Randy Killian hated his life. Well, he didn't hate everything about his life. He hated his mother, who just so happened to be the most popular whore at the Gilded Cage. Her habit of bringing her "work" home every night certainly didn’t improve his low opinion of her. The walls in the Killians' apartment were paper thin so Randy heard all the whimpers, moans, and unspeakable sucking noises coming from her bedroom. He also hated being so poor that it would take years for him to save enough money to move out. Since when was an apartment in the Narrows, the nastiest district in the entire city, worth 550 dollars a month? Most of all Randy hated his job. Working at Hard Hats, Santa Somabra's finest home improvement warehouse, made a night of listening to his mother ride some dokkalfar like a mechanical bull seem delightful by comparison. Even the franchise's slogan was cheesy and awful. Hard Hats, we work hard so you don't have to!

Randy was a door greeter. Standing there in his bright yellow apron, the heavyset man looked like one of those people that visited local high schools to warn kids about the consequences of dropping out. Ironically, Randy had graduated at the top of his class in high school and still ended up at Hard Hats. Between the customers who didn't know a pipe wrench from a pipe cutter and the assholes who wanted all their needs met within seconds of arriving, Randy's job simply added more shit to the shitstorm that was his life.

The only upside to working at a place like Hard Hats was you got to see some truly bizarre stuff. Yesterday morning, Randy had seen Nick "The Archmage" Conti staggering through the aisles wearing nothing but a terrycloth bathrobe. Most of Randy's co-workers said he was full of it, but the door greeter knew the truth. He'd watched the legendary spellcaster waddle around the store in a drunken stupor, muttering about using acrylic sheets to amplify a nascent ley line. About two weeks ago, Randy even had the opportunity to shake hands with Winston Gardner, CEO of the Red Diamond Construction Company, though they didn't talk much. Mr. Gardner had been carrying a heavy black briefcase and claimed he needed to get to the Tool Rental and Repair Center as quickly as possible. Randy knew what that meant. The influential businessman, who was supposedly planning to run for mayor during the next election cycle, wanted to see Colette Dumont. Considering how much money Red Diamond's employees spent at Hard Hats each year, Mr. Gardner was one of the few people entitled to Colette's unique services. The tycoon had walked out of the store three hours later without his suitcase, a satisfied grin splayed across his craggy features.

Sadly, nobody interesting had stopped in today. Randy was bored as hell.

A ljosalfr woman wearing a black bomber jacket, gray t-shirt, and blue jeans walked through the store's double doors.

Two thoughts occurred to Randy with such astonishing speed they nearly collided with each other. First, what was a light elf doing in a place like Hard Hats? Although he only knew two or three ljosalfar, Randy found it hard to believe any of those snobs would be caught dead in a home improvement warehouse. Randy's mother loved telling him about a repeat customer she’d had who was in love with a light elf, but he couldn't afford her expensive tastes. Caviar with every meal, a different car for each day of the week, and cross country trips at the drop of a hat had only been a few of this woman's insane proclivities. If a light elf needed any renovations done they'd probably hire a private contractor. Or use their mystical abilities to complete whatever project they were working on. But, lo and behold, this pale-skinned and white-haired elf was stalking towards Randy, her black mid-calf boots clomping loudly on the cement floor. She was clutching a threadbare gray bag in her right hand. It looked like something out of the Victorian era.

The second thought rattling around the door greeter's head was that this elven woman was terrifying. At first glance, she didn't look like anything special. She was pretty, but not as dazzling as the ljosalfar models in the catalogs Randy's mother enjoyed so much. A second look convinced the door greeter this particular elf was more dangerous than any lingerie model. It was her eyes. There was a light in those icy gray eyes that said this encounter wasn't going to end well. Something far beyond mortal comprehension gave the ljosalfr’s gaze a heaviness that made Randy feel incredibly uncomfortable. And incredibly human. Swallowing, he silently prayed the she-elf would ask him a simple question and be on her way.

As she drew closer, Randy managed to say, "Uhhh...we-welcome to Hard Hats. Where we work hard so you don't...so you don't...erhem, how can I help you, ma'am?"

The ljosalfr paused for a moment, seeming to consider his words, and then said, "Is Colette Dumont working in your Tool Rental and Repair Center today?" Her voice was quiet and accentuated by an unusual English dialect. It was like the sound of a gun being cocked. Or the whisper of an ancient blade being pulled from its scabbard.

Randy's gaze dropped to his dirty sneakers and he said, "Uhhh...she's here, ma'am, but the managers don't want anyone bo-bo-bothering her unless you're...unless you're an important client. I'm sorry..." Sweat began to trickle down the miserable door greeter's face as he glanced at the elf. He winced when he saw those menacing eyes narrowing. The ljosalfr was looking at him as if he was an irritating bug just begging to be squashed.

And then, because this was Santa Somabra, the situation got much, much worse.

Five men, each one wearing exquisitely tailored business suits and slacks, entered the store and formed a semi-circle behind the irritated elf woman. The first one to speak was a muscular orc clad in a slate gray suit with golden cuff-links shaped like tiny war hammers.

"What are we doing here, miss?" the greenskin asked, his voice a rumbling bass that resonated in Randy's chest. "I thought we'd finished all your errands. We should be getting back to the Hotel Imperius soon." Behind the hulking brute, a skeletal Hispanic man with a shaved head brushed down the front of his suit jacket, which was a much lighter shade of gray, and nodded once. He didn't look nearly as intimidating as the orc. And then Randy noticed how empty the Latino's watery blue eyes were. It was like staring into the eyes of a life-sized doll. The door greeter let out a pitiful whimper and reluctantly turned his attention to the remaining three thugs.

A portly fellow with unruly dark green hair and a similarly colored pencil mustache said, "Now, now, Baruch. I'm sure there's a good reason we've stopped here, though this place does smell awful. Like...rotting wood and sweat. A great deal of sweat." The man primly flicked some imaginary dirt off his charcoal gray suit and noticed Randy gawking at him. The green-haired man smiled. Randy almost pissed himself. The stranger's smile was far too wide for his round face and showed off more teeth than any human could possibly have. It was only after the man looked down and began tugging at a thread dangling from his sleeve that Randy saw his pointed ears. Unlike the she-elf's ears, which had no earlobes, this creature had large, dangling earlobes. He had to be a faerie then. Towering over the rotund faerie was a human with a pained expression on his face and a body like a brick shithouse. A hilariously tiny bowler hat was shoved over his curly blonde locks, and he seemed completely oblivious to what was going on around him.

But it was the last individual that made Randy want to run screaming from the store.

This faerie had neon blue skin, a hawk-like nose, and slicked back hair the color of a freshly peeled orange. He was even skinnier than the dead-eyed man, but his pewter gray suit somehow made him look lean and dangerous. Like a steak knife in the hands of a sociopath.

Sneering at the she-elf, the taller of the two faeries said, "Yeah, I want to go back to the hotel already. I got a date with one of the concierges...hey, see something you like, fuckstick? What's the big idea?" This last bit was directed at Randy, who couldn't keep his eyes off the colorful faerie.

His mother, despite her obsession with handling strange men's junk, had taught him a little about Santa Somabra's history over the years. She knew only the most dangerous members of the Bloodbloom Syndicate were rewarded with immaculate gray suits to wear on the job. People eventually started referring to these elite killers as "graysuits." Shortly after Randy's thirtieth birthday, his mother also told him a story about a faerie serial killer that used to roam the streets before the fall of the Martovanni Family. This murderer only killed other faeries, and he inevitably decided to go after Nyxvira Bloodbloom. Obviously, the corpulent queenpin wasn't going to to go down without a fight. She'd hired the notorious bounty huntress known as Vigilance to protect her from this maniac. The rest was history. Now, the serial killer worked for the Bloodbloom Syndicate. That faerie's name was Shar Goodfellow, and he was standing in Hard Hats right now, an expression of pure malice on his face as he glowered at Randy.

The light elf cleared her throat and said, "I thought I told you idiots to wait in the car. I was only going to be in here for a few minutes." Her voice was just as quiet as before, but there was a definite edge to it now. An edge that promised a great deal of future unpleasantness.

Giggling, Shar said, "We gotta keep our eyes on you, boss, or you might run away. And what would old tons of fun say if we lost her favorite pooch? She'd be heartbroken." The lanky faerie apparently thought he'd said something witty because he broke into fresh peals of tittering laughter. A few customers stared at the cackling graysuit as they walked by, but Shar Goodfellow couldn't have cared less. He was, after all, Shar motherfucking Goodfellow.

The she-elf's pale face twitched once and she let out a barely audible sigh. Pointing to the colossal man with the small hat, she said, "Jack, stay here and watch the door. Radio me if anything unusual happens. The rest of you...come with me if you must. But do not make a scene or I will report it to milady." Without wasting another moment on Randy, the group walked away, leaving the door greeter alone with a man big enough to bench press at least four Randys. Maybe five.

The man, whose name was evidently Jack, grinned at Randy and said, a thick Cockney accent muddling his words, "Oi, lad, any chance ye give free coffee or water ter yer customers, eh? Me stomach's all higgledy piggledy from bein' in that fuckin' SUV all day." When Randy shook his head and looked away, the graysuit sighed and said, "I hate doin' errands with the goddamn Hound. It's always a miserable time fer everyone."


Narcissa was furious. Almost as furious as she’d been when some junkie high on Demon’s Blood broke one of her swords. If Francis Cain hadn't been at the goblin's workshop that night there wouldn't have been enough of that girl left to fill a thimble. Taking a calming breath, the she-elf shoved the image of Justice snapping in half out of her mind. She needed to focus on the task at hand, not a fight that happened almost a week ago. Unfortunately, her four escorts were making it nearly impossible to keep her temper in check. Did these morons really not trust her enough to walk through a home improvement store without supervision? Was this a sign that Nyxie knew more about Vigilance's reasons for joining the Syndicate than she was admitting? If push came to shove, could Narcissa defeat all five of her "bodyguards?" The ljosalfr wasn't sure.

The little group walked past dozens of shocked customers, paying no heed to their questioning stares, and left them muttering amongst themselves. Seeing four graysuits walking around in such a public place wasn’t common. Narcissa guided her companions around two Hard Hats’ associates trying to placate a customer who kept screaming about the state of the ladies’ restroom. In another aisle, fifteen employees listened attentively while a manager droned on about how to properly apply caulk. Narcissa frowned. Why did Colette insist on working in a dump like this? Was she that desperate? And why did the thought of seeing her again make the she-elf nervous?

Finally, the Bloodbloom Syndicate members reached a large square-shaped opening with a cheery sign hanging overhead that read ‘Tool Rental and Repair Center.' An unusually hideous ogre stepped out from behind the department's customer service desk and came to greet them.

“Hello there. My name is Sullivan or Sully, if you’d like,” the monster said as he proudly pointed to where he’d written his name on his yellow apron. Narcissa was pretty sure Sullivan didn't have a ‘q’ in it, but she decided to let it pass. The sooner this matter was resolved the better. “Can I help you with renting a tool or...ummm,” the ogre started to say, though he trailed off in confusion after a moment or two. Suddenly, he snapped his sausage-like fingers and said, “Renting a tool or repairing one. There we go. I knew I'd get it."

The light elf did her best to keep her voice level as she said, “I need to see Colette Dumont. Now.”

The ogre’s repugnant visage somehow became even harder to look at as he frowned and said, “No...no, you can’t see Miss Dumont. She’s not really-”

And that’s when Shar Goodfellow, former serial killer and all-around jackass, took something out of his suit jacket that looked very much like an uzi. He grinned viciously and pressed the barrel against the wide-eyed ogre’s head.

“Listen up, ugly” the blue-skinned faerie snarled, his piercing tenor voice reaching new heights as he forced the monster back into the tool rental department proper. “I have a beautiful concierge waiting for me to fuck her five ways to Sunday. I need this, man. Seriously. I fucking need this. So, how’s about you don’t be a whiny bitch, huh? Take the Hound to this Colette person so I can get my goddamn wick wet!” The terrified ogre nodded rapidly and pointed to a red door at the rear of the department. Several customers, noticing both the altercation and the weapon, suddenly remembered they had pressing business anywhere else. The large room emptied out faster than you could say, "Welcome to Santa Somabra."

“Nicely done, Shar. Real fucking subtle,” Baruch grumbled as he removed a pistol with a silencer attached from his right pants pocket. He aimed carefully and fired two shots, destroying a couple of security cameras hanging from the ceiling near the tool rental center. Wondering how long it would take for someone to call the SSPD, Narcissa gritted her teeth, choking back the reprimand on the tip of her tongue, and hurried towards the red door. She’d make sure these idiots were punished after her business was concluded. Meanwhile, Baruch, showing that even five years with the SSPD tended to make you more competent than most criminals, signaled to the remaining graysuits and said, “Puck, I want you to take up a defensive position on the left side of the door. You cover the right side, Allister. Watch for trouble while the Hound deals with...whatever this is.” The green-haired faerie and skeletal Latino nodded before moving to their assigned spots.

