuck themselves. I will have fulfilled my duties to my clients.” The last few words barely came out as a wheeze. I was doubled up now, gripping the wheel so hard my hand had gone numb. My chest felt like it was being stepped on by a giant.

“I could pop your heart like a zit,” Ada croaked.

“Do it,” I managed.

Then, without warning, the pain was gone. Ada hung up. I felt the blood rush to my head and I spent the next couple of minutes taking deep breaths and blinking the spots out of my vision.

Have you ever called her bluff before? Maggie asked. Her presence was close, more intimate than usual, like a friend leaning over another to check on their health after they fell.

I think that might be the first of those fights I’ve ever won. Winning didn’t feel good, though. Not even a little bit. The pain was gone, but the memory of it was fresh. I’d just put myself on a path against my boss and a Vampire Lord and Boris Novak. I was a walking dead man, and I knew it. But unless Ada ratted me out to one of the clients, I was going to destroy the blood tally before either Jacques or Boris had the chance to off me.

I was just beginning to think clearly again when Maggie hissed, Fucking hell. You’re being scryed.

My stomach lurched. “By who?” I asked aloud. “Is it Matthias? Is he coming for us?”

Not me. You. It’s … hold on. Unless it’s a god, they’re not going to get much out of their scrying but … well. Damn.

Who is it?

It’s Olivia Martin.

I let out a disappointed sigh. I was paying her to scry Michael, not put her nose into my business. Not as bad as Matthias, I suppose. I should have known not to trust a witch.

If she decides to be persistent and find out why her scrying failed, she might be a pain in our ass, Maggie warned.

I know. Let’s deal with this now. What was that you said? Witches can be dealt with by a swift punch to the nose?

Only if they don’t know it’s coming.

I pulled out of my shady parking spot and drove toward the highway to head east toward Chardon. She’s not going to know it’s coming. Shame. I really don’t want to break her face, but she picked the wrong time to come snooping.

Chapter 12

I arrived at Olivia’s house at about three in the afternoon, somewhat less pissed but still on the war path. This, I kept telling myself, is why no one trusts witches. This is why no professional in their right mind would ever get involved with a witch in any capacity. Why can’t they just keep themselves to themselves?

My ranting inner monologue was interrupted when I was almost to the front door and Maggie said, Heads up. That black Suburban you parked behind wasn’t here last time. I don’t think it’s Olivia’s car, which means she’s not alone.

I don’t really care if she’s with a client, I grunted back, though I did force myself to slow down a little bit, coming to a stop on the front step to gather myself for the coming confrontation. I wasn’t, I’d decided, going to punch in her the face. But we were going to have a very strong conversation. It was while I was considering this that I heard the voices inside.

Olivia might have her house warded tightly and the curtains drawn, but the windows were original to the house – single pane – and let out quite a bit of muffled sound. I glanced around the neighborhood to make sure none of the neighbors were outside before leaning toward the window. I recognized Olivia’s voice, though I couldn’t understand quite what she was saying. From her tone, she was explaining something with the exaggerated patience of a parent. A male voice answered her, sounding quite irritated. A different male voice chimed in something, but the first bowled it over without stopping.

Any idea what they’re saying? I asked Maggie.

Not a clue. These wards are even better than I thought.

Are you really that impressed?

Clearly.

Do you have a crush on Olivia? I asked.

Maggie cleared her throat. Maybe a little one.

I rolled my eyes and pounded on the door. The voices all stopped. I could hear footsteps come closer to the door, but not quite up to it.

“Who is it?” I heard that first male voice ask. “Why don’t you have a peephole?”

Olivia replied in that muffled voice that I couldn’t quite understand. She was on the other side of the room, maybe sitting on the couch.

The man said, “Damn it, why would you rely on sorcery for something like that? This is the twenty-first century, isn’t it? All right, get over here and get rid of whoever it is.” Another male voice said something, to which this one replied, “No, I’m not going to look out the window. They’ll see me!”

Something super weird is going on in there, Maggie said. I’m taking a closer look, and some of those wards that were here last week are missing.

Which ones?

The wards against weapons and sorcery. Olivia is defenseless right now.

That couldn’t mean anything good. In a few quick motions I drew the Glock out of my endless wallet, checked the safety, and stuffed it into my belt on the small of my back. I heard footsteps cross the living room and then Olivia’s voice came through the door.

“Sorry, we’re closed!”

I almost replied, thought better of it, and just pounded on the door again.

“Closed!” she yelled.

I pounded again.

The door swung open. “Damn it, when I say we’re closed, it means – what the hell are you doing here?” Olivia stared at me, open-mouthed. She was wearing the same short cutoff jeans and ratty Jack Daniel’s T-shirt as yesterday, with new splotches of paint on both of them. She struck a good figure with that grungy look, but I forced myself to look over her shoulder. I spotted a tall, gangly man wearing a black sweater and slacks despite the heat and unsuccessfully looking for a place to hide in the kitchen. He turned, saw that he’d been spotted, and snarled at me. The snarl turned into a hiss as his eyes widened.

“It’s him!” he barked, leaping toward me. “Grab him!”

Before I could so much as reach for my Glock, I felt something cold touch my throat. I stiffened involuntarily, raising my hands, palm outward, out of reflex.

That fucker has a sword, Maggie sighed. Shit, I think all of them do.

Who is them? I demanded. Before she could answer, Olivia was shoved aside and someone snatched me by the shoulder, pulling me inside. The door was slammed behind me, and I found myself standing with my back to Olivia’s front door and surrounded by three humanoid figures. The one to my right had a long, slender sword – a rapier, maybe – to my neck. The one on my left also had a rapier drawn and was waving it around as if he didn’t quite know what to do with it. The third – the tall, gangly one – still had his sword at his belt. He stood in the kitchen, looking at me unhappily. Even once my eyes began to adjust to the lower light of the living room, he was so tall and thin to be almost otherworldly. He had the unmistakable pink-eye look of a vampire and, glancing sidelong at his companions, I could now see that they did too.

“Well,” I said aloud, “this is awkward.”

“Yes,” the tall one said. “Yes, it is.” He growled softly.

Are there only these three? I asked Maggie.

Yes.

Who the hell are they?

Fuck if I know. But they definitely know who you are.

I sighed, glancing at the one holding the rapier to my neck. “You mind?”

Vampire number two hesitated, glancing toward the tall one, who made a calming gesture. The sword was lowered but held at the ready.

I rubbed my throat gently. “You gonna introduce yourselves?” I demanded. I’d been threatened so many times in my life that the whole sword at the neck thing didn’t really phase me all that much – which probably reflects poorly on my life choices.

The tall one’s lip curled. He seemed very put out by the entire situation, and I was still trying to figure out why. He said, “My name is Adrian. You are the reaper Alek Fitz.” I glanced sidelong at Olivia. She’d been shuffled to one corner of the living room. She appeared just as irritated as Adrian, but I could see fear in her eyes. I smoothed my T-shirt, pulling it down so my new vampire friends couldn’t see the gun stuck in my belt.

You’re sure that the ward against weaponry has been dropped?

Definitely sure. I’m guessing Olivia wouldn’t dispel a ward like that by her own free will.

Adrian continued, “Why are you here?”

“I’m here,” I said, turning toward Olivia, “to find out why the witch is trying to scry me.”

One of Adrian’s companions inhaled sharply. Olivia’s eyes widened slightly. Before she could answer, Adrian cut in. “You knew that she scryed you?”

“Reaper trick,” I grinned at him. “Professionals don’t like being spied on. You have something to do with this?”

“It definitely wasn’t my idea,” Olivia said, glaring at Adrian.

Adrian turned toward Olivia, then back toward me, frowning to himself. He stepped away, into the kitchen, pulling out a cell phone. Listen in on that, I said to Maggie. I glanced back toward Olivia. “You want to explain yourself?”

Her jaw tightened and she glanced significantly toward Adrian, then at the two other vampires still holding their swords, looking uncertain as to what they were meant to do. Olivia took a deep breath and said in a quiet voice, “Sorry about the scrying. They didn’t really give me a choice.”

“How did you even do that?”

“You left a hair on the couch yesterday. It’s pretty common. People leave little bits of themselves everywhere they go.” Olivia’s chin was still lifted in that defiant way, but she looked even more uncertain than when she answered the door.

I felt a little guilty for all the nasty things I’d been thinking about her – and witches in general – on my way over here. “Are you okay?” I asked.

“Oh, I’m fine.”

I didn’t need Maggie to tell me she was lying. I turned to the vampires. “And how did you two assholes know I’d even been here?” I asked. The pair glanced at each other, toward their boss still on his phone in the kitchen, and then back at me. One shrugged. Neither answered. Something clicked in the back of my head. “Have you been following me?” If so, they must have been pretty good at it to keep Maggie from getting a whiff of them. Mags, do you have any idea who Adrian is talking to?

Yeah, and you’re not going to like it.

So?

It’s Jacques Williams. These are Lord Ruthven’s goons.

Motherfu–

There’s more. Jacques just told them to kill Olivia.

Before I could ask for more details, Adrian suddenly hung up his phone and returned to the living room, looking somewhat peeved. “Your arrival here has complicated things,” he said. To his companions, “We have our instructions. Get rid of the girl.”

“Whoa!” I held up both hands. “You’re just going to kill her?”

“This is too important to leave a trail,” Adrian said. “We have instructions to clean up. She’s a covenless witch. No one will miss her.”

I looked with alarm toward Olivia, wondering if I could draw my Glock faster than a vampire could move. To my surprise, Olivia was quicker than either of us. She suddenly collapsed, as if fainting, toward her sofa. The vampire next to her moved out of reflex, going to catch her, but Olivia produced something from beneath a cushion and jabbed upward. The vampire gurgled, clutching at his throat, and staggered back.

Several other things happened at once. The second vampire lifted his sword, leaping across me with the point toward Olivia. My tattoo of Mjolnir flared to life and I rabbit-punched him in the side of his head. He dropped like a sack of potatoes, thumping to the floor. Adrian drew his own sword, looked at his two companions, and suddenly made a break toward the back door. I drew my Glock in one smooth motion, firing twice. The tinkling sound of breaking glass – my magical silencer – filled the room. Adrian stumbled, hitting the back door hard. He managed to get it open and stagger outside. I made to follow, but Olivia was suddenly at my side, restraining me with a hand on my shoulder.

Her hands and arms were covered in blood, her face red, her eyes misty and furious. “Wait,” she told me. “Rocky hasn’t eaten all week.”

Adrian managed three steps down the back garden path when a piece of granite the size of a mailbox hit him from above, turning his head and the bulk of his torso into a crimson smear. It took me a moment to realize that the granite was the fist of Olivia’s garden-alarm rock golem. The creature leaned hard on what was left of Adrian, grinding him into pulp on the garden path, then looked through the door at Olivia.

“It’s fine,” she told him in a soothing voice. “That’s a good boy.”

The rock golem scooped up what was left of Adrian and shambled off.

I tucked my Glock back into my belt and checked the two other vampires. Mjolnir had collapsed the side of one’s skull. He was very dead. The other had been stabbed in the throat by a little silver spike, which Olivia still clutched in one hand, and was noisily dying on the living room floor.