Narcissa would’ve been proud of the orc if he wasn’t so mindlessly devoted to Nyxvira. The light elf reached the door and tested the handle. It was unlocked. Clutching her bag tightly and hoping this wouldn’t be a complete waste of time, Narcissa walked into the backroom. The room was a mess, though the she-elf hadn’t expected anything less. Colette had always been a bit of a slob. Crystals in a dizzying array of colors, wooden puzzle boxes of every size imaginable, and artifacts that defied description lay scattered around the square-shaped room. Colette, her brown eyes wide behind her horn-rimmed glasses, sat at a metal worktable, a ruby the size of a quail’s egg clutched in her trembling hands. The light elf closed the door behind her and said, a slight hitch in her voice, “Hello, Colette. You look well.”

Colette set the jewel down on the cluttered worktable and got up from her stool. The Frenchwoman slowly removed the threadbare pink beret she always wore and placed it beside the gem. Without saying a word, she walked over and smacked Narcissa across the face. Hard.

“I probably deserved that,” the she-elf said as she gingerly touched her cheek. Colette had been working out.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” Colette barked, her French accent somehow turning the shrill demand into something beautiful. "You cannot simply come into my place of work after not talking to me for six months. What the hell do you want and why are you dressed like a homeless person?”

Holding up one slender finger, and choosing to ignore the remark about her attire, Narcissa opened her bag and reached into it. The she-elf’s arm vanished up to her shoulder, and Colette’s mouth dropped open in surprise. The Frenchwoman was a savant, someone with a gift for repairing and strengthening mystical objects. She knew the ljosalfr's bag was a bag of holding and would've probably sold her soul for a chance to work with the spells woven into the container's fabric. Narcissa was counting on it, actually. The light elf pulled her broken sword out of the bag and said, “I know I hurt you, Colette. But I need you to fix this for me. In exchange, I’m willing to give you this bag of holding and whatever money you need to cover the cost of materials.”

Colette let out a horrified gasp and grabbed the sword from Narcissa, staring at it in mute dismay. Looking at the elf with an pitying expression on her face, the brunette asked, “Which blade is it, ma fleur? Duty or Justice?”

The light elf nearly bit her tongue in half. It felt like a lifetime had passed since Colette had last called her 'ma fleur,' though the couple had only been separated for six months. A blush, completely unexpected and unwanted, suffused Narcissa’s face as she said, “It’s Justice. Some dirty kons with an arm full of Demon’s Blood nearly killed me and then stomped on my sword. If it wasn’t for Cain I would’ve ripped her apart. I still might.” To her surprise, the bounty killer realized this was true. She intended to pay that wretched girl back for what she’d done to her uncle’s sword. It was just a matter of finding something she cared about and destroying it. A swordmistress always collected her debts.

Colette sighed and said, “You can be a real cunt sometimes, you know that, ma fleur?”

Narcissa blinked. “What?”

“You know I’d love to work on a weapon like this. But I’m no elven swordmistress. I don’t have the skill to reforge pure iron and...wait, you know that...why did you bring Justice to me?” the Frenchwoman asked, narrowing her eyes and scowling at her ex-girlfriend. Her arms were still wrapped protectively around the damaged sword, which was pressing against her chest. That deliciously ample chest.

“How was Paris?” Narcissa asked casually as she closed her bag of holding.

“It was fine,” the savant said suspiciously. “Father isn’t doing well, but he says the mine will pay for...oh my God. The mine. That’s it! You knew I went home for a month and you knew I’d come back with mithril ore for my work. You want me to use mithril to fix your precious blade. And here I was hoping you hadn’t been stalking me like one of your damned bounties. I must be a total fucking idiot.”

Narcissa knew better than to say anything to the contrary. She’d had some vicious arguments with Colette in the past, and the Frenchwoman could be unbelievably stubborn. It just so happened that she was completely right this time. The Dumont family owned one of the largest mithril mines in the world, and Colette could get high-quality ore whenever she wanted. Mithril wasn’t as durable as pure iron, but it was the closest thing to it. The white metal also had the unique ability to bond with other magical substances, including pure iron. It was the only way to repair Justice without weakening the blade's overall integrity. Holding up her hands in a gesture of surrender, the light elf said, “You’re right, Colette. I did know all of that, but I’m sure the bag of holding will more than compensate you for-”

“No,” the Frenchwoman snapped, her voice harsh and brimming with anger. “I want the bag and a favor. A favor I will discuss with you at a later date. And before you look at me with those gray eyes and say ‘I don’t do favors’ let me remind you I’m one of three savants in this city. I know you won’t go to Gazbag the Lesser because he’s a goblin. You wouldn’t let him within ten miles of your swords. And Milius Werner mainly works for the Nyctari and his prices are obscene. I’m your only option, ma fleur. Deal?” Colette smiled triumphantly and held out her hand, keeping Justice in the crook of her arm.

Narcissa paused, weighing the options in her head, and realized her ex-girlfriend was right. Again. Colette was the only person she trusted to make her sword whole again. The she-elf stepped forward and shook Colette’s hand, feeling the roughness and calluses she’d acquired in the last six months. It was a stranger’s hand. An awkward silence settled over the two women, and they quickly dropped their hands to their sides.

“I should go,” Narcissa said. “Thank you, Colette.” The elf began to walk away but stopped before she reached the door. Without turning around, the ljosalfr said, “You changed it.”

“Changed what?” Colette asked, arching one slender brown eyebrow.

“Your nose. I used to love your nose even though you always said it was too big. You got it shaved down. When?” the elf asked, feeling something cold settling into the pit of her stomach. God, she was getting old.

“I went to Drekmishrev’s about a week after we broke up,” Colette said as she touched her adorable button nose with her free hand. “I knew how much you loved my nose and...well, I was feeling petty. It was a quick fix.” Frowning, the Frenchwoman turned away and walked back to her worktable. “I thought you were leaving. I’ll call you when Justice is ready. I still have your number."

Narcissa inclined her head and left, the bag of holding bumping gently against her leg. Silently, she strode past her security detail and they followed her through the store's double doors. Jack joined them as the group ventured out into the parking lot. They all piled into the black SUV waiting at the curb. Nobody said anything for a few minutes as Baruch started the car and smoothly accelerated onto Santa Somabra’s main road.

The ljosalfr, sitting in the backseat between Puck and Allister, couldn’t quite articulate the thoughts running through her head. Seeing Colette again had been so-

“So, are you going to tell us why we went to go see a Frenchie at a hardware store, boss? Or are you just going to sit there and-” Shar started to say, but Narcissa’s glare shut him up immediately. She was one of the few people in Santa Somabra capable of keeping the talkative killer quiet.

“Open a line to Nyxvira, Baruch,” the light elf snapped, deciding the best thing to do was refocus on her work. She could puzzle through her feelings for Colette another time. “I know she’s been having us do surveillance on the Nyctari since the incident at Gish’s workshop, but I want to know why. If we’re supposed to be looking for something than it’s time we found out what it is.” The orc grunted and used the car’s Bluetooth along with his iPhone to dial the queenpin. “Milady,” Narcissa said, once the phone picked up, “I know something is going on. You’ve been having me do reconnaissance on major Nyctari businesses for almost a week now. An explanation might help me know what it is you want me to find.”

The Red Windmill Cafe overlooked a small stretch of corner stores, coffee shops, and barbers, all of which failed to match the cafe’s quaint and homely feel. It did the best dark chocolate mochas in all of Santa Somabra, and served the most authentic full english breakfast that could be found in the US of A. At least that’s what some guy, who was infact the owner’s husband, on Resteraunt Reviwer .com claimed. To Nyxvira Bloodbloom, the Red Windmill was a just another place to kill time until she heard back from Edmund Jankovics.

“Okay, I’ve got one,” Ted West, one of the syndicate’s newest Grey Suits, spoke up “Eldaera Summerwind; fuck, marry, or kill?”

“Who the fuck is Eldaera Summerwind?” Razorhallow, a grey-suited Orc who looked like he could kill a fully grown man with a gentle tap, asked with a slight glower, scrunching up his face.

“Where've you been living, old man?” West laughed with a bit too much enthusiasm, making him look more than a little unhinged “She was Sports Illustrated’s hottest light elf of the year two years in the row!”

“What the fuck is a Sports Illustrated?” Razorhallow asked in confusion.

“She’s famous because she has big boobs and someone leaked naked pictures of her on the internet.” Nyxie said with a faint air of disinterest, gazing down at the devastated remains of the full english breakfast which sat in front of her. Most authentic full english breakfast my arse.

“Oh,” said Razorhallow “I dunno? Fuck.”

“Alright, next up…” Ted West gave a flamboyant little wave of his hand“ Riley Russell; fuck, marry, or kill?”

“Who the fuck is Riley Russell?” Razorhallow asked.

“She’s famous because she has a big bum and she put a video of herself sucking someone’s dick on the internet.” Nyxvira explained helpfully.

“Oh,” said Razorhallow. “Marry. I’m an ass-man.”

“The sex tape thing doesn't put you off?” West asked the Orc, giving him a queer look.

Razorhallow shrugged “My first wife was in porn ‘un she was lovely.”

The Orc took a small sip of his coffee, rubbing a dark brown stain off of his lips.

“Alright, my turn,” He grinned “Kaylee Kent; fuck, marry, kill?”

Ted West stared at him blankly.

“I swear you just made that name up.”

“Oh, fuck off, grasshopper,” He grumbled.

“Excuse me, miss?”

Nyxie turned, as the owner slipped into view, with her prissy blonde pigtails bobbing behind her.

“Has everything been to your satisfaction?”

Does she talk to all her customers like this, or does she know who I am?

“It was nice,” Nyxie managed a smile “Thank you.”

With that, the owner retreated back behind the counter.

“I’d fuck her.” West said with a grin, as he watched the woman’s pert behind sway from side to side.

“Okay, here’s one you’ll know…” Said Razorhallow, once the woman was out of earshot “Taffy Li; fuck, marry, kill?”

“She’s the chinky bird in Seven-Dollar Shake, right? The only thing I’d bang that with is a shovel!” West snickered to himself “She’s a right porker! Fucking fat bitch-”

Both pairs of eyes fell upon the enormous fairy next to them, who was easily three times the weight of Taffy Li.

“Ehrmm...no offense meant, madam.” The human spluttered awkwardly.

Nyxie’s eyes narrowed into slits.

“Why would that offend me?”

“Oh, I just thought that…” West trailed off.

A long silence fell over the table, with the faerie looking about ready to bash West’s head in. Then, both Nyxie and Razorhallow burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

“I do own a mirror, kid!” Nyxie said once she was done laughing, as she struggled to catch her breath “I know I’m no Cara Delevingne.”

“Oh, speaking of Cara,” Razorhallow chirped up, as he watched Ted West wipe sweat off of his forehead “Fuck, Mary, ki-”

BANG!

The blast of a shotgun ripped through the air, leaving the Red Windmill’s glass windows in pieces on the floor. The two-shot round slammed into Ted West’s chest, blowing his torso into bloody red pulp, and sending him flying off of his chair. He was dead before he hit the floor.

“Mother fucker!” Razorhallow roared, as he made a grab for his hand-cannon.

BANG!

A second shotgun blast blew off the side of the Orc’s head, painting the restaurant walls with the inside of his skull.

When the owner tried to run she got gunned down as well.

“Ladies and gentleman! The moment you’ve all been waiting for!”

Nyxie’s frantic gaze flickered away from the corpses of her fallen bodyguards, fixing firmly on the voice which was booming through the cafe’s doorway.

“In this corner: weighing 175 Pounds, with a record of 17 rapes, 400 assaults, and fuck-knows how many murders, the undisputed, most diabolical villain in the world…”

The Faerie’s heart fell as she saw a suit-clad figured come striding into the cafe.

“Concetto Nyctari!”

The Vampire was flanked by two shotgun wielding vampire goons, and had the decapitated head of Edmund Jankovics clutched loosely in one hand.

Great job solving all my problems for me, shithead.

Although…

It was a small, almost unnoticeable detail, but Nyxie could see that Concetto was walking with a slight limp.

I guess Jankovics wasn’t completely useless. The fact Concetto was still limping meant that his healing factor hadn’t managed to fully fix the wound yet, which left him ever-so-slightly vulnerable.

“Fancy meeting you here, Nyxie, old gal!” The Vampire grinned “I didn’t know we frequented the same restaurants.”

“I don’t think I’ll be eating here again.” She said dryly.

“I don’t think you’ll be eating at all, after this, you chubby cunt,” even with all his giddy showmanship, the acid in Concetto’s voice burned through “the fast food industry might never recover.”

The Vampire made his way slowly through the Red Windmill, taking the time to savour the moment. He pushed what remained of Razorhallow’s corpse out of its chair, and sat down just to the side of Nyxvira. With his limping leg plainly in her view.

His two cronies were quick to close the distance between them and their bloodmaster, striding up behind him whilst he took his seat.

“Little gift for ya.” Concetto grinned, plonking the Vampire Slayer’s head firmly down on the table, so that his dull eyes were staring straight up at her.

“Did you keep the receipt?” Nyx wondered aloud.

There was a small twitch at the edge of Concetto’s monstrous grin.

“Nice joke,” he sneered “just like your organisation.”

“And your fashion sense.” She shot back.

“You can’t get out of this with snarky comments, Nyxvira.” Concetto hissed “I’m going to let my men have their fun with you, and then I’m going to slit your fat ,fucking, throat.”

The Faerie kept her demeanor calm, stopping a single inch of the roaring terror she felt inside her from slipping onto her features.

“I assumed you’d want in on the fun, Concetto.” She said flatly.

“You’re not my type, cow.” He leered.

“Right, sorry. I forgot I don’t have a penis.”

“How a child like you managed to take over this city is beyond me.”

“If I was a child, then would you want to fuck me?”

Concetto let out a guttural snarl like a rabid dog, as he leapt onto his feet and gave the table an almighty shove, sending plates, cutlery, and Edmund’s severed head clattering to the floor.

“YOU. WILL. FEAR ME.” He bellowed, his long fingernails digging into his skin as his fists clenched.

Nyxvira remained composed whilst she got up from her chair and squared up to the Vampire.

The Faerie stared down at Concetto, her face a cold, hard mask.

“You aren’t worthy to lick the dirt from my boots, Vampire. Do what you will. You won’t get my respect, you won’t get my disdain, and you won’t get my fear. You’re no better than the Rats in their holes, and the zombies in their sewers, and nothing you can do to me, or anyone, else will ever change what you are; a frightened, miserable, little casualty.”

Concetto quivered.

Now.

Nyxvira brought her foot, and all her immeasurable weight bearing down on the crooked dip of the Vampire’s wounded leg. Not even his healing factor could save him from such a burden.

Crunch.



Concetto screamed, clutching manically at his now twisted leg, his face screwed up in a warped mess of pain.

His goons darted forwards with the immense speed only vampires could muster, but that didn’t change the fact that they couldn’t reach Nyxvira without gunning down their bloodmaster.

A sharp shove sent the wailing vampire lord tumbling into his thugs, and gave Nyxie the opportunity to lurch forwards and pry a shotgun free from one of the stunned bodyguard’s hands.

BOOM!

The Roar of the shotgun was music to the Faerie’s ears, as a thunderous blast of ammunition sent the Vampire who still had a shotgun flying back across the cafe, and tumbling over the counter.

She didn’t know how many shells the shotgun had, but she knew it wasn’t enough to kill a vampire.

But I can hurt one.

She aimed the shotgun down at Concetto’s leg.

BOOM!

Suddenly, the vampires were less concerned with Nyxvira, and more concerned with Concetto as he thrashed about on the floor.

Nyxie was no sprinter, but she managed to get herself out of the Red Windmill at a decent pace, and was soon off down the street. She’d just slipped into a back alley when her phone started ringing.

It was Narcissa.

“Milady, I know something is going on. You’ve been having me do reconnaissance on major Nyctari businesses for almost a week now. An explanation might help me know what it is you want me to find.”

“We’re going to war.” Nyxie huffed, more than a little out-of-breath “Meet me at the Imperius and I’ll explain everything. Now get off the bloody line and let me call a car.”

The noise of city life was something that Devon was very used to. The pitter-patter of the horse-shoes of a horse pulling a carriage, chatter of men, women, and children as they roam the streets of Hell's Kitchen, and the occasional scream of a victim or a gunshot from a Colt 1848 revolver. It was sometimes loud enough to hear on days of a downpour, days like today. But all of this was beginning to fade away in the background as Devon is penning a farewell letter to his loved ones, planning on leaving Hell's Kitchen and not returning. Today I will no longer hold residence in Hell's Kitchen, the apartment is already sold and my resignation sent to my employers. I have had this planned for months and have not told any of you, for good reason. I got mixed up with a bad crowd and now I have to pay my dues, so I'm moving to a city near the west coast. I apologize for what I brought onto the family and I apologize for.....everything. It's probably better that I never come back, not until I get my shit straight and no longer have this debt owed. I wish you Farewell. Devon places his seal on the envelope of containing the letter. He looks outside of the window beside his desk, seeing out to the dreary city. A carriage pulls up beside the sidewalk in front of the apartment complex. That's my ride, I should leave the letter in the mailbox on my way out. He walks out of his apartment and goes down two flights of stairs until he reaches the lobby, leaving his letter in the mailbox. Devon runs out of the complex into the rain, hurrying into the cabin of the carriage while the driver had the door open. He takes his seat while the driver quickly closes the door behind him and runs to the front and gets behind the reigns. The carriage driver asks him politely, "Where to?" Gazing over to the driver Devon responds, "Take me to the railroad station, try to arrive there before a quarter after if possible." The carriage begins to move with a faint crack of the reigns......


CRACK! A pale man in a gray suit falls to the floor, head blown to bits, and his blood and brains splattered on the wall behind him. Another man beside him, just as pale but in a black suit and red shirt under his coat; he stands there startled. Devon sits in his leather chair, feet kicked up on his desk and a magnum in his hand with smoke rising from the barrel. He glances down to his own black suit with white pinstripes, seeing small specks of blood spread across the coat. "Damn shame.....this was my favorite suit." Devon gazes back up to the other man, "Is there any other news?" Devon speaks with a cold but calming tone. The man stood there frozen, eyes widened in surprise and opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Even after given the gift, these thugs have no fucking backbone. "Well? Is there any more fucking news?!" "No-no sir." The vampire stutters and slightly moves backwards, as if considering to run and as if that would even help him. Devon nods slowly, contemplating whether to kill or punish him. "Get the fuck out of here, before I change my mind. Next time you screw up you won't be unliving for long." The vampire nods his head and as told, gets the fuck out of there; door slamming behind him. Devon gets out of the chair, moving over to the former thrall, and checks his pockets. Taking his wallet from his left pocket and a pack of cigarettes from his right coat pocket. He takes a whiff of the pack, Clove, my favorite. He had good taste but was a terrible worker. He takes a cigarette from the pack, putting the pack in his pocket and pulls out a lighter, lighting his cigarette. Why did I even keep him alive this long? He takes a long hit from the cigarette before pulling out his phone from his coat pocket. After dialing a number someone picks up. "Yes?" He flicks some of the ashes onto the corpse, "Hey, we got a problem.....we lost one of the dens that we had taken from the Nytes." The voice on the other line takes a long sigh then responding, "Alright. Lead an assault on it to take it back while the defenses are low. I'm trusting you on this, there will be a hit squad there waiting for you." He takes another puff before replying, "Understood. It'll be ours within the hour."



Devon and his hit squad begin to prepare for the assault on the den in a nearby alleyway, preparing M16s loaded with military-grade rounds, and placing bulletproof vests on themselves. Six heartbeats, meaning at least six lesser races, and probably a couple vampires. He takes a deep breath before speaking to the thugs, "Listen, there is most likely at least a couple of our kind in there, so aim for the damn head on everyone in there. No survivors, not even one. We do not want the Nytes hearing about this before we get this locked down and secure. This is the first step to taking back our city. You, take the door." He gestures to one of the thugs which still has a bullet lodged in his vest. They all line up, Devon being third in the line up on the right side of the door. CRRRRRAAAAACK! The first thug shoots the door open with a blast of his Remington, then pulling out his M16, and entering first. Gunfire is heard coming from both sides of the assault and by the time Devon enters, those before him were dead on the floor. He quickly moves to cover while being fired upon and firing back. One goes down with a blast of blood and neural matter before Devon finally reaches his cover. He hears a heartbeat coming up on his left. Thrall on my left, thinking that he moves up firing the moment he sees the thrall, and fires off at least six rounds before the thrall drops dead on the floor; five rounds grouped in the torso and a single round fired through his forehead. Within five minutes the den is left with only the majority of the assault squad standing and the Nytes dead on the floor. He walks out to the alleyway, placing his M16 against the wall and lights a cigarette before calling his boss. "It's done, I'll have the men clean it up and then have some more sent here to secure it. By tomorrow we should be able to have the business running." He takes one more puff before he hears the response, "Good, I'm glad I can always rely on you to clean the mess when we have one. I need you to come back, we have a problem.." He gets hung up on and sighs. Crunching the cigarette under his shoe, he grabs the M16, and gets into his car; driving to meet his Nyctari boss.

"I, I got a new life! You would hardly recognize me, I'm so glad!"

A new life? Narcissa rolled her eyes and shifted into a more comfortable position on her ivory-colored sofa. The light elf felt like starting over wasn't something to brag about. It meant your situation couldn't be salvaged, and the only way to survive was to somehow create a blank slate. And that usually involved a great deal of violence or money. Sometimes both. The past also had an annoying habit of not staying in the past. More often than not, you ended up spending more time dealing with your past mistakes than thinking about your new future. On the other hand, in a city like Santa Somabra, you were either incredibly lucky or corrupt if your future was something to look forward to. Especially with the impending gang war.

A war between the Nyctari and the Bloodbloom Syndicate. It sounded like a bad joke, but if even half of what Narcissa had heard about the Red Windmill Café incident was true then it was unavoidable.

Moments after Nyxvira hung up on the ljosalfr, Grezbill had called Vigilance and her team to fill them in about the madness preparing to engulf the city. The goblin, his voice hoarse with terror, told the group what had transpired at the café and let them know a motorcade was en route to Nyxie's location. To avoid being tailed by Nyctari sympathizes, the queenpin's entourage would be using side streets to reach the the Hotel Imperius. The afternoon sun would keep any vampires at bay, but their devoted thralls were another matter. Taking traffic and the inherent dangers of driving through the backroads into consideration, Grezbill predicted the limousines would arrive in Southwind Park, the district where the Hotel Imperius was located, around two o' clock in the afternoon.

The whole situation seemed surreal, especially when Grezbill ended the briefing by saying Marius, Ted West, and Razorhallow were dead. Three Syndicate members had already been killed in a war that hadn't even started yet. Narcissa didn't believe in omens, but this didn't bode well.

If the first part of the drive home from Hard Hats had been quiet, this news guaranteed the rest of the ride would be conducted in total silence. The only sound was Baruch Varda quietly whimpering, tears running down his leathery green face.

Narcissa hadn't expected that. She couldn't recall ever seeing an orc cry before. Why was the leader of her bodyguards sobbing like a distraught child? The question bothered her for the rest of the drive, but the answer didn't occur to her until the group was wading through the Hotel Imperius' crowded lobby. Nyxvira clearly wasn't taking any chances. Most of the hotel's employees were heavily armed in case the Nyctari launched a surprise attack. As Vigilance shoved yet another concierge hiding a weapon under his uniform out of her way, she remembered that Razorhallow used to be a high-ranking officer in the SSPD. He'd been quite popular before he was fired, but they'd found vials of Demon's Blood in his locker. Nobody could bounce back from that. Despite this blemish on his otherwise spotless record, Razorhallow managed to convince several other cops that had been kicked off the force to work for his new employer. The Bloodbloom Syndicate. Among these defectors was a young orcish police officer by the name of Baruch Varda. Before earning his gray suit and becoming head of the Hound's security detail, Baruch had been Razorhallow's right hand. They'd committed numerous atrocities together, including the Red Tusk Massacre back in 2010. Razorhallow even told Nyxie it might be a good idea to give Baruch his gray suit early in recognition of his dedication to the Syndicate. And the queenpin agreed. Baruch's tears made sense now. One of his dearest friends was dead.

"I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes, I saw the sign!"

Thankfully, after a visit to the apartment he shared with the other graysuits to gather ammunition, Baruch had quieted down. At the moment, he was in the Inferno Suite's kitchenette preparing something for Nyxvira to eat when she reached the hotel. Nobody wanted to tangle with an infuriated Nyxie without food nearby. The problem was Narcissa didn't eat much so Baruch was having a difficult time, his constant grumbling barely audible over the music blasting through the suite's speaker system. The ljosalfr wasn't fooled, though. Every now and again, the greenskin would stop trying to assemble his lackluster fruit and cheese plate. His red eyes would glaze over, and he'd just stare at nothing for awhile before returning to his task. He was grieving. It was a curious sight, and not because this was the first time Narcissa had allowed the graysuits into her home. Baruch "The Hammer" Varda was broken up over the death of some old orc he'd idolized after being fired from the SSPD. Bizarre. Still, he was keeping busy and that's what mattered. Inaction usually led to overthinking and brooding. As professional killers, each of the six Syndicate members knew such ruminations were a dangerous waste of time. Instead, they were tending to their pre-battle rituals and preparing themselves for what the next few hours might bring.

By the bay window, Allister Barros was staring out at the city, his lifeless eyes darting from building to building with the intensity of a man watching a whore undress. Narcissa never knew what the emaciated Colombian was thinking. He rarely spoke, but he could make the sawed-off shotgun cradled in his hands dance. The burly Jack Crowley sat on the edge of the sofa beside Narcissa, and he was mindlessly taking his hand cannon apart and putting it back together again over and over. The Englishman was also watching the 25th Annual Santa Somabra Dog Show on the suite's massive plasma screen, though the sound was off. The reason for this was, of course, Shar Goodfellow.

"No one's gonna drag you up to get into the light where you belong!"

As soon as the group had reached the Hotel Imperius, Shar made a beeline for a pretty, red-haired girl wearing a slightly oversized concierge's uniform. She couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen years old. Narcissa had stopped the eager faerie and told him his tryst would have to be put on indefinite hold. After all, Concetto Nyctari had nearly killed the Bloodbloom Syndicate's leader. The former serial killer wasn't pleased with this so he'd decided to make everyone else miserable. After hooking his black Samsung Galaxy up to the Inferno Suite's sound system, Shar had put Ace of Base's "I Saw the Sign" on repeat and began to dance. Badly. Puck Pannod, his green mustache twitching like a rabbit's whiskers, was enthralled by the taller faerie's awkward, jerking gyrations. The rotund graysuit would occasionally let out a delighted giggle and spin around on the stool he was sitting on. The music created a vaguely amusing ambiance, though Narcissa was more concerned that Shar might break something valuable.