“I’m going to need a new carpet,” she said. “Here, get his legs.”

I had a lot of questions, but having just participated in the murder of three of a Vampire Lord’s servants, I didn’t really feel like any of them were very important. I grabbed him by his legs, Olivia by his arms, and the two of us carried him out into the garden. He was still gurgling when we tossed him onto the compost pile in the corner. Rocky was sitting beside the compost pile, blood on his granite fists. I followed Olivia back inside, and when we returned with the body of the vampire I’d killed, there was nothing left of the first. Rocky, however, looked somehow more content.

“You have vampire blood on your arms,” I pointed out. “Also your left leg, just above the knee.”

Olivia wiped off her leg with a dishtowel, then washed her hands. “Water?” she asked. There were smears of Adrian’s blood on the kitchen linoleum. I stepped over them and looked around. Everything in the kitchen was still taped off for her paint job.

“Sure?”

She’s in shock, Maggie told me. She’s a cool customer – that’s a great way to get rid of bodies – but I bet she doesn’t do that very often.

Olivia handed me a glass of water from the sink and poured herself one.

“You okay?” I asked.

She stared at the opposite wall, sipping her water until it was gone. She took a deep breath, shuddered, and looked around. “Shit.” Her blinking gaze finally found me. “Shit. Shit. Shit. I don’t know how the fuck you knew it was me who did the scrying, but I’m glad you came to yell at me.”

“Yeah,” I told her truthfully. “Me too.” I was almost certain that even if I hadn’t showed up, Olivia would have ended up dead. I wanted to ask myself why, but I already knew. It was Boris’s damned blood tally. Lord Ruthven didn’t just want those contracts – he didn’t want anyone knowing that he had them. Olivia suddenly pushed herself away from the sink. Before I could ask where she was going, she stalked past me and into one of the back bedrooms.

“Look,” I called after her, “I think you might want to stay somewhere else for a couple of days. Or weeks.”

“Way ahead of you,” she responded from her bedroom. She emerged a minute later with a duffel bag and spent the next few minutes rushing around both bedrooms and her living room, throwing stuff into the bag. She emerged a final time, having changed into jeans and a fresh T-shirt, and tossed the full duffel bag onto the couch before attacking the floor with a razor blade. I pitched in to help, and within minutes we’d taken up a six-foot-by-six-foot piece of carpet and padding. Both went onto the compost pile. She mopped up the blood in the kitchen with a sponge and bleach and added the sponge to the compost pile as well. Finally, she looked around the small house, wincing. “This is going to put me back months. Oh well. Let’s go.”

“Let’s … ?” I asked.

She glared up at me. She was still a little misty-eyed still, but determined. Also very, very annoyed. She might be a civilian, but I’d also just watched her shank a vampire without hesitation. That took balls, and I already knew Maggie was impressed. Well, me too.

“I’m staying with you,” she said. “Hope you’ve got a couch or an air mattress or something.”

There was something deeply appealing about Olivia staying with me for a while, but I kept my head about me. “I … don’t know if that’s a good idea. Do you know who those guys were?”

“Lord Ruthven’s goons. Yeah, they told me. You scared of a Vampire Lord?” There was that same “challenging authority” look in her eyes from the first time we’d met.

I held up one finger. “First, yes. I am. He’s a fucking Vampire Lord. Second, I’m about to do something to piss him off really bad, and I don’t think you want to be around me when that happens. In fact, they’re probably going to forget all about you soon enough. I know of a safe house I can put you in …” I trailed off as Olivia locked the back door, then walked out the front and waited for me expectantly. I followed her out. She locked it, made a handful of arcane gestures on the front door, then whistled loudly. A little bit of gravel scooted across the front walk and she leaned down and spoke to it like a puppy.

“Okay, Rocky. You’re the man of the house while I’m away. You can eat vampires, but no one else. Hear me?” Seemingly satisfied, she shot me a glare and walked toward my truck, tossing her duffel into the bed. “I’m staying with you,” she said again. “This is about that Michael Pavlovich thing, right? You still need to find him?”

“Yes,” I said hesitantly. “But it’s more complicated now than it was yesterday.” A little help here, I said to Maggie.

What do you think I’m going to do? Talk sense into her? You’re on your own, bud.

Olivia folded her arms. “I still have my rolling scry on Michael. I stay with you, and we find Michael. Is that going to make all this vampire stuff go away?”

I genuinely can’t tell if she’s courageous, still in shock, or just really stupid, I told Maggie. To Olivia, I said, “Maybe.”

“Well, maybe is the best I’m gonna get right now. I was just forced to kill three vampires in my own house in self-defense. I don’t have a coven, or any friends that would have a prayer standing up to a Vampire Lord. So I’m going to stay with my new best friend Mr. Punchy McReaper Agent until I’ve calmed down. Okay?” She opened the passenger door of my truck and got in.

I like her, Maggie laughed.

I do too, but I don’t think this is the time … I opened my mouth, ready to take the argument further, when my phone began to ring. I looked down. It was Jacques Williams. I sprinted for my truck, jumping in and shoving the key in the ignition. “Okay,” I told Olivia, “you win. But we’re getting out of here really fucking fast.”

Chapter 13

I waited until I was out of Chardon, heading south on Route 44, before I answered Jacques’s third call, looking sidelong at Olivia as I did, taking my hand off my steering wheel long enough to put a finger to my lips. She nodded in understanding.

“Alek Fitz.”

“Alek,” Jacques said, drawing the word out. “How are you?”

“Not great,” I told him.

Jacques sighed. “Yes, I understand that there has been an embarrassing crossing of purposes.”

I switched the phone from one hand to the other. “That’s a weird way of putting it. Apparently your boys have been following me and they just hired a witch to scry me.”

“Yes, well. That’s the embarrassing part on my end,” Jacques said warmly. He didn’t sound embarrassed at all. “I hope you understand that this job means more to my master and our organization than we first let on. Following you was simply a precaution. They lost your trail and decided to get that witch to scry you. I hope that you’re not too angry about the whole situation.”

“I would probably be less angry if you hadn’t told them to kill Olivia.”

“Who is Olivia?”

“The witch.”

“Ah, yes. She was an unfortunate bystander in all of this. Unlike you, she’s not a professional and you know how witches can be. We couldn’t trust her to stay quiet about us scrying a reaper agent. Can’t let that kind of information get out, can we? Lord Ruthven might be a Vampire Lord, but he still has quite a good reputation. It’s too bad about the witch. I trust we can remain friends, though?”

I chewed on the corner of my cheek and glanced at Olivia again. She couldn’t hear Jacques’s side of the conversation, but she could hear mine. “Now this is when I get embarrassed,” I told Jacques. “I get awfully twitchy when people I don’t know start drawing swords.”

“What happened?” Jacques asked, sounding concerned for the first time.

“Your guy Adrian is dead. So are his goons.”

There was a long, unbroken silence.

“I shot them,” I added. “Well, that’s not wholly true. I punched in the side of one’s head.”

Watch that cavalier tone, Maggie warned. Dhampir aren’t known for their sense of humor. Maggie was right. I was getting awfully flippant. Maybe it was my buttoned-up rage. Maybe it was the adrenaline. But I just couldn’t summon two fucks to give about Jacques anymore.

Jacques finally said, “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

“And I wish you’d told me from the start what this job was about,” I snapped. “A bit of advice: don’t hire someone like me and then lie to them about the job. I’m a goddamn professional, and I will find out that you’re lying. I’ll also find out what’s so important about Boris Novak’s blood tally.”

“You know about the contracts?” Jacques asked, deadpan.

My adrenaline finally wore off enough for me to realize that I’d overplayed my hand. I swore to myself silently. “Yeah. I do. And don’t insult me by claiming that you just want to shut Boris down to protect the rest of vampirekind. You want his blood tally for power and contract language.”

“Of course I do.” He made a hmm sound. “This complicates things. The content of those contracts is invaluable, and so is the army that Boris has already begun to build. You’re going to have to talk really fast if you want to survive this.”

“Everybody has to die some time.” There was a sinking feeling in my belly, and it didn’t wholly belong to me. I could sense that Maggie did not like the turn this had taken. “Have you considered the fact that I might be recording this conversation?” I asked. “Or maybe that I have told, or can easily tell, any number of people about this whole thing? This is the twenty-first century. I could get off the phone and blog about it.”

“You will do no such thing,” Jacques said harshly, “or I will begin killing every friend and family member that you have in the world.”

I laughed. It wasn’t funny, but I laughed really hard. “Yeah?”

Jacques was clearly taken aback. “Yes. I will. I am a thorough man.”

“Well good luck with that. You picked the wrong reaper. I don’t have any friends, and I definitely don’t have any family. Go fuck yourself. I’m gonna write a blog.” I hung up.

I took the next turn, heading toward home, and then tried calling Ada. No one answered. I left her a message telling her to get out of town, then dialed Nadine. She answered with a sweet hello.

“No time to explain,” I told her. “Go on lockdown. Tell Ted that I have a brood of vampires gunning for me and Valkyrie Collections might be collateral damage.”

“Sweet Jesus,” Nadine responded. “What the hell did you do?”

“Might have pissed off a client. I recommend not taking any calls from Lord Ruthven. And Nadine? Go stay with Lucy for a week or so. Not even Ruthven is going to fuck with her.”

I could hear Nadine’s fingers flying over her keyboard. She didn’t miss a beat. “Understood. What are you going to do?”

“I have a Vampire Lord hunting for me. I’m going to hide.”

“Good luck, kiddo.”

“Thanks, Nadine.”

It took me several minutes to realize that Olivia hadn’t stopped staring at me since getting off the phone with Jacques. I glanced sidelong at her. I cleared my throat, thought about what I could say, and came up with nothing. Mags?

What? Came her peevish response.

You have any thoughts on this whole situation?

I do, but none of them are helpful.

Gotcha.

I looked back at Olivia again. She’d finally turned away and was lying against the passenger-side door, leaning out the open window, her hair streaming in the wind. It would have been a pleasant sight if not for the circumstance. “Sorry for bringing you into this.”

She pulled herself away from the window. “I kind of expected you to do your best to defuse the situation. Not, you know, declare war on a Vampire Lord. I’m not sure whether to be horrified, impressed, or a little turned on.”

It was obviously a joke. I managed to choke out a laugh. “You should probably be horrified.”

“Yeah, I think that’s the direction I’m going.” She let out a sigh. “I guess I’m in it now. Are you going to tell me what’s so important about those contracts you were talking about?” I didn’t see why not. So I gave her the short version. She nodded along with the explanation. I finished up and she continued to nod. “Okay, well. I see why you’re doing this.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Look, you and I are the generation who has to deal with global warming. I think we have a better concept of the consequences of predictable long-term disaster models than the rest of the world.”

I couldn’t disagree with that. “My boss would call you a goddamn hippie.”

“And she’d make my point. Speaking of which … is your boss on board?”