Still, the ljosalfr was glad to have a moment to breathe before going to Nyxvira's suite. She couldn't remember the last time she'd just sat down and relaxed. Perched next to Jack, a rag in one hand and a glass vial of armor polish in the other, the light elf was gently rubbing down her leather armor. While the graysuits had been getting ammo for their weapons, Narcissa had laid all the pieces of her uniform on a large sheet of wax paper covering her coffee table. Cured ogre hide was durable, but it was also ugly as sin. A little armor polish went a long way towards giving Narcissa that sleek, intimidating look the criminals of Santa Somabra feared.

As the bounty killer ran the oily rag over her chestpiece she noticed dozens of new scuffs and scratches. Mementos from her fight with that druggie girl. The light elf bared her teeth and took a calming breath. Obviously, with the gang war looming in the not-so-distant future, it would be almost impossible for Narcissa to find the time to pursue the scrawny bitch. But the she-elf also knew conflict had a way of scaring rats out of hiding. Maybe she'd get lucky. Truth be told, the ljosalfr might have considered leaving the girl alone if she hadn't snapped Justice in half. Narcissa had been pleased by the number of souls she'd sent into the afterlife during the attack on the goblin's workshop. Seven irredeemable souls. It brought her total up to 157. Unfortunately, the blonde wretch had to pay for defiling her uncle's blades. Not even a war with the Nyctari would stop Vigilance from collecting what she was owed.

Coincidentally, the Nyctari also owed Narcissa a substantial debt. They were one of the few gangs in Santa Somabra she'd refused to work for while building her reputation as a bounty killer and hired gun. The matter of them paying someone to burn down the Laughing Maiden all those years ago stood between them like a gaping chasm. How could she possibly forgive those filthy bloodsuckers for destroying her livelihood? And the livelihood of her beloved Myra...

"How could a person like you bring me joy?"

Narcissa's rag slipped from her hands, though she grabbed it before it hit the floor. Drops of armor polish splattered messily onto the white carpet, though the light elf didn't care. The staff would clean up the mess in a few days. If any of them were still alive.

Myranda Tavellan. Now that was a name the she-elf hadn't thought about in awhile. Licking her lips and adjusting her grip on the cloth, Narcissa took a breath and continued her work. She wasn't ready to reopen that wound yet. Part of her still believed that, if it weren't for some Nyctari hireling burning down the bar she and Myranda had built together, so much needless suffering could've been avoided. The Great Fire of 1985 never would've happened. She never would've left Santa Somabra. Vigilance wouldn't exist. And maybe pigs would fly and Nyxvira Bloodbloom would go on a diet.

At any rate, this war could potentially offer Narcissa an opportunity for revenge. Killing Concetto Nyctari would also remove another soul from her debt and distract his followers. Without someone keeping them in line, the vampires would fight each other in hopes of becoming bloodmaster, which would give the other gangs a chance to finish off the survivors. While Concetto wasn't quite the bastard Nyxvira was, the difference was so slim it didn't matter. A corrupted soul was a corrupted soul. Narcissa smirked. People didn't call her Vengeance for nothing, though she wasn't too fond of that moniker. She preferred Vigilance. Or the Hunter. Or the Deathbringer. Regardless, the light elf would make sure Concetto got what he deserved at some point. And Nyxvira too. The conflict would undoubtedly convince the obese faerie to keep Vigilance by her side for protection. This would give Narcissa plenty of time to learn her boss' weaknesses and take her down.

Besides, it was easy to disguise a murder as a casualty of war.

Although...alot of innocent people would die in the coming days.

Narcissa flinched, hearing Colette's low-range alto voice saying these words in her head. Seeing the Frenchwoman again had been a jarring experience. The she-elf hadn't expected it to affect her so much. As the centuries passed, the ljosalfr had developed a talent for compartmentalizing her emotions, which allowed her to focus entirely on the situation at hand. It hadn't always been that way, but old age tended to make everything feel unimportant. Like it was happening to someone else. But seeing Colette had filled Narcissa with unanticipated urges and longings. What did it all mean? Did she still feel a connection to the fiery savant? What if something happened to Colette during the gang war? These weren't questions Narcissa was accustomed to asking herself. It was unsettling. Exciting, but still unsettling.

Shaking her head, the ljosalfr examined her polished chestpiece, which still looked like shit, and set down her rag. Maybe she'd do her bracers next. Her lone sword, Duty, and ceramic elven death mask were resting on the same sheet of wax paper as the rest of her "work attire." The bounty killer snorted and a slight smile lit up her pale face.

There was a joke in there somewhere. Justice was broken, but Duty was fine. And death just sat there, patient and inescapable.

"I saw the sign, I opened up my eyes and saw the sign!" Shar wailed along with Ace of Base as the song reached it's conclusion. Jack sighed quietly from his spot on the sofa, clearly hoping the faerie would take a break from this awful music. Shar did no such thing. Suddenly, Baruch slammed the Tupperware container he'd been rummaging through down on the counter. The orc stomped over to where Shar had put his phone, his face devoid of all expression as he stared at the faerie's pristine Samsung Galaxy. The blue-skinned graysuit sneered and said, "Hey, what are you doing, blubber guts? Don't you touch my phone now." The orc took a breath and brought his massive fist down on the Samsung Galaxy with an audible crunch. Ace of Base took a well-deserved break.

Shar stared at Baruch, his piss-colored eyes glittering with barely contained anger, and said, "What the fuck, Baruch? I get that you're sad and shit because your old fuckbuddy Razorhallow died. But you need to find your balls and get over it. And you fucking smashed my phone! What the fuck, you green piece of shit?!"

Baruch grabbed Shar roughly by his lapels and said, "I know you're all upset about not getting to fuck that little girl, Shar. And I know you don't have any friends, but some of us do. Now, shut...the...fuck...up." Narcissa's gaze flicked to Shar. The faerie smiled and made a sudden jerking motion. Something metallic flashed in his hand. Baruch roared and a green finger went flying and hit Jack Crowley in the face. The muscular human looked down at the severed thumb in his lap and delicately placed it beside Narcissa's armor.

"My fucking thumb!" Baruch bellowed, holding his hand and glowering at Shar.

"You destroyed my phone, you pussy ass bitch!" Shar snapped and stepped forward, his bloody dagger dripping orcish viscera onto the carpet.

Abruptly, ten strategically placed and lit scented candles flared bright blue. The flames coalesced into ten tiny fireballs that began hovering around Narcissa's head as she rose, setting aside her armor polish and cloth.

"Both of you need to calm down. We already have a war brewing, and I need you all focused on what needs to be done. Baruch, you will replace Shar's phone at your earliest convenience. There should be gauze and bandages in the bathroom you can use to bind your finger. And Shar? Shut the fuck up," the light elf said, looking from the bleeding orc to the infuriated faerie. Shar frowned, but Narcissa knew he wouldn't be an issue. Not yet. He was too excited about having an excuse to butcher people for the duration of the gang war. Baruch simply shook his head and plodded towards the bathroom. Shar stuck out his tongue at the greenskin's retreating back and picked up his phone. He made a face as he examined the cracked screen, but he finally shoved it into his pocket. Narcissa allowed the fiery orbs to fade away and slowly sat back down. Sweat dripped down her angular face, and she felt like an ogre had punched her in the stomach. Repeatedly. It was nearly impossible for her to make her gift work when she wasn't feeling a particularly strong emotion. She'd gotten lucky this time.

Hopefully, Nyxvira would call for her soon.

There had better be more coming. Nyxvira fumed inwardly, as she licked up the last few crumbs of Baruch’s half-arsed offering. A quick rummage through the mini-fridge yielded a decent sized packet of Babybels, which the Faerie spent the next few minutes munching on, before tossing their empty wrappers into the waste paper basket.

Her suite was a regal one, displaying the very latest in new age interior decorating. Soft chairs, a softer bed, and silk drapes like twin waterfalls of rich silver, sweeping over huge windows with clear glass panels.

It wasn’t long before her hound arrived.

Narcissa entered the room with long, feline strides. Even out of her armour, the Elf looked an elegant killing machine.

Nyxvira had been halfway through undressing, but it would have been impossible to gage that by the unflinching nature of the elf’s tone.

“What would you have me do, my lady?” She asked in her cold voice.

“Help me fuck up the Nyctari.” The Faerie said plainly, her head propped up against the headboard, as she lay spread out across the queen-sized bed. “Big” didn’t even come close to capturing Nyxvira’s girthy immensity. She completely dominated the centre of the bed, with the swollen vastness of her gigantic gut bulging out in front of her.

“And to do that, I need you to retrieve something very specific for me.”

Narcissa stood sentinel on the other side of the room, watching the Faerie with a wordless gaze.

She gives me the fucking creeps. There was more than one reason Nyxie had her watched closely by a tightly-knit security detail.

"The Blood Atlas of Akhmat Khan,” She let the words roll off of her tongue “a very precious little book, which is going to help us find where Concetto is hiding.”

A spout of indigestion made Nyxvira wince suddenly.

“Barrow and White have quite a few trinkets from the Great Horde,” She explained “go and tear their tower apart until you find the Atlas, then-”

Suddenly, Nyxie’s phone started ringing.

“For fuck’s sake…”

She answered with the press of a button.

“Bill's Roadside Diner: you kill 'em, we grill 'em.”

“Boss, we got ourselves a problem.”

The voice on the other end was a familiar one. Rebecca Rapava: the Winston Wolfe of the Bloodbloom Syndicate.

“What’s up?”

“Sending you footage now.”

Nyxie looked down at her screen.

The hotel lobby was crawling with heavily-armed SWAT operatives, kitted out like GSG 9 soldiers. They barked orders, threatened folks at gunpoint, and snatched Rapava’s phone off of her once they realized she was recording them.

The call went dead.

Fuck.

“You know what to do, Hound.” She said, with spikes of frantic urgency biting into her words “Now get your arse out of here.”

Narcissa turned and left, as quietly as she’d appeared.

Time to play the waiting game. Nyxvira thought to herself, as she laid her hands out on her thick thighs, and waited for Veronika Tolstoi’s goons to come and seize her.

Lorelai looked up at the sky from the balcony of Lexi's small apartment. The stars were out tonight, maybe it was because they were far from the city proper, maybe it was so they could fix her with their damning gaze.

She sighed and took a long drag from her cigarette, or rather one of Lexi's, and watched as the smoke curled into the night. Her thoughts turned toward Lexi. She was sleeping happily in the bed they'd just shared a torrid couple of hours in. Alive and well, Lorelai felt no particular desire to extinguish the brave girl’s life. She mused about what the girl might be dreaming, was it filled with dark women with fangs? Perhaps rainbows and better days?

Vladimir had once told her that vampires don't dream. For the longest time he was right, but recently she'd been dreaming. In those dreams she wandered an iron labyrinthine prison filled with her own personal mausoleum of torments. The air would be filled with the voices of those she'd wronged, and just beyond the bars of each cell lurked faces. Each in turn would ask why? To each she offered nothing, because she had nothing.

You eat to survive, and survive to eat. There's no more meaning than that.

That is, unless you make it yourself.

---

A few hours earlier

"Got anything exciting planned for the evening ma'am?" Shaun interrupted her reading.

"Not really, made any progress getting a hold of the Bloodbloom's matriarch?"

"No significant strides in that direction, you may consider taking a meeting with someone less busy than the boss herself."

"Is that so?" Lorelai thought a moment, Shaun was right of course. It's not like she had a lot of other prospects for allies in the city. "Perhaps tomorrow night I'll give someone a call."

"What will you do tonight then Mi'lady?"

That was Shaun's way of saying 'get off your ass', and infuriatingly enough he was right again. "...You can be a bit of a task master Shaun. Perhaps I'll take a walk, grab a bite."

"As you wish ma'am, I just hate to see you languish."

Minutes later she was wandering the streets of Santa Somabra aimlessly. The sky was black with rain. The city streets, which normally smelled like sweat and garbage, instead smelled almost fresh. Mother nature was here long before man or vampire, and would be here long after they were gone.

Mother nature had a way of cleaning things, rain, floods, hurricanes, and other natural disasters. No matter what man built or ruined eventually nature would return it to pristine harmony. Lorelai looked up into the raining sky and wished that nature would work faster, that the rain would surge and wash them all away, leaving them clean and perfect again.

“Lorelai, is that you?” A feminine voice pierced her thoughts.

She turned to see a pretty blonde approaching with an umbrella, Lexi. ”Lexi, is the city truly that small? Or is this providence?”

Lexi blushed, smiling. “I don’t know about that, but what are you doing out in the rain? You’ll catch a cold.” She moved to share her umbrella with Lorelai. “Come on, my apartment’s not far from here. Let’s get you out of this rain ok?”

”What about your boyfriend?” They began walking down the street. Loelai didn’t care one way or the other about Lexi’s romantic status, but was curious to see how she explained her behavior. ”I’m sure he wouldn’t want me alone with you.”

“That didn’t seem to bother you last weekend, now did it?” Lexi replied blithely. “This isn’t an invite to get in bed with me. I’ve just been wanting to talk to you since then anyway.”

”Why?” Lorelai responded.

“I don’t know. You seem dangerous and edgy? I can’t leave well enough alone? The way your smile never reaches your eyes?” Lexi mused aloud. “You’re interesting is the short answer. The long one is that I want something from you, but don’t know what that is.”

”Now you’ve got me curious.” and that was the truth, Lexi’s sudden honesty was impressive. She didn’t know many people who could wrap their heads around what Lexi was grappling well enough to state it as well as she had. ”Are you sure this isn’t an invitation to bed?”

Lexi shrugged. “I’m sure if you want me you’ll find a way to charm me. You did last weekend after all. It’s not like I’m taking sex off the table.”

Lorelai giggled. ”You seem pretty calm about all this, nothing like the girl I met. This could be fun.”

“I don’t exactly do well out of my element. I like dancing well enough, but not by myself. Also I’m hardly calm, my heart’s going like a mile a minute.” She looked over to Lorelai, revealing her flushed face. “But panicking isn’t going to help me communicate and get what I want from you. Whatever that is.”

The rest of the short walk was spent in silence. Lorelai was truly impressed with the woman. She seemed smart, savvy, and even a little sexy. How long would her interest last though? What would Lexi think if she knew what Lorelai was? The difficulties involved in such things were daunting.

Soon they arrived at the front of Lexi’s apartment building. She unlocked the door with her key, and a long walk up the stairs later they came to the apartment itself. It was relatively spacious, a nice sized living room, a small but full kitchen, two bedrooms of which one had been converted into a study, and a full bathroom.

After Lorelai had changed into a set of Lexi’s clothes, which were quite oversized on her diminutive frame, and dried her hair they took a seat at the kitchen table. Lexi provided a cup of hot chocolate for Lorelai and coffee for herself.

“I’m not gay.” Lexi eventually blurted out, breaking the silence. “I like guys.”

”You do some weird stuff for a straight girl.” Lorelai giggled. ”I don’t think gay or straight are useful words anyway. We’re attracted to whatever we’re attracted to, are you attracted to me?”

“Somewhat paradoxically yes. Does that make me Heteroflexible? Basically straight, but I’ll bend for Lorelai’s?” She inquired smiling.

”Do you know a lot of Lorelai’s? Does this happen often?” Lorelai returned laughing. ”Besides I didn’t make you bend that much.” she added lasciviously.

“Yes you did! I’m not that flexible.” She shook her head laughing. “But for some reason I really wanted to see you naked, so I did it anyway.”

The laughter died down eventually, leaving Lorelai strangely warm, this was getting dangerous. “What are you going to college for Lexi?”

“Computer programing. I like solving problems using logic.” She sighed. “You’d think that would mean I keep my personal life neat, but it’s unfortunately messy.”

”What do you mean?” Lorelai tilted her head smiling. ”Are you talking about me again?”

“Yes, and no. My boyfriend is a friend from my childhood. Growing up he got into some pretty bad stuff, drug stuff.” She reached across the table and ensnared one of Lorelai’s hands. “I thought I could change him, stupid really. That’s not how things work is it?”

”No it isn’t.” Lorelai’s voice was gentle. ”You can help someone change, but that’s it.”

“I think girls who want guys to change for them are greedy, including myself. It’s the ultimate romantic gesture, we don’t want to change them really, we want to be the reason they changed. We want that as a testament to how wonderfully in love we are.”

”So what will you do now?” She squeezed Lexi’s hand. ”I can’t be making this easy on you.”

There it was. The second hand of the clock wasn’t spinning like the blades of a fan. Lorelai gripped this moment, free of banalities, full of genuine human struggle. This wasn’t a simple transitory moment, fleeting by just to explain the next moment like scenes in a movie. This was a moment in which things could change, an impossibly powerful moment that laid open the myriad paths that Lexi’s life could take.

Lorelai was humbled by its power. The power of choice, of growth, and adversity. Maybe this is what she lost somewhere in the sands of time. Did she choose anymore? Did she grow? Or did she simply flit from one moment to the next sating her impulses and strategizing her next meal? When did her life become so comfortable she quit noticing it?

“I-I think I’ll leave him.” Lexi said looking down at her hand, currently in Lorelai’s “Then I think I’ll ask you to get a coffee with me or something.”

Lorelai was so proud of this little mortal. Rather than comfort or complacency she’d chosen the pain of change, something Lorelai rarely had the strength to accomplish.

Leaning across the table Lorelai started a kiss that ended in Lexi’s bedroom, after an hour or so spent in pleasant agony.

---

Present

She heard a knock at Lexi’s door. Calling on her ancient blood she muted her presence and stepped inside. Making her way to Lexi’s bedroom Lorelai moved with a stealth cats and owls alike would envy.

She arrived just in time to catch a brief glimpse of Lexi’s naked form before the woman had tossed a robe on, tieing it in the front. Lexi then moved past Lorelai, she didn’t even notice her, on her way to her front door.

She opened the door, revealing a tall man. He was pale, unkempt stubble grew around his face, he wore jeans and a leather jacket that hadn’t seen a proper wash in some time, and his eyes were dilated and wild.

“Hey babe, sorry to leave you hangin’ last weekend, but I had some stuff.” The man spoke quickly.

“What stuff?” Lexi crossed her arms. “Scoring? Fuck off.”

“Babe, come on. I said I was sorry right? You know how it is, let me in.”

“No, this time we’re done for good. Get out of here, and don’t call me again Jamie.”

“I walked all the way here from downtown.” He pushed his way past Lexi and made his way toward the fridge. He removed a beer and took it to the living room and sat down. “Let’s at least talk about this.”

“Ok, how about this? I’m leaving you, because you can’t get your shit together long enough to hold down a job, remember our dates, or accomplish anything of note.” Lexi’s face reddened with anger. “Then I’m going to start fucking this cute girl I met at the club last weekend. How’s that?”

“You’re gonna what!?” Lexi had gone a little too far. “You’ve got somebody picked out already huh? I doubt they’re interested in little fat Lexi.” He laughed.

“That was highschool asshole. I lost weight if you haven’t noticed, and now I can have whoever I want, and I don’t want you.” She intended to go farther. “And I know she’s interested because I just woke up from passing out with her on top of me. So fuck you, and get out.”

“You cheating whore.” He stood, flipping the coffee table in a fit of rage. He slowly advanced on Lexi, who’d realized what was about to happen and was shrinking against the wall at her back.

As amusing as this had been Lorelai was getting to be rather fond of Lexi. ”Did I miss something Lexi?” She revealed herself in the doorway of the bathroom.

Jamie snarled, spinning around. “So you’re the bitch, I’m gonna teach you a lesson about fooling around with a man’s girl.”

As soon as they made eye contact Lorelai was in the man’s mind. No one loves you, no one can love you. You have no friends, only people who make money off of your suffering. You’re something to be laughed at or pitied, not loved. And nothing you can do will ever change that. Her voice in his mind became his new truth.

He stopped in his tracks. Tears rolled down his face as Lorelai’s magic informed his new existence. With a wretched cry he turned and ran out the door.

”Are you ok?” Lorelai moved over to support Lexi, who was looking a little shaken.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Lexi hugged her. “I thought you’d left again.”

”I was going to leave a note this time at least.” They stepped out onto the balcony so Lexi could have a much needed cigarette. ”With my number of course. I don’t get out much during the day. So I was thinking maybe we could do something tomorrow night?”

“Sure, that sounds lovely. I’m busy during most of the daylight hours anyway.” She smiled. “Why don’t you ge-”

Her question was interrupted by tired screeching from the street below, the high pitched note was then punctuated by the sound of glass breaking. Looking over the railing they saw Jamie’s twisted corpse several yards from an SUV that bore a Jamie sized dent in its grill.

”To answer your question, I don’t get out much because I’m a vampire. I’m nearly a millennia old, and I just murdered your ex before he could beat or rape either of us.” She’d decided earlier that night that honesty was in fact the best policy.

(To be continued…)

The motorcycle purred past the cemetery's entrance and around the bend before Valorie brought it to a stop and killed the engine, motioning for Hurk to assist her in walking it behind the cover of some shrubbery. They weren't going in through the front gate but rather a "secret entrance" she knew of that avoided the main path's motion lights and the groundskeeper's shed. She had been to the Somabra Central Cemetery when she had first come to Santa Somabra for some field research and, although she had only been once, she knew quite well that the police liked to patrol this area for teens who were trying to get in a good scare or black magicians seeking a way to commune with the underworld. Perhaps if she had been smart enough back in the day to ditch her car a few blocks down the road she never would have been forced to snitch on the Rats in the first place, but at the time it had made sense to her to keep it close—most likely because she had been a little intoxicated that night.

The "secret entrance" was still there and hardly deserving of the title. It was just a twisted part in the metal fence around the graveyard that somebody had crashed their car into that the city had yet to repair. For a small person like Valorie, she could just easily step through as long as she made sure her clothes didn't get snagged on the sheared metal; Hurk would probably have a tighter, but manageable, squeeze. The two trudged through the darkness, their path lit only by the moon peaking through the dark clouds above. The mild, yet wholly understandable, feeling of unease that was overcoming Valorie as she walked through a graveyard late at night with a werewolf at her side faded as she made note that the moon was, thankfully, not full.

She stopped in her tracks and turned to Hurk. Two other things were bothering her.

"I don't know where we're actually going," she said, resting a hand on her hip as another teased her hair. "Oh, and, uh, you told your friends to bring shovels, right? Because the guy who maintains this graveyard doesn't really like it when people, er, borrow his tools."



"Not bad?" said Valorie, her voice breathy and pitching up as if the statement had somehow both exhausted and offended her. "Fuck me, they're incredible!"

Valorie began to edge closer to Andy and Benji, her hand held up to her mouth to cover her huge, stupid smile.

"Actual intelligent, self-reliant zombies are a pretty rare sight," she said, more to herself than to Hurk or the others. It was a sad truth; she had never really seen one on the street or even in a bar overrun with Rats. "Thanks to some assholes in Hollywood, most spend their eternal existence in hiding because the general public believe that all zombies are good for are eating brains and getting mowed down by chainsaw. It doesn't really help that the mindless shufflers don't go out of their way to avoid that stereotype, either.

And then their were the ones she had made; those were even more pathetic. They were like broken, animatronic dolls with stilted movements and a drained battery.

"But look at these guys," she said, turning to Hurk and gesturing wildly. She thought he should be more impressed by the company he kept. Pearls before swine.

"They're talking, walking, even joking with each other. Do you see how smooth and fluid their motions are? Completely lifelike, it's absolute incredible—especially if their clothes are any indictation to how long they've been undead. Any two-bit necromancer can raise a zombie, and even a lucky one can raise one with free will, but it takes true talent to 'embalm' them so well that they don't inevitably fall apart due to natural human decay. These guys will be around until some asshole decides to purify them or the Sun swallows the Earth. Either way, it's, it's, it's fucking amazing when you get in right like this. Holy shit, holy shit, man."

As she spoke her actions grew more and more animated, her hands flailing up and out as she paced back and forth. If she was a normal girl, this would not have been dissimilar to the sort of reaction she would have had if she had met the lead singer to her favorite band and been unable to keep her cool. Valorie did not even realize how loud she was getting, which was a bad thing considering that two zombies, a werewolf, and a necromancer were illegally exhuming a body. She spun on her heels and pointed at Andy.

"You have to let me study you guys! Fuck it, just tell me about dying. Or undying. Or anything. Please, please, please," she said, giving her best gut wrenching attempt at puppy dog eyes.



Valorie nodded along vigorously as Andy spoke, ready to hold onto his words like the gospel. Her excitement floundered as the zombie gave her the quick and dirty take of his death and resurrection. She had been hoping for something that'd hint at her how to become a better necromancer, but the last thing on her list was to let some bloodsucker enthrall her for a couple centuries of indentured servitude just so she could raise a few wise-cracking zombies. The girl spent the last-half of his speech fidgeting, trying to fight the urge to pull out her phone and snap a shot of herself and the zombies.

"Compared to some of the people I've met,you're not that ugly looking," said Valorie to Benji, the compliment sounding more backhanded than she had intended it to be. "And don't worry, guys, I get it. I'm not gonna dissect you or anything, you know, unless you want me to. Oh, but just an FYI, I am real good at putting things back together. So, you know, if anything ever falls off and you, like, literally need a hand..." She laughed nervously as she trailed off and began to step away. "Uh, I'm gonna get prepped and stop talking, 'kay?"



"Two seconds," she said under her breath, her knife drawing up lines of loose dirt as she worked it through the soil. She lifted the makeshift spade out of the ground, muttering curses to herself between loud snaps of gum being popped as she began to retrace her work. After what was decidedly more than two seconds the young woman stabbed the knife into the ground and stood up, brushing the dirt from her knees. Fishing out her phone, she shone the bright LED light onto the ground and glared down at her handiwork as if she was an artist unsatisfied with her latest masterpiece. There were errors, an extra line here, the wrong angle there, and each and everyone of them waved at her like a red flag. Crouching back down on her haunches, Valorie began shifting dirt around with her fingers and packing them into the unneeded grooves and cuts.

"There," she said with a huff as she grabbed her knife and jumped up, trying to hide the frustration from her face. Cain had said something about the drugs being part of the reason why she was struggling with her magic so much. She never realized part of it would have been just fucking with her ability to recognize the wrong runes. Valorie tried to push any thoughts of self-doubt out of her head. This would work. It wouldn't be like last time. Hurk would be able to get the information he needed. She would, somehow, raise a goddamn werewolf from the dead. Part of her really regretted giving away her last cigarette to Hurk earlier. She could really go for a smoke to take the edge off right about now. Her eyes fell on the somber man as he backed away from the coffin and sat on the ground. Now she really regretted giving away her last cigarette; Hurk needed it now more than before.