“That was her I left a message for earlier. I’m not sure I have a job anymore,” I lied. I couldn’t quit, of course, and I don’t think Ada would fire me, even for this. But my employment was almost certainly going to be terminated after a vampire murdered me.

Olivia winced. “Sorry to hear that.”

“As you said: oh well.” I toyed with my options, half hoping that Maggie would pop into my head with some brilliant idea that could help me solve all of this. Instead, I got the very existential impression that she was packing her things and trying to figure out what to do once I’d been eaten by a brood of vampires. Not that she could do anything. She was at the mercy of whoever took the ring off my dead body.

“I have a weird request,” I suddenly said.

“Yeah?”

I waved my hand at Olivia. “If you survive this whole thing and I don’t? Take my ring.”

What the fuck are you doing? Maggie suddenly demanded.

Making contingency plans.

Don’t you dare. I’m not going to move in with a witch.

She’s better than a Vampire Lord, isn’t she?

Maggie didn’t seem equipped to argue the point, falling into a sullen silence. Olivia gazed at the ring for a few minutes. I could have sworn she muttered something under her breath and made a few discrete gestures, but Maggie didn’t warn me about any magic taking place, so I didn’t make a point of it. Finally, Olivia gave a nod. “I don’t think it’ll fit me, but sure. What do you want me to do with it?”

“Just … keep it safe. Thanks.” An idea was finally coming together in the back of my head. It wasn’t a very good one, but it was the best I had, so at the next stop sign I picked up my phone and dialed a number, praying that the call would be answered.

“Hey, bud,” Justin answered, “you know, my boss is pretty pissed about the Nick the Necromancer stuff. You might not want to call the office for a few weeks.”

“This is more important,” I said.

Justin must have heard something in my voice, because his tone immediately became concerned. “What’s going on?”

“Lord Ruthven might try to kill you.”

“Excuse me?”

I launched into an explanation, giving Justin a much longer and more thorough briefing than I’d given to Olivia. She was still sitting beside me, listening intently, but I didn’t see any reason to hold back. Unfortunately, the longer I talked the more insane I sounded – at least to myself. I began to wonder if maybe I was overreacting. If maybe there wasn’t nearly as much danger in this whole thing as I’d thought. I got to the end and realized I’d been repeating myself, and finally fell silent. I was answered with silence on the other end of the line. “You still there?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Justin said. He did not sound happy.

“Look, I didn’t mean to put you in danger. I …”

He cut me off, “Alek, I know you’re a reaper agent. I know you’re a professional and you get into dangerous situations a lot more often than I do. But Lord Ruthven certainly isn’t going to get involved in this whole thing himself, and I’ve had more dangerous things try to kill me than a dhampir. So don’t worry about me. Look, I’ll have to call you back. Keep your phone on you.” And he hung up.

Getting that warning off to Justin took a little of the burden off of my shoulders, and I went through a list in my head wondering if there was anyone else whose safety I was worried about. I had lied to Jacques, of course. I didn’t have family, but I did have friends, and I didn’t want anything to happen to any of them. Besides, Justin was OtherOps. If there was any organization who could put a stop to this insanity, it was going to be them. But that required Justin’s boss to believe that the threat I was screeching about was real.

We soon arrived at the little servant’s house in Gates Mills that I called home. I was half expecting Jacques himself to be waiting for us, but Maggie gave me the go-ahead and I parked in the driveway and headed inside. I’d done my best to take care of my friends and coworkers. Now it was time for me to stay alive and come up with a real plan. I ran inside, grabbed a duffel bag from beneath my bed, and began to pack.

I’d left the door open behind me and heard Olivia wander in. “Hey,” she said, “we have the same duffel. And you have a cat! Hey, sweetie, what’s your name?”

“Can it, lady. Alek, did you bring me tuna?”

“I … uh, Alek! Your cat is talking to me.”

“Not now, Eddie,” I shouted over my shoulder at him as I rummaged through my drawers, wishing I’d done laundry in the last week. “We have to go. Get in the truck.”

“I am not a cat,” the conversation went on. “I am the last Prince of the Nile, the Herald of Sekhmet! This is my temple. You may make offerings of tuna or scritches. If you touch my belly, I will kill you.”

I finished grabbing clothes and began to gather weaponry; brass knuckles, ammunition of a dozen different varieties, a nightstick with a silver bulb at one end, a couple extra stepping mirrors. I found Olivia in my living room, scratching Eddie behind the ears. She shot me a curious look.

“He’s a sphinx,” I explained. “His name is Eddie, and he seems to have adopted me recently. Eddie, we have to go.”

“I don’t want to leave my temple,” Eddie purred at me.

“Your temple is no longer safe, buddy.” I tossed my bag of weapons into the bed of my truck and came back in through the open door and scooped up Eddie with two hands. He gave an indignant little meow and shifted in my arms, revealing his wings. Olivia gasped.

Eddie said, “If my temple is no longer safe, I must be here to guard it.”

“Have you ever stood toe-to-toe with the servants of a Vampire Lord?”

“My ancestors fought vampires and worse to protect our goddess.”

“Sekhmet is dead,” I said, plopping him onto the passenger seat. “I don’t think she’s going to be lending you much power. I promise I’ll get you some albacore tonight.” I ran back into the house, past Olivia, and gave the whole place a once over. I was in a hurry, but that didn’t stop me from feeling a pang of sadness. I’d lived in this place since I moved out of Ada’s house in my late teens. It wasn’t much, but it was home. I had no idea if I’d ever see it again. I wondered if Olivia had felt the same thing as she rushed around her own house less than an hour ago.

We were back on the road quickly, driving in silence. I went over checklists in my head, wondering just how paranoid I should be about Jacques finding me. According to the movies, I should discard my phone and ditch my truck and do go completely off the grid. That didn’t seem realistic, not when I didn’t really believe that I was just going to hide for an indefinite amount of time.

I was still going to ruin Jacques’s week. I just didn’t know how yet.

Olivia found us an AirBnB in Glenwillow. It was a quick drive to the highway and less than an hour from anywhere I’d want to be in the Cleveland area. But it was also a relatively small town – a good place to lie low in the downstairs in-law apartment of an old couple who owned a house way too big for their age. The old couple was on vacation in Europe, so I parked around back and typed in the code they gave me for the AirBnB, and we let ourselves in.

I carried in our bags and left Olivia to wash the vampire blood out of her hair while me and Eddie ran to the closest supermarket to grab some food and a litter box. We were soon back, Eddie happily munching on a smelly can of tuna in the corner while I collapsed on the couch. I was more exhausted than I expected and, as there was just one bed, I expected this was where I was going to sleep. And boy, did I want to sleep.

Olivia came out of the bedroom wearing the same outfit as when I’d first met her – yoga pants and a tank top. She hovered around the groceries I’d brought back. For a few moments I let myself daydream that I was on a little date holiday with a girlfriend, rather than on the run with a witch I barely knew. The jarring difference between fantasy and reality grew too painful too quickly and I let it go. Olivia didn’t talk to me, making herself busy in the kitchen. I tried to meditate on what the hell I was going to do about all this, but was interrupted by the ringing of my phone. It was Justin.

“You’ve stumbled into quite the shitstorm,” he said when I answered.

“I figured that out myself.”

“I’m not joking. You’re in a genuine shitstorm. I got ahold of my boss’s boss’s boss. He’s in DC, and he really hates vampires so I knew that he wouldn’t sell you out to Lord Ruthven. Turns out he runs a little thinktank meant to come up with worst-case scenarios regarding the Other so that OtherOps can make contingencies against them, and this exact thing is one of their scenarios. He called it a Level Four, whatever the hell that means. He says that you’re absolutely right – that this is an end-of-the-world-as-we-know it kind of threat, but it also isn’t immediate, so the government doesn’t give a shit.”

“That … doesn’t sound helpful.”

“It’s certainly less helpful than I’d hoped,” Justin admitted. “The best he can offer is to put you and your witch friend in witness protection while he puts together a taskforce that will spend the next couple of years convincing an OtherOps judge to create new Rules to specifically eliminate this loophole that Boris is taking advantage of.”

“Years?” I asked incredulously. Olivia had moved from the kitchen and was now fiddling with something behind the TV. Her head popped out briefly, and she eyeballed me. I tried to ignore her.

“It might be quicker,” Justin said, “But it might not.”

“And in the meantime, what will you do about Boris and Lord Ruthven?”

“Lord Ruthven has powerful friends in OtherOps. If it was Dracula or someone else, we could probably get together a team to jump in and confiscate Boris’s blood tally. But not Ruthven. Our hands are tied.”

I considered this for a few moments, feeling ill. “I have an idea. Can you fake an investigation?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, let’s say that the OtherOps Cleveland office has had their eye on Boris for a while. They knew he was up to something shady but they couldn’t prove it – until they found those redacted contracts in the Cuyahoga County courthouse.”

“You want me to confiscate those contracts and create a paper trail that proves we’ve been investigating Boris?”

“Yup.”

“To what end?”

“To keep Lord Ruthven from killing me. Here’s what’s going to happen: I call Jacques and agree to finish the job. I bargain for my life or whatever. Then I finish tracking down Michael, but when I go to return him to Boris, an OtherOps team steps in and relieves me of the blood tally. Lord Ruthven’s name is never mentioned in your records. He has nothing to do with this.”

“How is this going to save your life?”

“Because then you can file a report to the Vampire Lords, with a straight face, that you’ve completed an investigation against Boris Novak. You hand the blood tally over to your boss’s boss’s boss, who makes it disappear. Jacques might still try to kill me and Olivia – but it’s more likely that he’ll back off once he knows that OtherOps is involved. Vampires don’t like the attention, after all. And no one is ever going to believe that a reaper agent went crying to OtherOps. Shit, I’m the one saying this to you, and I don’t believe that I’m running crying to OtherOps.”

Justin was quiet for a few moments. “Okay, hold tight. I’ll call you back in five.”

I did just that, sitting up on the couch and putting my head between my knees, wondering if Olivia was still in shock. She sure didn’t seem in shock. She’d successfully connected her Nintendo Switch to the flat-screen of the AirBnB and was now flipping through games. “You hear that?” I asked her.

“I got the gist,” she replied, setting her controller aside and turning toward me. “You really think it will work?”

“Maybe. Do you want to go into witness protection for a few years?”

“Fuck that.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Mags?

It’s … not a great plan. But it’s not your worse plan either. If it works.

Every plan is a good plan if it works.

You’d be surprised. What are you going to tell Nick the Necromancer? If everything worked out, he’ll be out of prison in a few days.

And if this plan works, this whole thing will be done by the end of next week. Besides, hanging out with a powerful necromancer might be another good reason for Jacques to leave me alone after OtherOps steals his glory.

Fair enough.

“Where do you go?” Olivia suddenly asked.

“Huh?”

“When you cock your head like that? It’s like you’re on the phone, but there’s no phone.”

I felt a chill go down my spine. People had called me out on my conversations with Maggie before, but everyone always seemed to chock it up to me being a little bit off. No one had ever described it as an actual conversation before. “Just thinking,” I answered as nonchalantly as possible.

She’s very perceptive, Maggie grunted.

Still have a crush on her?