"Hey," she said, staring down at the man with as sympathetic of a look she could muster. She was real bad at dealing with these sorts of things. Death to her, to any real necromancer, was something to be toyed with. It didn't have any real weight. It wasn't an end or a beginning. It was just a turning point, a new chapter. That black void of nothingness Benji had mentioned? It was like a womb, the deceased was the baby, and she was the young, hotshot doctor: it was her job to yell push, pull that sucker out, and smack that zom-baby on its ass. The only problem was that, unlike any real necromancer, her born-agains did not stay alive for so long. Hell, for all she knew she might fuck something up so bad that they'd never be able to come back again. She felt she had to let Hurk know that. Both to cover her ass and to pull off that band-aid sooner rather than later.

"Hey, man," she said again. "So, full disclosure here, but I can bring your friend back. I just, I, shit," she shifted uncomfortably, "I can't guarantee that he'll be back for long. I know, I should've said something earlier, but I was just caught all up in everything and, well, I dunno. For all I know, when he's back you'll have maybe a few minutes to get the answers you need, you know? So, not to be harsh, but it's kinda important that you don't waste time with any bullshit or whatever."

She winced at the phrasing of that last sentence and folded her arms across her chest, the blade of her knife tapping against her shoulder.

"What I'm trying to say is are you sure you want me to do this? We never can be sure what happens when somebody comes back. For all I know, it could be ugly."



"Okay, cool, great," she said, too chipper for her own good.

Valorie spun on her heels and jaunted back to her summoning circle, taking special care not to knock any dirt over a line as she knelt beside it. Valorie began speaking in Akkadian with a measured, rhythmic pace to make sure that she did not screw up the ritual. Her runes began to glow. A familiar chill charged through her and, once again, her spirit and body separated. Valorie listened as the dissonant, graveled voice droned out of her mouth as she pulled the puppet strings to control her arms. Her body grabbed the bag of blood, hung it over the symbols and runes, and slashed the bottom of the bag open. The blood splashed down all over the place, but quickly it began to flood itself into the shallow lines as the magic of the circle activated. She could hear herself hooting louder and louder as the circle glowed brighter and brighter, but she did not feel any connection with the corpse. It was missing something.

Oh, of course, she thought, trying to find a way to control the legs belonging to that bony pile of flesh. For my dog I used some dog's blood, for humans I used some human's blood. For a werewolf I should use some werewolf's blood.

The legs wouldn't move, so she had the arms do the work. The puppet girl crawled through the dirt like a wounded soldier, muck embedding itself in her expensive dress. Valorie wondered how good of a return policy that store had as the limp girl grabbed her jacket, soaked with a mix of that bitch's and Hurk's blood. If it hadn't completely dried yet, the ritual could draw upon the unnatural blood. Valorie's body flopped back to the summoning circle and wrung out the blazer. Her spirit was already back in her body as the blood dripped from the jacket and was absorbed into the rest, tinting the circle's glow to a darker hue of purple. She felt heavier than ever before and had a splitting headache; also, she was pretty certain that moisture on her lips was either from foam or vomit. She was absolutely exhausted, but still managed to bark a command at the corpse.

What remained of Dag sat up.

"All yours," she said between huffs of breath.

In a city like this, it took a special kind of mysterious and brutal to even make the news, but once it hit, once a pattern seemed to emerge, the journalists were all over it and everybody whispered in latent fear and gleeful anticipation of the next kill. In this world of moral delusions and false idols, the people cried out for a true god; a being to fear and to worship. The Slayer was all that and more. The Slayer was the truth in the darkness, the thing which went bump in the night, and the blade of furious retribution which would cleave flesh from bone, and drown these sordid streets in blood.

The Slayer would slice through skin and sinew, and cut deep into the very soul of this forsaken city.

And here, now, the Slayer watched the newest addition to the victim line-up: Margarete Becker.

Or at least that was her pseudonym for the bank account. It was unlikely that an elf would bear a birthname like this for over a century and given how agitated Mrs Becker glanced over her shoulder every few steps as she walked down the street, no one would have doubted that she looked like the kind of woman who would appreciate a fake identity right about now.

Margarete Becker knew she would be a target. Most of the Slayer's victims, at least the last seven of them, had been aware of their connection to the others, the secret they shared, a bond they so desperately tried to hide from the rest of the world, one the police didn't see, couldn't see. But they didn't know why somebody was after them.

No, that wasn't right: They could name a plethora of reasons, Margarete had one of them right in her pocket, but none that narrowed it down. They were fish in a barrel, aware of the impending doom but incapable of striking back or escaping, silently cursing their ancestors for thrusting a bloody target upon them.

Mrs Becker had been watched for weeks, followed whenever she dared to leave her not-so-secret refuge, but tonight, her hunt would be over. Her murderer would overwhelm her when she felt safe. She would endure hours of torture and mutilation, questioning and silence, and then she would die, her final moments as drawn-out and painful as all the ones leading up to it combined.

What the city didn't understand was that the murders weren't the product of a sick mind, a compulsive act to scratch a twisted itch. They had no idea what kind of person was really behind all this. The truth was that whoever would be accused of being the Slayer would become the Slayer and pay the price, innocent or not.

Life, after all, isn’t fair.

---

Every Time you reach your limits, the world keeps on finding new ways to bend your mind further and further towards breaking.

Kevin Mitchell gazed down at the mutilated body of the elf, lying in a pool of dried blood and urine. Her face was contorted in fear, yet a twisted grin of cuts and scars had been hacked into her narrow cheeks, making her look like some kind of jagged clown. The rest of her was ripped open, revealing parts of the body that Mitchell would really rather he never saw, as they flowed out in a mess of splatters and tangles.

“This shits fucked up…” Officer Matthews grumbeled from over his shoulder, as he gazed down at the hacked up remains of the currently nameless elf.

“Nah,” Mitchell shook his head “This is just the tip of the god damn iceberg. You know what's fucked up? Say we catch the piece of shit who did this; he’ll probably plead insanity, and spend the rest of his days getting marriage proposals and sleeping all cushdy in a nice little cell. Us heroes of the SSPD will be getting death threats and flaming shit jammed through our letterbox.”

“Sounds like you’re talking from experience, Captain.” Matthews said sadly.

“You remember the Southwind Strangler?” Mitchell asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the dead elf.

“Yeah, man.” Matthews nodded “That shit was all over the news when I was at college. Abraham Amber, right?”

“Abraham Amber” Mitchell hissed, blowing air out through his teeth “Deadbeat dusthead who could only get hard if he heard little girls scream, and felt their flesh turning cold in his hands. Literal human garbage. Should’ve gotten the needle, but instead he’s doing interviews for authors and psychology professors. You know the man who caught him?”

“Nope.” Matthews admitted with a shrug.

Mitchell laughed dryly.

“Joseph Huapaya.” Mitchell frowned “Nothing but internet warriors blowing up his inbox with bullshit harassment. Fucking pig. Worthless scum bag. Oppressor. Before the Strangler, Huapaya was happily married. Three months after the case was closed his wife left him. A month later he killed himself.”

“Christ.” Was all Matthews could manage.

“The heroes get forgotten, kid.” Mitchell said plainly “It's the demons who get remembered. The demons...and the psychos.”

Narcissa wasn't accustomed to being dismissed so abruptly, but Nyxvira could be unpredictable at times. A few days ago, the ljosalfr wouldn't have believed her boss cared enough about losing Marius and a few graysuits to start a war with the Nyctari. Surprise, surprise. Nyxie's fickle behavior was one of the reasons why, despite spending the last three years as her favorite enforcer, the light elf hadn't killed her. It was difficult to keep tabs on someone that visited dozens of nightclubs, at least seven restaurants, and the occasional drug den over the course of a single night. Nyxvira's nightly excursions aside, the bloated queenpin had given the she-elf an assignment, an assignment that could potentially end the gang war before any innocent people were killed. Thinking about ways to destroy the faerie would have to wait while Vigilance mulled over how to complete one of the most important missions of her career.

The light elf also wanted to know what Nyxvira had seen on her phone that upset her so much. She'd heard Rebecca Rapava's familiar voice on the other line, but she didn't know what the Syndicate's best "cleaner" had shown the queenpin. Even Narcissa's keen senses couldn't catch everything.

At any rate, Vigilance knew she'd need to utilize a few unique resources to procure the Blood Atlas of Akhmat Khan. She'd been well aware of the tome's existence even before Nyxvira mentioned it. Unfortunately, the light elf lacked the mystical talent needed to activate the spells lying dormant within its pages. The bloated faerie, or another loyal spellcaster, would be the one using the book, but Narcissa wanted to be sure she knew as much about the artifact as possible. Narcissa's late uncle had often told her it was vital for those who lacked a strong link to the arcane to learn everything they could about magic and mystical objects. How else could they hope to understand and defeat their gifted kinsfolk? It made sense, and Narcissa enjoyed learning about artifacts with interesting histories and abilities. And the Blood Atlas had both in spades.

As Narcissa stalked down the hallway, she tried to recall everything she knew about the ancient tome. It had been created by Akhmat shortly after his clan was defeated by Genghis Khan in the year 1206, an event that heralded the birth of the Mongol Empire. Driven by rage, since he correctly assumed his vampiric allies were responsible for Genghis' victory, Akhmat wrote a surprisingly revealing book about vampirism and bound it in the skin of his favorite thrall. He then proceeded to hunt down and kill his former comrades, chaining their spirits to the book with a complex web of spellwork. Thus, the Blood Atlas of Akhmat Khan was born.

The first two thousand pages of the tome contained a detailed examination of vampirism's inherent strengths and weaknesses. The ancient art of hemomancy, more commonly referred to as blood magic, and it's potential to amplify the physical and mental capabilities of thralls was also discussed. The real power of the Blood Atlas, however, lay in the spell written on the last three pages. If the book was closed and a vampire's name was spoken, the spirits of Akhmat's victims would emerge from the tome and tell the reader whatever they wanted to know about that particular bloodsucker. After a sizable blood offering, of course. And if the reader lacked the will to control the spirits they would more than likely become possessed. Still, the benefits far outweighed the dangers. The reader could pinpoint a specific vampire's location in real-time by communing with the imprisoned spirits. They even provided a detailed sketch for the user to refer to. The Blood Atlas of Akhmat Khan had passed from artifact collectors to vampire hunters to criminals over the years, but now it had found its way to the law offices of Barrow and White. Most people just called them 'The Firm' for some reason.

Narcissa adjusted the collar of her black bomber jacket and stalked towards the elevator at the end of the corridor. Recently, the Firm had gone strangely quiet, and the light elf wondered if they'd abandoned the city due to the coming conflict. Even if there weren't any guards present, getting through the law firm's automated security system would be difficult, which was why Narcissa had no intention of setting foot in their offices. Not unless she absolutely had to. She had a better idea. Yuri Sokolov. The Russian, whose bad temper and worse body odor tended to send people running, was a gifted computer engineer living in Miracle Square. Spellcasters in the district went to Yuri whenever they wanted to hack into the email inboxes or bank accounts of their rivals.

Nevertheless, the surly hacker owed Narcissa a favor after she'd helped him acquire the deed to his beloved bookstore, Yuri's Books and Baubles. It hadn't been a tough job. She just helped him kill his older brother, Ivan Sokolov. With Yuri's assistance, the ljosalfr could gain access to Barrow and White's internal database, which would list where their most precious treasures were kept. The Blood Atlas' location would be somewhere in that database. If the book was still in Barrow and White's vault then Narcissa would have to find a way to retrieve it. But she didn't plan to cross that bridge until she had to.

The light elf gently pressed the 'up' button beside the elevator when a voice called out from behind her, saying, "Freeze! This is the SS-" Whatever else the speaker had to say was lost, however, as the elevator doors opened and Narcissa stepped inside. The doors closed again, but not before the elf caught a flash of afternoon sunlight hitting what looked like a helmet. A familiar-looking blue helmet. An SSPD helmet?

Shrugging her shoulders and leaning against the back wall of the elevator, Narcissa closed her eyes. Despite being the most luxurious and modern hotel in Southwind Park, the elevators at the Hotel Imperius were notoriously slow. Nyxie, not to mention her five graysuit babysitters, lived on the floor directly below Vigilance, but it would still take about fifteen to get back to the Inferno Suite via elevator.

As she took a moment to gather her thoughts, a memory flitted through Narcissa's head. Body heat and heavy breathing. The smell of flowery Parisian perfume and the sound of someone moaning. A woman's moan. A pink beret tossed casually on the elevator floor. An image of Narcissa wearing Colette's glasses and saying, a note of concern in her voice, "By the elders, woman, what if someone catches us?!" The Frenchwoman giggling as she said, "Who gives a fuck, ma fleur? You're goddamn Vigilance! Now put your finger back where you-"

The light elf's eyes snapped open and she shook her head. Now was not the time for reminiscing. Especially if said reminiscing concerned Colette Dumont. The doors dinged open and Narcissa darted into the hallway. She produced her key card from one of her pockets and slid it through the reader next to her door. Turning the door handle, she said, "We have a new...assignment."

Baruch was crouched behind the kitchenette counter, his twin pistols pointing at Narcissa's head, while Shar had traded his knife for his uzis. Allister was still standing by the bay window and his shotgun was aimed at her torso. Jack's two hand-cannons were trained on her midsection while Puck had his assault rifle leveled at her face. When the graysuits realized who'd walked in, however, they relaxed and allowed their gun barrels to droop. The light elf took a breath. Today was just full of surprises. "I've missed something I take it?" she asked, and Allister grunted before pointing to the television. Someone had turned the sound back on and there was a breaking news bulletin flashing across the screen.

"Shocking development this evening at the Hotel Imperius in Southwind Park," a dark elf news anchor with a dazzling smile was saying. "The SSPD has launched a full investigation into the goings on at the hotel, which is owned by renowned philanthropist and millionaire, Osmond Sidonis. According to our sources, the SSPD has found evidence that Mr. Sidonis has been coerced into making the Hotel Imperius a stronghold of sorts for the Bloodbloom Syndicate's criminal activities. There are rumors circulating that not only are the police after Mr. Sidonis, but they also plan to arrest the Syndicate's queenpin, Nyxvira Bloodbloom." The station cut to live footage of countless SWAT teams and SSPD officers swarming up the stairwells leading to the hotel's upper floors. Puck turned off the television and moaned, his doughy features pale with fear.

"Those imbeciles are coming for the queenpin! We are...we are totally fucked, aren't we?" the green-haired faerie asked, though he flinched and looked away when Narcissa glared at him.

"No, we aren't totally fucked, you fool," she snapped, "we just need to...we need to think about this." The light elf's thoughts were whirling and she actually felt excited. This must be what Nyxie had seen on her phone! Mystery solved. The odd part of all this was only morons and tourists didn't know the Syndicate controlled the Hotel Imperius. So what had prompted this sudden investigation? Had somebody talked? Was this the surprise attack from the Nyctari that Nyxie had been expecting? What else did the SSPD know?

Glancing at the five graysuits staring at her, the ljosalfr smiled confidently. All these questions and no answers. Or rather, no answers yet. "Listen, we need to get to Yuri's Books and Baubles in Miracle Square for our next assignment. The problem is we can't just waltz out of here. We'd draw too much attention." Looking from Shar to Puck and finally to Baruch, the she-elf snapped her fingers and said, "Here's what we're going to do. I want all of you to take off your suit jackets. We don't want anyone connecting us to Nyxvira or the Syndicate. You'll just wear your pants and undershirts for now. But we'll still need the suits to show Yuri we're on official Syndicate business...aha!"

Narcissa pushed past a confused-looking Jack Crowley and retrieved the dilapidated bag of holding from her bedroom. Setting it on the kitchen counter and opening it, she said, "Put your jackets and weapons in here. I'll do the same with my equipment. Jack and Allister, since you're human and relatively normal-looking, you'll be coming with me. Puck, I want you to sneak downstairs to the room you and these idiots share. Make sure there aren't any cops around before you go down there. Clear that room out. The last thing we want is for some lucky SSPD rookie to catch a glimpse of something incriminating. Baruch and Shar, you can make up for your little spat by cleaning my floors. I don't want to see a single drop of orc blood or armor polish anywhere. You three can meet us at Yuri's as soon as you've finished cleaning. I'd recommend going through the kitchens and taking one of the side exits. The police shouldn't come in here asking questions, but ask for a warrant if they do. They probably won't have one. Understood?"

The five graysuits nodded rapidly and began undressing.

The living room exploded into a frenzied whirl of activity as the Syndicate members began shoving their clothes and weapons into the bag of holding. Unfortunately, the bag didn't negate the weight of anything placed inside it. Somebody as massive as Baruch or Jack couldn't hide inside and have Narcissa just carry them out of the hotel. Bags of holding also had a nasty habit of killing living things stored inside them. The she-elf was putting Duty and the last few pieces of her armor into the bag when she realized she'd left her guns on her electric fireplace's mantle. Pursing her lips, she shoved the two weapons into her jacket pockets. No need to be totally defenseless. She handed the heavy bag to Jack, who looked decidedly uncomfortable in his bright pink undershirt, and said, "Are we ready?"

The five killers voiced their assent and the ljosalfr said, "Let's go then. We should all meet at Yuri's shop around seven o' clock. Be smart and try to stay out of sight." She led Allister and Jack out of the room. There were two stairwells leading down from the Inferno Suite to the rest of the hotel. Hoping the majority the officers had already reached Nyxie's suite, Narcissa chose the left stairwell. She opened the door just in time to see a door leading to the floor below close behind the final SSPD officer. Perfect. Her little group clattered down the white steps, Jack sweating as he carried the bag of holding and Allister looking like a string bean in his green button-down, and jogged into the hotel's kitchen. It was completely abandoned. Evidently, none of the cooks wanted to wait around for the cops to interrogate them. Gesturing for her companions to pick up the pace, Narcissa opened the white door leading outside and the trio inhaled the cool night air. It stank of fear and gasoline fumes. The smells of a typical Santa Somabra evening.

"Allister, we're taking your car. We'll leave the SUV for the others. Oh and Jack, text Shar and remind him not to kill anyone unless he has to. It'll be a miracle if he gets out of here without someone recognizing him," Narcissa said, her eyes scanning the parking lot for potential threats. Jack whipped out his phone and Allister grunted, pulling out his keys and pointing to a car on the opposite side of the lot. The three Syndicate members walked calmly towards the small blue Volkswagen Beetle, each of them trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. Fortunately, most of the SSPD's vehicles were parked around the hotel's main entrance. The chances of escaping were slim, but maybe Vigilance and her team would get lucky. Maybe.

The sting of hot water on her lesioned skin reminded Valorie that she was, miraculously, alive. She leaned against the wall of the shower in a semi-delirious state as blood and dirt washed off of her. She had left Hurk and his undead friends shortly after the man had begun sobbing. It was a gross thing to do, really, quietly excusing yourself when someone else was in need of support, but the woman had already paid the man back. She didn’t want to put up with that sort of downer shit, especially not after everything she had dealt with lately. Valorie had spent the rest of the night out on the streets, a vial of Demon’s Blood gripped tightly in her hand in case the need for it arose. Okay, okay, so perhaps she was purposefully wandering outside of some old hole in the walls waiting for a Rat to crawl out of them.

She needed answers, or at least that was what she told herself. She had a few brushstrokes illustrating why somebody had been sent to kill her, but Hurk had been pretty sparse on details and by the time she had thought about pushing him for more the man was more or less invalid with despair. It was a terrible idea, but she decided she would test her theory by putting herself forward as bait. Yet, when a Rat finally did come out of some dilapidated apartment building it had been Valorie that had to rush him down to get his attention. If they were out for her ass then he hadn’t gotten the memo. Hell, he barely seemed capable of functioning from the way he was shambling to how he didn’t even bat an eye at her dirty, disheveled, and bloody appearance.

She needed answers, but she wanted a high and she wanted one that she considered less dangerous than Demon’s Blood—after all, she had almost nearly destroyed her body because of that shit. Valorie wasn’t the kind of dumbass to make the same mistake twice most of the time. So, obviously, she traded down. One vial of Demon’s Blood for two doses of Runez. A real rip off, going by street prices, but she didn’t bother with haggling. She just wanted to not be there for awhile, and if some goddamn piece of shit nightmare killer came after her then she’d be that much harder to hit. Plus, she still had two more vials of Blood. Worst case scenario and she’d just pop one of those and change the chemicals of her body with some super powered speedball that'd either make her indestructible or at least make her feel that way until the end.

So much for going cold turkey. So much for keeping promises.

No trouble came that night, and by the morning light she was no longer jaunting across crosswalks or phasing through streetlights. She hid out in a park near Cain’s apartment smoking a pack of cigarettes that she had discounted for herself in her haze until mid-morning, and then decided to risk entering his place. He was, thankfully, already out. After disposing of her bloody clothes and throwing up into the trashcan (the Runez, she decided, had not been as pure as she had been led to believe), she had hopped into the shower. That had been thirty minutes ago, maybe longer. At this point, her skin was a raw red like a lobster’s and a strangely pleasant pain was pulsing from her wounds from her fight with that crazy comic book bitch.

What's her name, again? Vindictive? Vengeance? Vigilance?

That was the first time she should have died. Last night was the second. No, fuck that, that was wrong. There were so many other times. There was that night where she had almost overdosed. Almost, only because in her mind an overdose only occurred if it was officially declared by a sleepy-eyed doctor at three in the morning in some rundown free clinic. Then there had been the one night with the weird tasting drink. Her second job. That one time she had written the wrong rune, the other time where she had said the wrong thing. The dead already hated coming back; they were downright violent when they came back wrong. How many times, how many times, the better question was how many times had she saved herself?

At least that was a number she could keep track of with one goddamn hand.

Fucking hell, what am I doing? she thought, her hand curling up into a tight, tiny ball as it slammed against the wall of the shower.

The vibrations must’ve signaled the water heater to give up at the point, and quickly the shower became unbearably cool. Valorie swiped the fog away from the mirror and glared at her emaciated, self-abused body. Disgusting. She toweled herself off quickly and tossed on a over-sized sweatshirt she had borrowed off of some forgotten, alcohol-fueled hookup. Disgusting. She collapsed onto the couch and hazarded a glance at her bag, knowing fully well that she’d jump at any excuse to use her second dose of Runez even though it had been a bad batch. Disgusting. She poured a double into one of Cain’s tumbler from some decanter and took a large, stiff drink. Her face wrinkled as she shook her head back and forth no, no, no.

“God-shit-fucking-shit disgusting,” she said between a fit of coughs, whatever the hell kind of spirit she had just drank burning away at her taste buds as she poured herself another double. “Ugh, seriously this stuff is so disgusting. Nobody’s impressed that you drink this shit by choice, Cain.”

Exhaustion overtook her halfway through her second glass, and when she woke up the sun had gone down and her cup was still amazingly balanced the armrest of the couch. She set the wounded soldier on the table where it would remain until she either poured it out or forgot how gross the liquor had been. Stomach rumbling, she smothered her appetite with a cigarette and walked over to the bookshelf. She idly flipped through some of the books as the cigarette burned until she found a rather colorfully and explicitly illustrated one with chapters titled things like ‘Hexes: Inflict Pain and Restrain’ and so on.

It was a bit too dry despite the graphic images, but she still found herself devouring the material. ‘The common hexer would prepare charms activated by incantations by etching runes into wooden planks carved from either a holly or alder tree. Often, these hexers would be caught with their prepared spells and condemned for practicing witchcraft. The more shrewd and practiced hexer, one that all students should strive to be, are capable of executing hexes through conducting the charged magic in air with a silent series of nigh-unnoticeable finger twitches, allowing them to public inflict suffering on any adversary without alerting attention to themselves. One such spell that even amateurs can execute without the need of timely preparation is an equilibrium jinx that tricks an individual into feeling that they are losing their balance, quite often causing them to readjust their movement in such a way that forces them to fall. While often bruising no more than the victim’s ego, it is not to hard to theorize the potential uses of the jinx if one’s foe was walking along a rush river or standing near a steep drop.’’

And so on. Valorie took photos of choice passages for later consultation. Of course, she’d still need some practice; in the meantime it wouldn’t hurt for her to stock up on a box of bullets. Since it was already out, she looked at her phone. It was getting on in the evening, but her sleep cycle was now screwed after staying up all night. Cain hadn’t come home yet. He hadn’t even sent her a text. It wouldn’t be accurate to described her as necessarily worried or concerned; she knew the old man could handle himself or at least she assumed as much. Still, she did feel a slight unease that he had failed to get in touch with her.

Or disappointment, really.

She kicked her feet up on the table and flipped through her newsfeed: 42 Cute Outfits For Less. Elves Hate Him: Man Claims To Hold Secret For Longer Life. Slayer Strikes Again, Slaughters She-Elf! Valorie rolled her eyes as she scanned through the detailed article, thumbing through the comment section not unlike how somebody would gawk with morbid curiosity at a horribly bloody carwreck. Anything about that crazy Lediyah bitch was overshadowed by the Slayer. Her feed updated with a live broadcast of the Swat storming some fancy hotel to do something, whatever, the news was boring.

Tossing her phone into her bag and slipping on some pants, Valorie pulled her hood over her head and slipped her knife into her sweatshirt pocket. After the nonviolent encounter with the Rat last night she wasn’t sure who was or was not hunting her, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her from going out. It’d give her a chance to see if she could pull off a few of those hexes, and she always had her old failsafe if those didn’t work. Besides, her stomach was positively barren and no amount of cigarettes or angry junkies would be able to keep her hunger underfoot.

Maybe she’d use her newfound wealth to eat in one of those snotty restaurants where they listed the food as market price and had whatever the hell a “sommelier” was on staff. She’d sit there in her sweatshirt and leggings, cross her arms, turn up her nose, and pretend that she knew what the fuck she was supposed to do when they handed her the cork to a wine bottle. Better yet, Valorie was pretty sure that no fucking psycho for hire would come barging into a place with some fancy French name looking for a Rat that had been a rat. And all of those places were pretty close to the Firm. She could swing by and see if they had any further books on hexes, or at the very least see if Kurtz knew anyone that’d sold handgun ammo without checking IDs. Regardless, she knew that she had to begin watching her own back.