Absolutely.

I was relieved when my phone rang. It was Justin. “Yeah?” I answered.

“You’re on. It’ll take us until Monday to get everything together and do it quietly enough that none of Lord Ruthven’s spies in OtherOps gets a whiff of it. Can you stay hidden that long?”

Five days. That was a long time to sit still while a Vampire Lord’s henchmen were looking for you. Boris – who still had no idea any of this was happening – was going to start asking questions before that much time passed. And then there was Michael. Would he still be alive in five days? “I think we can do that,” I said.

“Good. Hang in there. We can do this.”

I hung up the phone and let out a deep sigh. It was interrupted by Olivia dropping onto the couch next to me. “Okay,” I told her. “I think we might actually live through this. My friend at OtherOps is on it. But it’s going to be dicey, and there’s a chance Lord Ruthven might still try to kill one or both of us afterwards.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? That’s it? You should be pretty furious at me.” Looking into Olivia’s eyes, I could see she was still in a little bit of shock. But she also looked tired and determined. I had to remind myself that this was a woman who’d told the Cleveland Coven to fuck off. There aren’t a lot of independent witches out there, because most of them couldn’t survive in the wild by themselves. I needed to stop underestimating her.

She shrugged. “I’m a bit pissed, but I don’t really see it as your fault. Blame is useless. Besides, I figure if we live through this, I can milk this whole thing pretty good.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re going to finish painting my kitchen.” She thrust a remote into my hand. “Now, let’s see how good you get at Mario Kart over the next five days.”

Chapter 14

I spent the next two days playing Mario Kart, listening to Eddie complain about not being in his temple, and really growing to like Olivia. She was smart, thoughtful, and wildly competitive. I’d never seen someone who would do a victory dance after literally every win – and she did a lot of them. There were little things that told me that she might enjoy me as well: occasional glances, the accidental brushing of our hands, our knees touching as we played games. I’m not an idiot, but I also wasn’t about to make a move on her in this situation.

When we weren’t playing Mario Kart, she spent her time renewing her rolling scry on Michael from the privacy of the bedroom and spying on her own house to see if Jacques sent anyone by to find her. As for the former, Michael was still nowhere to be seen. As for the latter, someone came by a few hours after we left and picked up the Suburban from in front of her house but left the place itself unmolested.

I spent my own downtime trying to get ahold of Ada. She didn’t answer her phone once. Nadine had gone on vacation like I suggested, but even she couldn’t find Ada, causing us both to become increasingly worried over the status of our boss. I had to assume that she was still alive, otherwise my bond with her would be broken and I would have felt something.

Jacques called me three more times on the first day with increasingly ridiculous threats. I pretended to sound conflicted each time we spoke, until I finally demanded that he give me until the weekend to decide what, exactly, I was going to do. He did not agree, but he did stop calling me.

The silence was both welcome and terrifying. The whole next day was quiet. I kept looking at my phone, expecting someone to call – Ada, Jacques, Justin, Boris. But there was nothing. I played Mario Kart, checked my emails, and tried to keep Olivia from realizing just how terrified I was of a bunch of Lord Ruthven’s servants busting though the windows of our AirBnB. Maggie, for her part, remained quiet. She was listening carefully so she could warn me of exactly that possibility.

It was the morning of the third day and I’d just gotten out of the shower and was drying my hair in the kitchen when Maggie whispered in my ear.

Alek, you’re not wearing your shirt.

So?

You’re not at home, Alek.

I frowned, opening the fridge, failing to see her point, until I turned around and found Olivia sitting on the couch with a copy of Catcher in the Rye on her lap, staring at my chest. It wasn’t one of those oh he’s so hot stares either. I let my towel drop off my head and onto my shoulder, covering the barcode tattoo over my heart. “Morning,” I said lamely.

Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “Morning.” She kept her gaze on me for a disconcerting amount of time before lowering it back to her book. I let out a sigh of relief and walked over to the window, where Eddie was lying in a sunbeam with his wings unfurled. He purred loudly as I bent to scratch the back of his neck. Once I was sure Olivia had diverted her attention elsewhere, I retreated to my bag in the corner of the room and grabbed a T-shirt, which I quickly pulled on. “Hey,” Olivia suddenly said, “I’m still curious about something: how did you avoid my scrying?”

“Oh, like I said. Reaper special.” I waved my left hand to show her the tattoo of Grendel’s claw on the back of it. “Like these tattoos. Secret of the trade.” I prayed that she dropped the subject immediately.

She did not. “Huh. Never heard of anything like that. It was weird. I’ve had scrying fail – like I told you with Michael, it’s relatively easy for normal people to hide themselves from scrying. But you … well, that was something I’ve never seen before.”

“How so?” I asked carefully. I could feel Maggie listening in.

“It was like trying to scry thin air. It’s not just that you were hidden. It was like you weren’t there. You, your clothes, your truck. I couldn’t see or sense anything. Complete, sorcerous invisibility.” I could see out of the corner of my eye that Olivia was talking without looking up from her book. “I was just curious what kind of protection could do that.”

Trying to act casual, I went over to sit at the kitchen table and began to look through my phone. You overcompensating a little bit? I asked Maggie.

I have to make my protection strong to keep Matthias from finding me, she answered. Most people aren’t that perceptive. Olivia should have given up at the failed scrying and assumed that she didn’t have the right ingredients for the spell or that she just wasn’t strong enough or … something.

Well, she didn’t. You going to answer the question?

Very funny.

I looked up from my phone. Eddie was staring at me. He blinked slowly, then glanced toward Olivia and back to me. Don’t you dare tell her, I thought furiously at him. He returned to grooming himself, and I felt the knot between my shoulders ease a little.

“You’re doing it again,” Olivia said. “That little head tilt like you’re on the phone.”

I turned toward her quickly, only to see that she was still looking down at her book. I took a deep, shaky breath. I liked Olivia – I might even have a genuine crush on her after two days sharing the same space – but I wasn’t ready to share my secrets with her. And Maggie? Well, Maggie’s secret wasn’t mine to share. I pointedly did not answer Olivia. As if sensing my discomfort, Olivia got up from the couch and crossed the room, sitting across from me at the table.

She’s not going to let up, I warned Maggie.

Maggie didn’t answer.

“That barcode on your chest,” Olivia said, absently tracing something on the table with one finger. “Is that a reaper special too?”

My mouth was dry. Goddamn witches. Couldn’t leave well enough alone. I took a deep breath, adopted my best authoritative, expressionless face, and said, “Look, you’re a nice lady. It’s been fun playing games with you for two days and I know I got you into a bad situation, but you should learn when to stop asking questions.”

“My mom had one of those,” Olivia said, not breaking my gaze.

That took the wind out of my sails. I couldn’t have hidden my surprise if I wanted to. “She did?”

“She was a rumpelstiltskin,” Olivia continued. “A slave bought from her dad for a carton of cigarettes back in the sixties. She got set free when OtherOps shut down Paronskaft. Met my dad a few years later, then I was born. They’re both dead now – car accident – but yeah. I know what that barcode means.”

A swirl of emotions went through me. Not many people knew, especially people my age. Paronskaft isn’t even talked about among the younger Other. The fact that Olivia had seen my barcode and knew what it meant was a gut punch of irritation, vulnerability, and shame. “Good for you,” I said petulantly.

“How old are you?” Olivia asked.

“Twenty-eight,” I answered automatically, without thinking why she might want to know.

To my surprise, Olivia reached out and took my hand. I recoiled. That didn’t seem to bother her, and she took it again. “You’re still a slave, aren’t you?”

I told you she was really clever, Maggie muttered in my ear.

Olivia continued, “I’ve heard of people like you. Just rumors, of course. But my mom used to claim there were still thousands of slaves, even after the OtherOps operation. She was a bit of an activist about the whole thing before the accident.” When I didn’t respond, Olivia took her hand away from mine. “Look, sorry. I didn’t mean to make things weird. I can’t imagine it’s something a lot of people know about.”

“Nobody knows.” My voice came out as a harsh whisper. I cleared my throat. “My boss, my secretary. And you, I guess.”

There was an elephant in the room, and Olivia must have sensed it. “I’m not that kind of witch. I’m not a gossip. I’m not in a coven. I’m not beholden to some demon or ancient god. No one is going to find out.”

She’s telling the truth, Maggie said quietly.

I looked up at Olivia, searching her face, and decided I agreed. “Thanks,” I told her.

“You’ve tried to get free, right?”

“What do you think?” That came out a little more sarcastically than I’d intended.

Olivia snorted. “I’m guessing it’s not easy.”

“I need the original contract,” I said. “I can’t get it from my … boss. Which means that I need to find my parents.”

Olivia spread her hands. “I’d offer a scrying, but unless you have a lock of hair or something, I won’t be able to actually find them.”

I didn’t. And despite her assurances, I still wasn’t at all happy about someone knowing about my situation. At least she’d stopped asking about how I’d avoided her scrying in the first place. Maggie was a secret I would keep. “I appreciate the sentiment.” I sat back, feeling raw, like I’d been filleted in a few short seconds. It was bad enough knowing I’d made enemies out of a Vampire Lord and might just have less than a week to weasel my way out of his wrath. But that felt like en earthly concern. This was deeper, and it hurt.

“I probably shouldn’t have said anything,” Olivia guessed.

“Probably.”

She pulled a comically pained expression. “Dad used to say that I didn’t know when to stop asking questions.”

I lifted an eyebrow, then pretended to check a watch I wasn’t wearing. “So, uh, three more days stuck together, eh?”

“Is there any way I can keep those from being three days of super awkwardness?” she asked.

I thought about that for a minute. “Just … don’t think of me like a slave. I get through each day because only one person in the world actually treats me like that. I don’t need pity, or to be the project of some activist’s kid. I’m just a normal guy with a normal job. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense.” She bit her lip. “Mario Kart?”

“Maybe in a bit.” I stared down at my phone, wishing I’d get a call to interrupt this whole thing.

“Want to make out?”

“Seriously?” I scoffed. Maggie did a spit take from the back of my head.

Olivia threw her hands up. “Well, you said not to treat you differently, and I figured we were headed that way at some point, so …”

I lifted both eyebrows. To my delight, Olivia turned bright red. A few seconds past, and the snort of a laugh pushed itself out of me. Olivia turned redder, then cracked a smile. I chuckled. She began to giggle. In a few moments we were both lying on the floor, laughing like a pair of hyenas. It felt good – a release valve that I didn’t know I needed. I laughed until tears were streaming down cheeks, and I got up to wipe my face and get us each a beer. I opened both bottles, handed her one, and sat back down on the floor.

She chugged hers like a frat boy, wiped her face, and laid her head on my knee. She looked up at me, biting her lip. “Well?” she asked. “Wanna?” Before I could answer, she suddenly threw up a hand. “Shit.” She leapt to her feet, rushing across the room to her bag. She pulled something out – a bit of sand, maybe – and passed it from one hand to the other, muttering. Finally, she turned to me. “I found Michael,” she said. “He’s camped under a bridge on Clifton Boulevard on the west side.”

Distantly, I heard Maggie laugh. God, she muttered, I have never seen a cockblock like that outside a TV show.

I took a deep breath, smoothed the front of my jeans self-consciously, and nodded. “We have three days until OtherOps can help us. We can wait … but if Jacques or Boris manages to find Michael first, this whole thing wasn’t worth shit.”

“Let’s go get him,” Olivia agreed.

Chapter 15

I called Justin from the kitchen table of our AirBnB, explaining the situation to him. He was not on board with me leaving hiding to try and grab Michael, but I didn’t really leave it up to debate. Assuring him I’d nab Michael and the blood tally and go right back into hiding so he could finish getting his taskforce together, I hung up and dialed Jacques Williams.

“Have you changed your mind?” he answered.

I looked across the table at Olivia. “What assurances can you give me that you’re not going to kill either me or Olivia once you have the books?”

Jacques scoffed. “Assurances? I already told you that you had to die.”

“Yeah, I remember.” I kept my lid on my irritation. I needed to act the part of someone coming apart at the seams – not someone preparing a trap. “Don’t you think that’s a little extreme? I’m a professional who keeps secrets for dozens of clients. I have Death in my Rolodex. I can keep your goddamned secret too.”

Jacques seemed to chew on this. “And the witch?”

I met Olivia’s eyes. “She’s agreed to whatever sort of magical compulsion against speaking up you’d like her to undertake. This isn’t the Dark Ages. We can fix this whole thing pretty easily.”

“We can only fix it if you bring me that blood tally,” Jacques pointed out. “And even then … you killed three of my underlings, betrayed our cause, and snooped where you weren’t welcome.”

“You hired me for a job and then expected me to do another,” I responded quickly. “Don’t try to pretend that I’m some kind of rogue lunatic. I never agreed to get that blood tally for you in the first place, and I’m still going to have to deal with a very unhappy client even if I can repair this little schism we have between us.”

“You mean Boris? As I told you before, once I have his blood tally, Boris will not be a problem.”

“Forgive me if I’m not knee-deep in trust after you had me followed and threatened to kill me.” I paused, taking a deep breath. “Look, I’ve been hiding in a shitty motel for three nights. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life like this, and I think Olivia is ready to kill me. If I can get you the blood tally, can we pretend none of this ever happened?”

“I will … consider it.”

“That’s all you can do for me?”

Jacques snorted. “You’re too clever for your own good, Alek. But I’m glad to hear that you’re not as altruistic as your recent outburst would lead me to believe. All right. We have a deal. I want the blood tally by tomorrow night, though.”

Sunday. That was not much time. If Michael slipped away and hid himself from Olivia’s scrying before I could get to him, I would be up shit creek. It also didn’t give time for Justin to get his taskforce together. “I’ve been off Michael’s trail for days. There’s no way I’m going to find him in thirty-six hours. I need a week.”

“I’ll give you until Tuesday. That’s the end of my patience, Alek. If you don’t deliver by then, our deal is off. In the meantime, I’ll tell my underlings to stop looking for you.”

“That’s awfully kind. Okay. Tuesday night.”

“Tuesday morning.”

“Fine. Damn it. Okay. Tuesday morning. I’ll call you back when I get my hands on the blood tally.” I hung up, chewing on the inside of my cheek. I really hoped I was right about everything, from Michael’s location to the fact that Lord Ruthven would back down as soon as OtherOps became involved.

He’s super lying about all that, by the way, Maggie said. He still plans on killing you and Olivia. There was something else going on – an undertone to the conversation – but I couldn’t figure out what it was.

I grinned at Olivia. “Okay, everything is set up. We’ve got a free pass from Lord Ruthven if we deliver the blood tally. Unfortunately for him, OtherOps will get to it first. That’ll make us too hot for him to touch, and he’ll slink back to whereverthefuck.”

“Seems like a good plan.” Olivia chewed on her bottom lip. “I’ve been making cantrips, though. Little one-off spells I can use to fuck up vampires. You know, just in case.”

“Hopefully you won’t need them, but …” I removed the Glock from my endless wallet, checked to make sure it was loaded with silver bullets, then put it in an underarm holster. “I like the way you think.” We made sure our preparations were done and headed out to the truck. Eddie would have none of us leaving him alone and was on the passenger seat the moment Olivia opened the door. I tried to argue, gave up, and began to drive.

Once we were on the highway, Olivia chanted something beneath her breath, rubbing her palms together and then slowly drawing them apart. She peered at the space between them as if she was looking at the screen of a laptop. “He’s still there,” she reported. “I’m going to guess he hasn’t showered since you chased him out of that thrall halfway house the other day. His tincture has worn off and he hasn’t reapplied it yet.”

“Does that mean that Boris can also find him?”

Olivia grimaced. “That’s a possibility.” I pressed a little harder on the gas pedal. She continued, “He’s made himself a little camp under the bridge. He still has the blood tally. He’s …” Her voice changed. “He’s scared. Terrified, more like. He hasn’t eaten since yesterday.”

“Now that I know exactly what he has, I don’t blame him for being terrified.”

Olivia stared at that space between her hands for several minutes, then seemed to shake herself out of some kind of reverie. “Poor kid.”

After all this – finally – I agreed. I’d seen enough about thralldom and the world of vampires the last week to have some empathy. Maggie had been right all along. Thralls, or at least the majority of them, weren’t megalomaniacs out looking for immortality. They were young, dumb kids who wanted to feel like they belonged. It made the entire situation, and my involvement in it, even worse.

As I considered this, I could feel Maggie shifting around inside my head. She’s pretty handy. Too damned curious, but very handy.

You cooled off on her yet? I asked.

A little. I don’t like people asking questions that might tell them where I am. But I still think you should ask her out when this whole thing is done. She’s clearly DTF.

I glanced sidelong at Olivia. I might just do that. If we’re still alive. And she’ll still speak to me. I cast the entire thing out of my mind. There was chemistry there – even I wasn’t so dumb as to miss that – but I had no idea what the next couple of days had in store for us. It seemed stupid to look further than that. Things could still go very badly.

We took I-77 up into Cleveland, then hopped I-90, getting off at the McKinley Street exit and heading north along the Rocky River. It was a nice area, a pretty suburb with parks and houses built all the way down to the river, within sight of boat docks for people who liked to head out onto the lake. I found some street parking a few blocks south of the bridge, hidden from view by some trees. I checked my Glock once more, then made sure I had my handcuffs on me.

“He’s up in the girders, where the bridge meets the ground on the west side,” Olivia reported. “He’s got a little nook that he’s sleeping in. This is a pretty nice neighborhood. I bet the moment someone spots him, he’ll get kicked out.”

“Well, as soon as we get our hands on him, I’m taking him to a safe house,” I told her, getting out of the car. I had a moment of disquiet as I looked back the way we’d come, though I couldn’t quite tell why. Everything good? I asked Maggie.

I don’t sense us being followed, if that’s what you’re asking. Get me a little closer and I’ll be able to pinpoint Michael.

Will do. “Okay,” I told Olivia, “You and Eddie hold down the fort. I’m going to go around and come at his camp from the north side. If he runs, I want him to run toward the truck. You can just get out and look threatening, and it’ll probably throw him off enough that I can catch up. Careful, though. He’s a natural sprinter.”

Olivia cocked her head. “I’m a foot shorter than you and a hundred pounds lighter. How am I supposed to look threatening?”

“Wave your hands in the air and shout?”

“That works on wild animals, not people.”

“It might.” I waved goodbye and set out on foot, giving the base of the bridge a wide berth and heading several blocks west to cross the four-lane highway that went over the bridge.

I was coming around the other side when Maggie said, I’ve got him. Or at least, I’ve got his sleeping space. I don’t see him there, though.

I’m going to be really pissed if we somehow fucked this up.

Just keep going.

I followed her instructions, coming in slow, trying to act casual so none of the neighbors made a fuss about the bearded, tattooed, flack-vest-wearing stranger wandering up their street. Maggie said nothing, so I approached the spot she’d indicated up under the bridge. It was tough to see from a distance, but once I was up under there, I could see a bit of graffiti and a sleeping bag tucked out of sight from the street. The place was abandoned, but my heart began to race. There, sitting all the way at the back of the hidey-hole and half covered by the sleeping bag, was a blocky shape.

“Bingo,” I breathed. I climbed up inside, snatching the shape. It was a heavy package, tied together by a thick cord, a trash-bag wrapped around the whole thing. I tore the bag away to reveal one large tome, looking more like a family Bible than a book of contracts and records.

You’ve got the blood tally, Maggie confirmed. You know …you don’t even need Michael any more.

I need to hand him to Boris still, I said, though I hesitated at even that. If Jacques was planning on killing Boris, he wouldn’t hesitate to murder the thralls as well. Letting Michael bolt might just save his life. But to wrap all this up in a pretty bow, I needed to take Michael in and finish the job.

Found him, Maggie suddenly said. I think he was taking a shit down by the river. He’s … damn, he’s coming this way.

I hesitated, torn between doing my job and letting the poor kid go. I climbed out of his hidey-hole and scooted down the hillside back to the street. I had just turned to head toward my truck when I heard someone shout.

“Hey, that isn’t yours!”

I whirled toward the river. He was taller than I’d expected, unshaven and hair matted, but I recognized Michael from the photos I had of him. I took a deep breath. “Michael Pavlovich!”

He was striding toward me purposefully when I called his name. He froze, seemed to give me a good, hard look, and his eyes widened. He took off running before I could say another word. Holding the blood tally underneath one arm, I began to follow. I’d made my decision, it seemed. “We need to talk!” I yelled after him. “I’ve got to warn you about … damn it, slow down!”

Michael leapt into the bushes, heading for the next street over. I followed him, losing sight of him for a moment, listening as Maggie snapped directions in my ear. I leapt a fallen tree, went down into a ditch and up the other side, then vaulted a guardrail. I got my eyes back on Michael the moment he came parallel to my truck. The driver’s door suddenly swung open, hitting him with enough force that he bounced off it, hit the ground, and began to roll through the middle of the street. Olivia stepped out as I reached Michael. I tossed the blood tally toward my truck and did my very best football tackle as Michael tried to get back on his feet. I was not letting him get away again.

Michael tried to fight me off, but it was almost sad. He slapped and kicked, but a fighter he was not. I flipped him onto his stomach and knelt on the spot between his shoulders. “Hold on,” I told him. “Just hold on, damn it. If you’ll calm down for just one second …”

“I’m not going back to him!” Michael wailed. “I can’t do it. Not now. I’m not going back. The blood tally!”

“I damn well know what it is, and I’m not giving it back to him.” That got his attention. He fell still long enough that I could handcuff him and drag him around behind my truck so anyone passing casually wouldn’t see us. “Look at me,” I told him. “Look! I’m not going to hand you over. I’ve got plans to keep the blood tally from going back to Boris, but I need you to disappear.”

Michael flinched away from me, but he kept his gaze locked on mine, only shifting it long enough to glance toward Olivia. “What do you mean?”

“I mean …” I was cut off by a warning prick of pain on my ring finger. Mags?

You have company, she snapped. It’s coming in hot from the south.

Almost as soon as the warning was out of her mouth, I saw a big black Suburban take a turn going much too fast down the road. It barreled toward us, then slammed on its breaks to come skidding up next to my truck. There were only two occupants, and they emerged before the Suburban had come to a complete stop. One of them was a tall, muscular black man wearing sunglasses. I would have bet anything he was a vampire, though I couldn’t see his eyes. The other was Jacques. The dhampir was dressed in his tailored suit, wearing sunglasses and holding a sheathed rapier much like the one Adrian had.

Goddamned vampires and their swords.

“Olivia,” I hissed. “Get back in the truck and get the hell out of here.” I tossed her the keys and didn’t bother to hide my surprise as I turned back toward Jacques. “How the fuck did you find me this time?”

Jacques grinned. He grinned at me, at Olivia, at Michael, and most especially at the blood tally lying next to my back tire. “It took us a while, but we got a contact at the phone company to pinpoint your location just after you and I talked an hour ago. Well done, Agent Fitz.” He walked around my truck and down onto the grass to stand next to me. I backed up a couple of paces, jerking my head at Olivia. “Don’t go anywhere, witch,” Jacques said. The tone was amicable, but there was a warning there that stopped Olivia in her tracks. Jacques nodded at the tome. “Is that Boris Novak’s blood tally?” he asked Michael.

Michael trembled noticeably. “Who are you?” he asked.

Jacques drew his sword in one smooth motion, pressing the point against Michael’s cheek before I could react. “I asked you a question.”

“Ye … yes. It’s his bl … blood tally,” Michael managed.

“Good. Then we don’t need you anymore.” Jacques adjusted his aim slightly and leaned. His sword slid into Michael’s shoulder. Michael let out a horrible rasp and stiffened. I took two steps forward, reaching for Jacques, but he had already pulled his sword out and pointed it at me. I had to slam on the brakes to avoid the blade, tripping over my own feet as I stumbled backward and landed on the ground.

Michael’s body slumped to one side. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. After all this work and headache, he was dead just like that. That death rasp played out in my ears again and again in the course of a few seconds, and I raised my eyes toward Jacques.

“Now,” Jacques said. “Your part of the deal. Hand me the blood tally, please.”

I looked over to see that I’d fallen just within reach of the tome. I felt a great pain shoot across my left eye and, without so much as a thought, felt my tusks rip out of my lower gums and emerge their full length, the tips hovering in my vision. Maggie.

With pleasure.

I reached out with my right hand and slapped the blood tally. Molten heat shot from Maggie’s ring, wrapped around the tome, and consumed it in a way that only sorcery can do. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jacques leap forward, a scream on his lips. His sword flashed almost faster than my eye could follow. I tried to roll to one side, but it hit the edge of my flack vest just below my shoulder. It snagged, pushed, and I could feel a sharp pain as the blade punched an inch into my chest. Grendel’s claw flared on the back of my right hand and I jerked my left hand upward, slicing neatly through the blade.

Jacques stumbled as his sudden weight threw him off balance. His companion was almost as quick as he was, leaping past us both and snatching the burning blood tally out of my hand. He juggled it, swearing, and dropped it as the cuffs of his suit jacket went up in flames. I balled my right hand into a fist, my tattoo of Mjolnir flaring to life, and took a swing at Jacques. It was a clumsy blow, thrown while lying down, and Jacques was able to leap out of the way.

I rolled to my feet, watching Jacques warily. The mist had descended over my eyes and I snapped my teeth at him, the troll berserker in me wanting nothing more than to tear his face off. I could see Olivia fumbling, rolling her hands around each other in an arcane gesture and then throwing them toward the second vampire just as he got the flames out on his sleeves. The powerful odor of garlic filled the air and something wet slapped into the vampire’s face, knocking him off his feet. He went down screaming, clawing at his face.

I growled at Jacques. The dhampir looked at his broken sword and then discarded it haughtily. He stripped off his suit jacket. “You’re a fool, Alek. A fool at every turn. You should have done your job and gone on with your pathetic life.”

“Go to hell,” I spat. I was ready for a fight. Yearning for it. But I needed an answer first. “What did you use to blackmail Ada?” I lifted both fists, my tattoos glowing.

Jacques laughed and began to roll up his sleeves. “I told her that I had a copy of your birth certificate and the contract from when she sold you. If she didn’t do the job, I was going to hand them over to you.”

That bit of information was like a punch in the gut. I blinked back at Jacques, some of the fight gone out of me. “Do you?”

Jacques glanced at the still-burning blood tally. He scoffed. “Of course I don’t. But she didn’t know that.” He raised both fists. “If it’s a fight you want, troll, it is a fight you will get. I’ll be sure to leave enough of the two of you alive to feed to my master. You won’t …”

I drew my Glock and put six silver bullets into his chest. A shocked expression crossed his face as he twitched backward with each impact, then fell over backward into the weeds.

I lowered my weapon, summoning enough peace of mind to check and see whether Olivia was okay. She seemed fine, if shaken. The vampire she’d hit with what appeared to be a glob of pure, magical garlic was now sobbing as he clawed at his own face. I touched one of my tusks, then put a hand to the spot where Jacques’s sword had punched through my vest. I was bleeding quite badly. “Take Eddie back to the AirBnB,” I told Olivia weakly.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

I waved off the question. “Make yourself scarce, and quick. Someone will call the cops soon.” I took out my phone. “And if they haven’t yet, I’m going to.” I waited for her to take off in my truck before I dialed a number. “Hey, Justin,” I said, sitting down next to Jacques’s body. “I’ve had quite the day.”

Chapter 16

It was eight o’clock Monday evening when Justin finally came to my holding cell in the OtherOps Cleveland office. He looked exhausted, his shoulders a little slumped and unshaved stubble on his chin. He opened the cell door, came in, and sat down next to me on the cot. I set aside the copy of The Count of Monte Cristo I’d been reading and rubbed my still-sore gums. “Well?” I asked. He’d left the cell door open behind him. I hoped this was a good sign.

He let out a sigh and nodded. “I’ve had a hell of a weekend, thanks to you. There are a lot of people in the local hierarchy who are pissed at you for everything, from the dead dhampir in Rocky River to Boris’s scorched blood tally to the dead thrall.”

“I did not kill Michael,” I protested. “That was Jacques.”

“We know. There was a security camera up the street. Footage was pretty grainy, but we got the gist of it. The story you told us checks out. You acted in self-defense. My boss wants to talk to your witch friend – technically she fled the scene – but I doubt there will be any charges. She was a civilian, and probably in shock.”

A security camera. Even if I had wound up dead, Jacques would have been fucked once someone glanced at the footage. Somehow that was so incredibly satisfying. I would have laughed, but the whole left side of my chest still hurt from the stab wound Jacques had given me. “Am I free to go?” I asked, glancing at the open cell door.

“In a minute.” Justin sighed again. “Our in-house sorcery specialist is very curious why your ring wouldn’t come off when we booked you on Saturday afternoon.” I winced, sensing Maggie’s immediate displeasure, but Justin continued, “I managed to talk her out of asking too many questions. But I admit to being curious myself.”

I hesitated, waiting for Maggie to speak up. She did not. “Maybe over a beer someday,” I said. “Maybe.”

“Gotcha. Here’s the deal: we told Boris what happened – the fake version you and I agreed on. We said we’d been watching his shenanigans with the contracts for a couple years now. There are still copies of his contracts, the redacted ones, in the courthouse and his basement, so he technically still has sway over about ninety-seven vampires. That’s enough to make him a Vampire Lord. We told him if he decides to start up business again, or to recreate the original contract language in any way, he is in for a world of hurt.” Justin shrugged. “He doesn’t seem to trust anyone, least of all OtherOps, so I think he bought the story pretty easily. There was genuine fear in his eyes when I told him how close Lord Ruthven had come to getting his hands on his blood tally.”

So that was Boris taken care of. Not appeased, necessarily, but out of the picture. “And Lord Ruthven?”

“When our sister organization in Hungary swung by his estate and asked him about Jacques Williams, his response was ‘who?’”

“He’s denying everything?” I asked.

“Of course. Claims he had nothing to do with it and had never heard of Jacques or Boris Novak. That vampire that your witch friend hit with a glob of garlic? Staked himself in his cell using a spoon. He must have really not wanted to testify against Ruthven. My boss’s boss’s boss gave Ruthven a little friendly advice, off the record, to keep his nose clean in Cleveland for the next few decades.”

I let out a long, shaky breath. So I was clean. This whole damned thing was over. “Thanks,” I managed.

Justin shook his head. “Don’t mention it. But I’ve got to warn you; what with Nick the Necromancer getting released and all this business with the vampires and those contracts, my boss is not happy with you at all. Don’t call looking for a favor from us any time soon: you’re not going to get it.”

“Understood,” I said.

“As a friend, though?” Justin added, standing up and gesturing for me to leave the cell. “I’m glad you called. From what little survived the fire, those contracts were a nasty piece of work. You were right. That could have threatened the whole world in a few decades, and you snuffed it out. Now get out of here.”

I headed outside, collecting my flack vest, gun, endless wallet, and the rest of my belongings at the front desk. There was even a letter waiting for me. It was written in a terrible, barely legible script and it said, I’ve got to get some things in order. Will come find you in a couple weeks. – Nick. I stashed the letter and inventoried the rest of my belongings, then walked outside and checked my phone. It was dead, of course, and I had nowhere to charge it. I sighed, rubbing my temples with the tips of my fingers, standing in the middle of Cleveland with night falling soon.

Heads up, Maggie said. To your left.

I looked over to see my truck idling two blocks down the road. I walked toward it slowly until I could see Olivia sitting behind the wheel. She waved to me. I waved back and joined her, not bothering to kick her out of the driver’s seat. Inside, I found Eddie snoring softly in her lap. “How you holding up?” she asked me.

“Haven’t really slept well in a couple days,” I answered. Eddie woke up just long enough to move from Olivia’s lap to mine. I gave her a tired grin. “OtherOps wants to get your side of the story, but other than that, everything is cleared up.”

She let out a surprised laugh. “Wow. I can’t believe that we’re not dead. I can’t believe you’re not dead. I thought that dhampir was going to clean your clock.”

“He definitely thought he was going to. That’s why I shot him.”

To my surprise, she leaned over and pecked me on the cheek. “You’re the luckiest sonofabitch I’ve ever met. Where to, cowboy?”

“I want a steak. And I want a real bed to sleep in. But there’s something I need to take care of first.”

“Just give me directions.”

I had a light snooze while Olivia drove us toward Beachwood. It was so strange sitting in the passenger seat of my truck that I couldn’t have a proper nap, and I jerked awake as we got off the highway. I directed Olivia down the back streets, and we soon pulled into Ada’s driveway. “I’ll be right back,” I told Olivia. Without thinking much of it, I reached over and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back. I got out of the truck and went up to the front door, ringing the bell. When no one answered, I took out my spare keyring and walked around to the back of the house, letting myself in through the patio door. Everything was tidy, but one glance at Ada’s office told me that no one – except maybe the maid – had been here for days. I did a full circuit of the house, finding nobody, before I headed back to her office.

I pulled a piece of paper out of the printer and wrote a simple message on it.

I KNOW WHY YOU WERE BLACKMAILED.

I left it on the desk and returned to my truck. “Feeling better,” I told Olivia. “Let me drive.”

She pushed Eddie over into the passenger seat but stayed in the middle, leaning into me when I got in the car. Her knee touched mine, and it felt like an electric spark passed between us. Whatever had been building before that confrontation with Jacques had not cooled off.

“Food?” she asked. “Sleep?” Her hand rested on my thigh. I cocked an eyebrow at her. She returned the look and bit her bottom lip. “Your place or mine?” she asked.

“Mine’s closer.”

I somehow managed to make it back to Gates Mills doing twenty over and making out while driving. It wasn’t easy, but we also didn’t die. By the time we reached my driveway, it was dark, the forest looming tall in the windscreen, and we were both half dressed. I took the turn into the driveway way too fast, almost taking out my own mailbox. I was running on adrenaline, the fumes of whatever energy I had left after two long weeks, and the pure bliss of knowing I was about to sleep with someone I liked for the first time in a depressingly long time.

I was halfway down the driveway when Maggie suddenly came alive. Alek, zip your damned pants up.

Excuse me? I managed to ask, Olivia’s teeth on my earlobe and only one eye on my driving.

Alek, there’s something wrong. Alek, stop! That last was a scream, and I slammed on the brake so hard that I had to wrap one arm around Olivia’s waist to keep her from going through the windshield. She jerked in my grip, let out a tiny scream, and threw her hair back.

“What the hell,” she managed before something hit the side of my truck.

It hit hard. I pushed Olivia out of my lap, jerking the door open with one hand and reaching for my endless wallet with the other. I drew my Glock, felt my pants slipping, and did up my belt. I stood there in the silence of a night where the crickets had decided to stop chirping, weapon ready, not wearing a shirt. Situation? I asked Maggie, glancing at the side of my truck. Whatever had hit it had left a sizable dent but was nowhere to be seen.

Situation bad, she said breathlessly. Get back in the truck and get out of here as quick as possible. WAIT! You’re cut off.

By who? I demanded.

By them. Slowly, like someone who realizes they’re being watched through the open window of their home, I began to feel a presence in the dark. No, more than one presence. Dozens of them. Maybe a hundred. I swallowed a bit of bile and lowered my Glock at a shadow that emerged from the night. “Olivia, put your shirt on,” I said over my shoulder. “I hope you have those cantrips ready still.”

“Alek Fitz,” the figure said.

“Boris,” I replied. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m not well.” The vampire stood just outside of the light from the high beams of my truck. In the shadows his eyes glowed red and he looked, more than any time since I’d met him, feral. There were other figures in the darkness behind him, unblinking pairs of red eyes. More vampires. So damned many more. His entire feudal brood, if I had to guess. “OtherOps said it was them, but I’m too smart for that. You fucked up, rockskin. You destroyed a thing I’ve been working on for decades. You tipped off the cops.”

“Cops that are now keeping a very close eye on you,” I said, glancing to my left. There were more of those red eyes staring at me from the night. I glanced to my right and saw humanoid shapes flitting around in the high beams.

“I’m going back to the Old World once I’ve cleaned up some business here. OtherOps won’t follow me.” Boris sniffed, holding a lighter and carefully puffing a cigarette to life. “I’m not a forgiving man, rockskin. You should have taken whatever deal Ruthven offered you. You might have lived.” He took a deep drag on the cigarette and raised his left hand. “Leave him alive enough so that we can make it hurt for a few weeks,” he ordered.

The first shadow that darted for me took a silver bullet in the chest. I squeezed the trigger again and again, dropping as many vampires as I had bullets before reloading fast enough to make an action star proud. I blew through that second magazine before a vampire hit me from the side, throwing me through the air and into the light of my own high beams. I squinted against it, tried to find my gun, but couldn’t. I got into a crouch, both Grendel’s claw and Mjolnir flaring to life. Vampires swarmed over my truck, shadows that I could barely see, pouring toward me like something out of a horror movie.

Well Mags, I said, it’s been a good run.

Then they were on me. It was like getting hit with a wave of howling, gibbering flesh. Within moments I gave up any pretense of this being a real fist fight and just began to swing my arms with all my strength. Grendel’s claw sliced through meat and bone like butter, covering me with blood. Mjolnir caved in the side of a vampire’s head, punched a hole in a sternum, and then took a fanged jaw clean off before several of the beasts grabbed onto my fist, hanging from my arm like children, weighing me down so I couldn’t take a swing. I felt teeth and claws tearing at my skin. Something latched on to my cheek, yanking a scream out of me.

I got a glimpse of a familiar face in the melee. Boris moved like a shadow, flitting here and there, before he was suddenly on me. I freed my left hand and took a swing with Grendel’s claw. He grabbed my wrist, jerking it to one side, snapping the bone as easily as my tattoos had cut through his minions. I screamed again. He jerked me to the side, rag-dolling me back and forth, grinning into my eyes the entire time.

Pain lanced up my right arm, and it took me a moment to realize that it was coming from Maggie’s ring. The heat came on sudden and overwhelming, sorcery tearing through the air with the force of an explosion, scattering vampires in every direction. For a moment I was free and Boris had retreated to the edge of my driveway, crouching in the shadows as he examined me, his clothes smoldering.

Thanks, I managed to say to Maggie. I looked toward my truck, trying to find any sign of Olivia. I couldn’t see shit in the high beams. As far as I knew, she’d already been torn to shreds.

Don’t thank me yet, Maggie told me. That’s about the best I have, and there’s still seventy-one of them left. Unless Boris retreats … She trailed off. From the predatory gleam in Boris’s eyes, he had no intention of retreating. His vampires stalked around me in a circle, warily. Boris’s hand suddenly twitched, and they surged toward me, howling, piling on. Maggie lashed out with her sorcery, driving them back again. The blast had a little less force than the first one, and I knew from experience that Maggie could only do so much sorcery from within her ring. My left arm hung at my side, useless. My clothes were barely shreds of cloth on my body, and I was bleeding from dozens of wounds, my troll skin torn into by the claws and teeth of an angry vampire brood.

I lifted my right hand, watching Boris for the next order he would give for his creatures to attack. I could feel there was nothing left in the tank – I was going to die here, and I was going to die badly. One more surge of those assholes would bowl me over for sure.

And then the high beams suddenly flicked off, leaving us in darkness, the only light coming from my Mjolnir tattoo and from my porch security lamp about thirty yards away. There was a thump followed by a high-pitched whine. The night suddenly lit up with a chorus of screams, and I could see the shadows of vampires falling over themselves in the moonlight, hands clutched to their ears. There was another thump, and the entire world filled with the scent of garlic. It was so strong that my eyes began to water. I staggered back and would have fallen if arms had not caught me. Olivia put herself under my right arm. She had my shirt tied around her face. I saw a small shape dart past us and heard a voice yell, “Get him to my temple!”

Olivia pulled me toward the house. I tried to run with her, only to find that something had happened to my knee. I leaned more heavily on Olivia, trying not to fall, my vision growing hazy. Around us, I could see that whatever she’d done to incapacitate the vampires was not permanent. They clutched at their eyes and ears, but they were already beginning to recover. I managed a glance over one shoulder to see the shape of Boris himself stalking after us, slow but determined.

“Get him to my temple!” Eddie called again from ahead of us.

“Hey,” I muttered in Olivia’s ear. “You need to get out of here. I’ll try to distract them. See if you can get back to the truck and get out of here.”

Olivia turned suddenly, clapping her hands together. Fire engulfed a single vampire that was rushing us from the side. He cartwheeled away, screaming. “Eddie says you’ll be fine if you can make it to the house.”

“My temple,” Eddie mewled. “My temple!”

I could feel a little anger in my growing despair. “My house isn’t warded! It’s not going to protect us from shit! You’ve got to get out of here.”

Olivia paused again, jerking a fistful of something from her pocket and throwing it toward Boris. I heard the sound of a thousand tiny wings. Glancing over my shoulder, I could see that whatever they were, they weren’t slowing him down. Olivia propped me up again and pulled.

The porch light loomed large, and we were suddenly underneath it. I stumbled against the siding, searching for my keys, only for Olivia to open the door. I’d left the damned thing unlocked all week. Somehow that stood out to me as funny. I wasn’t sure why, when I was about to die. I used the last of my strength to push her behind me and turned to face Boris’s army. I raised my one good fist, knowing I was moments from passing out. Mjolnir glowed brightly.

Boris stepped onto the half-rotted wood of my front porch. His face was red, and he looked more than a little annoyed at the garlic bomb that Olivia had hit him with. A victorious smile darted around his lips.

A little shape suddenly deposited itself between us. Eddie, the little fucking sphinx. He sat on his haunches, raising one paw toward Boris.

Boris snorted. “So that’s where you got to, you little shit. I’m going to sell you to the shittiest zoo I can find once we’re back in the old country.”

Eddie shook his whole body, his wings unfurling. He raised himself onto his back legs in what was clearly meant to be a threatening gesture but looked too adorable on someone his size. Oddly, he seemed to grow larger. He said, “This is a consecrated temple of Sekhmet. Be gone, or face the wrath of the guardian!”

Something – hesitation, maybe – crossed Boris’s face. “Sekhmet has been dead for thousands of years,” he scoffed. “If you had any real power you would have used it to escape the cage I kept you in.” He took another step onto the porch.

Eddie was definitely growing. He was the size of a golden retriever now and still getting bigger. A rumble came from deep in his throat. “Your home was never consecrated. But I am the Herald-Prince of a dead god and this is holy ground. Ferryman grants me her power from beyond the grave.” The voice was deep and vibrant. Boris came to stop halfway across the porch. Eddie rocked backward. “You were warned,” he growled.

The pounce took Boris off the porch, hurling him into the darkness. Eddie was the size of a lion now – maybe bigger – and his wings spread as he cleared the porch, blotting out my vision of the entire yard. Olivia clung to my arm, both of us staring open-mouthed as the darkness suddenly burst into a chaotic whirl of shadows. Dozens of vampires poured toward Eddie – the same wave that had hit and almost overwhelmed me minutes before. The wave crashed, and I expected Eddie to go down beneath the weight of it.

The wave wavered, shaking, and suddenly broke. Vampires fled across the lawn, scattering in all directions. Eddie’s wings flapped heavily, and his immense form crisscrossed the yard, paws swinging talons the size of scythes, rumbling roars echoing in the night. Within moments all I could see in the darkness was the corpses of vampires and I could hear something large crashing through the woods. Boris himself lay where Eddie had pounced upon him, the old vampire nothing but a shriveled, bloody wreck. I stared at that body for several moments, wondering if I’d already died.

“I think,” I said aloud, feeling consciousness slipping, “that he gets albacore from now on.”

Chapter 17

I floated in a warm, brightly lit place for what felt like a very long time. I wasn’t conscious, but I wasn’t completely out of it either, and at some point during that floating I realized that I was lying in a hospital bed. Someone had left the drapes open. And, most importantly, Maggie was trying to get my attention.

It took me a while before I could answer her. Even the effort of a mental huh? was beyond me for what felt like an eternity. Finally, slowly, and with what seemed like a colossal force of will, I answered her.

Hey, Mags.

She let out a relieved sigh. Thank heavens. You’re back.

Been out of it for a while?

Four days.

Jesus. Isn’t that kind of dangerous?

I put you in a comma, magically. You were in no shape to wake up.

And now?

You’re still not in great shape.

I was still floating, unable to open my eyes, and it took me a while to realize that I was probably on some pretty fantastic painkillers. How am I looking?

Like Frankenstein’s Monster.

That’s not funny.

It’s not a joke, Maggie replied. It could tell she was genuinely worried, and that sent a bolt of concern through my drugged-out state. Those vampires tore you to shreds. If it wasn’t for your troll skin, you would have been nothing but a skeleton – and vampires aren’t sanitary. I had to burn an infection out of you on the way to the hospital. The doctors are curious about that, but they chalked it up to your troll blood.

How did I get here?

Olivia and Eddie got you in the bed of the truck. Olivia drove you. It wasn’t pleasant.

So they’re okay?

Eddie got a little cut up, but I have never seen anything like him. He killed over sixty vampires in a few minutes. It would take at least three full OtherOps sweeper teams to do the same.

Any survivors?

Nope.

Wow. I guess Sekhmet does still have some power.

Even dead gods are still gods. Makes me wonder what her guardians were capable of back when she was still alive.

That’s terrifying. How is Olivia?

She’s fine. Mentally scarred, but fine.

Oh. Good. I floated around, part of me trying to find the strength to open my eyes, but the other part of me really enjoyed the drugs. Hey, you never told me how you knew Sting.

Maggie snorted, then let out a soft chuckle. Is that important right now?

I could die any moment.

You will not, you big baby.

Weirdly, it did seem super important. It was probably just the drugs talking. I have to know.

I could sense Maggie chewing on her thoughts. I … I was in his jewelry collection for a couple of years in the midnineties. He never actually put on my ring, but I was physically close enough to touch his dreams very lightly. The song “Desert Rose” is about me.

No. The word came out far more “playfully shocked” than I had meant it to. I was genuinely surprised. How have you not told me that before?

It’s embarrassing!

If Sting wrote a song about me, I would start literally every conversation with that bit of trivia.

I could sense Maggie roll her eyes. And now we’re not going to talk about it anymore. You’re still hurt, Alek. We should be serious.

I was just torn to shreds. That’s barely anything, right?

You didn’t let me finish the diagnosis. You have a broken wrist. They had to replace your kneecap; it’s plastic now. Even with your troll healing, you’re going to need some physical therapy. Also one of your tusks was broken.

I don’t remember that.

The doctor said that’s permanent. You’re going to have a shitload of new scars – the one on your face is gonna be the worst. A vampire bit your cheek.

I do remember that. The tip of my nose began to itch. I twitched it and realized that I could twitch it. I had a little control. That was nice. At least, I thought that was nice. I still couldn’t really tell. But I did now realize that I wasn’t alone in the room. In fact, someone was holding my hand. I felt a smile involuntarily crack my lips, and I gave the hand a weak squeeze. I tried to say the name Olivia but couldn’t get it out.

Bad news, Maggie said. That’s not Olivia.

Frustrated, I put more effort into cracking one eye. It finally came open, and I saw Ada sitting by my bedside. To my surprise, it was her holding my hand – though the moment my eye opened, she pulled away as if to hide the fact. She stood up, leaning over me, looking at me closely, then at the monitor next to my bed, then back at me. “Alek?” she croaked.

“Go away,” I managed.

She sighed, sitting back down and fixing me with her most irritated expression. “Lived through another pounding, I see.”

“No thanks to you.”

“I advised you on a different course of action.” Ada raised her chin, looking down her nose at me for a long time before continuing. “Still, I’m glad that you survived.”

“Go to hell,” I muttered.

We remained in silence for some time, Ada watching me closely. It was disconcerting. I’d spent my entire life as if on the periphery of her vision, only receiving attention when absolutely necessary. Even when she came to my baseball games in high school, she always brought a book. It was strange getting her complete, undivided interest.

“Where did you go?” I finally asked. “I tried to get ahold of you for three days.”

“After you told me what you meant to do, I decided to make myself scarce. I can’t answer questions about a rogue reaper agent if I don’t answer my phone.” She looked smug, but that smugness leaked away quickly. “So you know what Lord Ruthven held over me?”

“Go to hell,” I repeated.

She snorted, her brow furrowing. “You have to understand. You have more value to me than you could possibly know. I will not – I cannot – let an outside force ruin that. Betraying someone like Boris was a small price to pay to keep you.”

I tried to pretend that I’d fallen asleep again but could feel her eyes still on me, unwavering. “I’m your slave. Don’t try to pretend it’s something sentimental.” I was able to open both eyes and returned her gaze. It was her that looked away first. She clearly had something else to say, wrestling with it visibly before making a dismissive gesture.

“You’re right,” she said. “You’re valuable.” She leaned over, pressing one wrinkled hand against my forehead like she used to do when I got sick as a kid. “Get better.”

“So I can get back to work?” I waited for her to tell me how long I had until I reported for duty – to complain about my broken body and the time I would waste mending.

To my surprise, she made that dismissive gesture again. “Get better,” she repeated, then left the room.

The short exchange had left me feeling exhausted. I turned my head, noticing for the first time that there was a large bouquet of flowers on the table next to my bed. I should have asked Maggie to read me the note, but I desperately wanted to move. Slowly, carefully, I stretched out my right hand until I could pluck the card off the bouquet, then held it right up to my eyes. It said,

I will remember this. – LR

I thought about those letters for a moment. “Oh,” I said aloud. “Lord Ruthven. Great. I’m on a Vampire Lord’s shit list now. Man, is there any good news other than the fact that I’m still alive?”

Maybe, Maggie said.

Maybe what?

As if in answer, the door to my hospital room opened. I lifted my head just enough to see it was Olivia. She tiptoed in, saw I was awake, and visible relief crossed her face. She came over to my bedside, leaned over, and kissed me gently on the lips. It was nice. It was very nice. She sat down where Ada had been, and I decided that I’d much rather have her there.

“You don’t look so hot,” she broke the silence.

I snorted a laugh. It hurt. “I don’t feel so hot.”

“I’m told you’ll mend pretty well.” She glanced toward the door. “I met your boss. I know you and I have been through some crazy shit, but your boss is terrifying.”

“Did she threaten you?” I tried to sit up. That hurt a lot more.

“Nope. Barely talked to me, except to tell me that she took care of the vampire bodies in your yard and that your truck would be fixed by the time you are healed enough to drive again. She’s just … her eyes are just so cold.”

“Bodies are bad for business,” I muttered.

Olivia shot a look toward the door again. She clearly did not like Ada. “Yeah. I got that impression.” There was a long, pregnant pause. “This probably isn’t the best time to talk about this, but I made a couple calls while you were out. One of my mom’s old activist friends knows a guy who knows a guy that might be able to help you locate your contract.”

“You’re shitting me,” I said in disbelief.

“Might,” Olivia qualified.

“That’s more than I have right now.”

She glanced away but kept her hand on the hospital bed guardrail, drumming her fingers nervously. I could tell there was something else on her mind. I felt a dreadful knot tighten in my stomach. She was about to tell me that this whole thing wasn’t going to work out. She’d seen too much. She knew too much. Or maybe she had no interest in a guy covered with scars. I could feel the bad news coming.

She cleared her throat. “I met Maggie.”

“What?” The word came out of me like a curse.

Olivia bit her bottom lip. “I was holding your hand and touched your – her – ring, and she talked to me.”

You can do that? I demanded inwardly.

Maggie sniffed. I’ve never had anyone I wanted to talk to before, other than you. That sounded an awful lot like an endorsement of … something.

I glanced at Maggie’s ring, then up at Olivia. She looked a little sheepish, like she knew she had broken some kind of taboo. “What did you talk about?” I managed.

Olivia shrugged. “You. Her. Me. Witchcraft. Elder gods. You know, girl stuff.”

Did … did you make a friend? I asked Maggie.

I seem to have. She sounded rather pleased with herself.

I had no idea how I felt about this. On one hand, that was amazing. It wasn’t like Maggie could go to bars or onto social media or any dating apps or any of the other ways people made friends these days. On the other hand, I was still holding onto the very real hope that Olivia and I could be a couple. I’d never dated anyone who knew about Maggie before. It brought up some uncomfortable questions.

Lucky for me, Olivia went full steam at those questions. She opened her mouth, hesitated a minute, then laced her fingers into those of my right hand. “So,” she said pointedly. “There are a few things we didn’t talk about. Like, if you can’t take the ring off, and she can’t leave, what exactly happens when you’re, you know?”

“Getting busy?” I asked, deadpan.

“Right.”

The cast on my left wrist was suddenly very itchy. I could feel the sheets beneath the small of my back getting sweaty. “She goes and reads a book.”

“Oh?”

“Aaaand … she sometimes watches.”

It’s boring in here! Maggie protested.

Olivia screwed her lips up, looking toward the ceiling for a moment as if deep in thought. Finally, she nodded to herself. “Look, I’m a witch – sorry, a nondenominational practitioner of witchcraft – so it’s not like it would be my first threesome. Things get kinky in coven internships.”

It was my turn to turn red. I cleared my throat. “Well. I suppose that’s cleared up, then. I, uh … it’s probably going to be a while until I’m physically fit for duty, as it were.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I heard troll-bloods heal quick.”

“Quicker than humans, that’s for sure.”

“Good.” She leaned over me, and I noticed for the first time just how low-cut her shirt was. She brought her lips right up against my ear. I felt my heart quicken. She whispered in a husky voice, “Because, reaper boy, I really need someone to put the second coat of paint on my kitchen wall.” She pulled away, patted me on the cheek, and headed for the door. “That wasn’t a euphemism, by the way. Really need to get that painted before the new stove arrives. Want me to sneak you in some Steak-N-Shake for dinner?”

I chuckled softly and closed my eyes. “Yes,” I said. “That sounds like the best thing in the world right now.”

Acknowledgements

Shen Fey – cover artist

Shawn King – cover design

Kristy Stewart – copy editor

Special Thanks to Michele McClellan, Charlie N. Holmberg, David Wohlreich, JS Lenore, Adam Pfeiffer, Becky Cook, Brian Walters, Bronwyn Prew, Chris Frederick, Christine Thorn, David Olson, Dawn Davis, Don Sims, Joel Burke, John Baker, Jon Seiglie, Josh Arcelo, Kate Fisher, Katelyn Pare, Kristina Pick, Leticia Lara, Mark Atley, Noah Tharp, Richard Willey, Robert Hall, Rushikesh, Ryan Senese, Sam Baskin, Travis Billingsley, Tucker McKinzie, Zac Gordon-Smith.

Content

Brian McClellan
BLOOD TALLY
2020

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Acknowledgements