"Dispatch, this is Troy and Koffman, car 39, we're on location of the Hard Hats code 240, no sign of trouble. Please advise over." Well, whatever happened there it seemed it was over. 'Troy', as per his family name, took a sip of his coffee as he leaned back in his chair, trying to stay awake for his 12th hour of work, his need for the beverage made obvious by the vacancy of his blue eyes and the shadow of a brown beard that had grown throughout the day. Overall he had nice features, his chin especially was more chiseled than most.

That was in stark contrast with Koffman who had three of them and was working on his fourth with the chocolate doughnut in his hands. "This is Dispatch, the call was received 18 minutes ago, no subsequent notices of disturbance, in all likelihood its clear. Still, suspects are 5 males in gray suits, one hispanic, one..." As the description went on Troy sank in his seat, closing his eyes. Koffman however almost chocken on his daughnut, ever so elegantly covering his first chin with pieces of sugary goodness. At least he didn't do that towards Troy. And then of course, fucking Goodfellow, of all people to encounter at the end of his shift.

"...Backups are in route, ETA, 5 minutes. Over and out." Troy placed the cup in the holder before burrying his face in his hands. He briefly looked up to Koffman who looked around a bit before locking the doors of the patrol car. "No black van of doom to be seen at least. Bloodbloom grays at a home improvement store, eh! Think Cholesterolbloom wants renovate?" Well, he visibly had no intention to go in that place.

And Troy knew what that meant! Waiting for backup (Which would likely arrive in twice as long as Dispatch said) then arguing over who should take point and crawling inside, juuuust to make sure the criminals had enough time to stroll out if they were still in there. And that was if a sergeant didn't get nervous and decided to call SWAT, just to be on the safe side. All in all, that would be 1 or 2 more hours and looking at the time right now, he was scheduled to work in 8. With the transit time to go back home, grab a bite, wake up tomorrow and do the same that was 5... maybe 6 hours of sleep? No wonder why overtime seemed well paid. It actually isn't though.

"Screw it." Troy unlocked the door and stepped out. "Hey. Hey! What do you think you're doing?! You think its tinker bell in there?!" That was Koffman of course, ever so prudent, who would probably have waited anyways even if there was no backup. The kind of cop that didn't even need a bribe to look the other way. "Look around. If one of these cars belong to a Grey, its the poorest fucking hitman I've ever seen." Koffman pointed to a rather nice car towards the end of the parking. "What about that one?"

"Management. Why do you think its parked so far?" Unlike Koffman, who had been working this job for 30 some years (and probably had that much arrest under his belt, mostly speed related crimes), Troy could remember how things worked in shitty places like these. Hell, he had worked at a Wallmart for two years. "You really want to take the chance?" That question prodded out a sigh. "No. But I'm almost at 13h of shift right now, so I'll take my chances." And so, he began to walk towards the store. "Hey, I know you're in a hurry for a beer, but it ain't worth becoming fairy cocktail kid!"

Kid. He had worked with this ass for 6 years now, Troy wished he'd stop with the belittling bullshit but what can a man do. Though... all things considered he found that to be a pretty safe situation actually. He was confident the grays were gone and even if they were there actually, it couldn't be worst than his first years when Tolstoi wasn't Superintendent. Now criminals had learned, especially big and important ones, that if they killed agents themselves she'd use that to pursuit them to the end of the earth. No, it was actually riskier to try and arrest petty criminals than these guys. Hey, if he was in luck maybe he'd be bribed tonight!

As long as the criminals knew they'd be released however. If Troy had been witness to a murder he didn't give a lot for his skin.

_________________________

He walked inside the Hard Hats. Everything seemed to be fine, workers still at their post although the cashiers, all females of course, were nervously speaking together. Alone was the greeter, because he was a dude of course, and not gay enough for the women to include him. Troy had been there. "Good evening... Randy. I'm officer Troy, SSPD. We've had a call about... disturbances." He looked around, for any sign of crime and immediately spotted the destroyed cameras in a corner. "Anything to report?" There was hesitation, hesitation comming from someone who knew he probably shouldn't speak of what he saw. A sad day it was when the Omerta was powerful enough to extend itself to the civilian population. "Sir?" Ryan opened his mouth as to speak but there was no sound. He closed it and opened it again two more times before speaking. "I-I uh, manual says I-uh, should leave that kind of stuff to the manager. S-sir."

Troy raised an eyebrow in suspicion. That was a fun way he had of pushing the responsibility. Well, as long as someone rose up to the task, before he fell asleep. "And where is this manager?" Ryan looked away. "Gone for the night." Of fucking course. "Then where's the supervisor? Who'll close up the shop tonight?" The greeter raised a hand to point toward an older cashier. The woman looked at him with some anger. "Madam Lebowitz." Troy followed the finger and looked at the group of girls and walked toward them. Knowing why he was coming the girls spread out, leaving their superior alone. Troy was about to make the same usual speech, but Miss Lebowitz was faster. "I'm sorry but it'll have to wait tomorrow for an official complain, I'm not at liberty to file police reports for Hard Hats." Again. With the fucking pushing. He couldn't help but let out a long sigh. "Ma'am... I understand Hard Hat might not wish to file an official form but as, evidently, a weapon was discharged here, I demand... your cooperation. Miss, can you please show me the security footages of the night? Or did those involved erase them after they shot the camera."

Again, that same hesitation as before. But Troy was going nowhere. Under the autoritative gaze of the policeman, the cashier however could only crack. "I... don't know if they did. If it's what the police requires, then I'll unlock the bureau for you. Mind you its low definition, black and white." Yes, the kind of camera there to deter theft and catch employees, he knew too well.

A short walk later they were in the office. Intact, the tape still in the machine. But it was as Lebowitz had said, barely usable. Though it was enough to prove someone was here and that someone shot. One female, males, would fit well with the usual gray suits... It was evidence still. However Troy spotted someone, that giant of an Ogre he had seen coming in here, he had been able to see everything. Troy took the video and walked out to the Tool Rental bureau and looked at the Ogre for several long seconds without saying a thing. As the green skin began to sweat, Troy leaned in. "You will tell me, everything."

_______________________________________________________

Silver Hills. The chic upper class gated community of Santa Somabra, with its own school and church. Behind the enchanted metal fences reside the elite of Santa Somabra, the industrialists and well placed public servant that couldn't move away from this little piece of hell. It was easy to forget where the inhabitants of this community were actually, as inside this sector, only people allowed by the local community council were allowed to live, and other than the police and the numerous private security guards that protected this fortress, only those that were resident here could walk the streets.

Veronika had actually been raised in such a community, a microcosm outside of reality where the crime that plagued the city was left at the door. Tolstoi was of good birth and many owed to her a certain return to prosperity since the police now concentrates itself on protecting the big businesses before the common citizens, it was why the council was more than happy to offer her residency. Her status with the biggest bank of the city was more than enough for them to offer a special discount on a house someone of her salary normally couldn't pay (Though, Veronika was kind of a trust fund baby, money was no problem no matter her job, thanks to her father's wise investments and numerous connections).

With all this security, even more was in place to protect the police chief, and guards were kept on the premise at all time. The first line was a police force patrolling the garden and two cars in the streets, waiting to escort the superintendent in her commuting, spending paid for by the taxes and justified due to numerous death treats and the unfortunate faith some of her predecessors had to suffer. The second line was private security, highly train Mayflower guards that were for the most ex-military trained in handling any kind of supernatural intrusions. This was free of charge, as Mister Mayflower also fell in the group of people that had stakes in seeing the Superintendent continue her job and be in her good grace. Mayflower was reputed for being... prone to over use force but Tolstoi turned a blind eye when they killed crooks and thieves that tried to target their clients.

In her salon, Veronika was listening with interest to a conference by Yuri Bezmenov. It was a social critique, an explanation about geopolitical matters and high level diplomacy that one would believe contributed to make her a well informed and knowledgeable person more able to serve the population. Others would say that it was intellectual masturbation to listen to a man who's world views were mostly aligned with her own and placed very convincing arguments as to how she was right to think the way she did. but it didn't matter.

A phone call interrupted her line of thought however. She didn't think before answering, not a whole lot of people knew her private number and she took pride in having assembled a team that was competent enough to handle day to day operations for at least a night without her. Whatever it was, it was important. Sure enough, it was Zug. "Madam Superintendent. Sorry to bother you at this hour but there's been a development. Multiple murders in a restaurant downtown, witnesses tell of a fight between Bloodbloom and Nyctari. Both left the scene alive, Nyctari is believed to be the instigator."

Veronika frowned. "So he stroke first..." It was a positive development, she would have hated it if only one had survived, the war would have been stillborn. Now they'd watch their steps more carefully and- "Not exactly. On the scene a severed head was found. Its owner was Edmund Jankovic. Vampire Hunter." Oh? It seemed the deed was done without gunfire as Sidney didn't run in gun blazing to deal with the vampire hunter. Still, helping external help... Bloodbloom wanted this over quickly. "Any court witnesses?" By this she asked anyone willing to actually go in a court to accuse one of the most feared mob boss of the city. "None." Obviously. In this case however, it was good. "Perfect. Tell Meyer's team to redirect to arrest Bloodbloom under suspicion of murder of the civilians at the scene, but to not press charges." If Bloodbloom was in a hurry, it meant Veronika had to do everything in her power to slow her down.

"Mandate?" Of course, the trivial matter of having a veil of legality. "I'll have Mister Godwin make one, dated for yesterday of course. It'll be ready for tomorrow." Business as usual. If Bloodbloom wanted to take them to court, let them. There was a conspiracy of silence involved here, and it was her words, that of a known criminal, against that of Godwin and Tolstoi, the elite of the law. An unwinnable fight since Tolstoi knew and was in good term with all the judges in the city and was in a great position to make sure anything state or federal level would be rigged in her favor.

"Of course madam. How should our guest be treated?" She'd say with professionalism and courtesy but where Sid was involved... "No physical marks." ...that was the best she could get.

__________________________________

"Lock and loaded!" It looked Sid's team would actually get to see some action tonight. Finally, after 2 hours in the air waiting for something to happen above Nyctari's manor. They all thought they'd go home without any fun. The helicopter went in front of the lobby and the 12 SWAT officers got down using rope. It was the sight of something you'd see in a warzone, a blackhawk helicopter, SSPD on it, dropping men in full black body armor, completed with gas masks, assault rifles and grenades. There was even an ogre with a bomb suit and a machinegun. It was of course all thanks to the 1033 program.

Good old militarization of the police to make sure even the toughest vampire criminal with an AK-47, body armor and hooked on Demon's Blood would go down under a hail of holy, magic infused silver bullets. The Superintendent had been particularly keen on benefiting this program and in fact, tonight's intervention seemed a little tame at the moment: There were no armored Infantry Fighting Vehicle outside the hotel Bloodbloom was. Not yet, it was in route to come and move the fat fairy to the police station.

They entered and the first one in was the most recognizable of the bunch. Captain Meyer didn't care for the ski masks and gas masks every SWAT members were equipped with to hide their identities. These people had families, children criminals, if they knew they were SWAT, might try to attack. Sid had nothing but her gun and her job, and dared people to try and come after her, she needed to satiate her rifle's thirst for blood.

That was actually literal, SWAT members had standard issue enchantments to protect them against magical attacks and overcome magical defenses as well, Sid's weapon was a bit more custom. A demonic enchantment, a thirst for blood. Her weapon had a mind of its own and was able to shot anything in front of it without Sid even pulling the trigger, which made her a faster shot and damn accurate. A shot so fast she had to keep her finger in front of the trigger so it wouldn't shot anyone in front of it in fact.

People made themselves scarce in front of them, knowing any confrontation could lead them to a beating, or worst. "You there! Nyxvira Bloodbloom's room number, now!" By reflex, the man behind the hotel's desk raised his hands in the air. "M-ma'am, m-may I see your warra-" They came to the desk and an impressive hand emerged above Sid, the ogre of the group grabbing the little man by the shirt and dragging him on the other side of the counter, papers and a phone falling to the ground. "YOU ARE UNDER ARREST FOR OBSTRUCTION OF JUSTICE!" He was shoved to the ground, probably breaking his nose judging from the sound, face first as 2 other officers pointed their rifles at him. "STOP resisting sir, or we'll have to use force!" Sid raised her eyes and pointed to the nearest employee who was trying to make a run for it toward the offices, but froze under the gaze of the unmasked woman. "Room number, now..."

"Do you have a permit for this weapon? Of course you don't you fucking scum! You're under arrest for obstruction of justice, resisting arrest, unlawful concealed weapon ownership, threatening an officer and disrespecting an officer..." They were not messing around and people knew better than to cry for injustice. There was one person however that took out her phone and began filming. Not a local, obviously, no one from the city would be bold enough to do that. No officer in any other city would be bold enough to do as the one going toward the girl did, simply grabbing the phone, throwing it on the ground and crushing it under his heel. Sid looked at the girl. "We'll need the security footage of the evening too. Criminal evidence." Meaning, they'd grab it and probably have it unfortunately destroyed, leaving no evidence of their own wrongdoing.

___________________________________________

Sid led her team without a care in the world, knowing a feeling of invulnerability not even a chief of the mob could have in his own home, knowing that no one would be stupid enough to shot at her at the moment when she had a little army following her and more people arriving by the minute. The 'Blue Boys' as it were, the friendly name of the police officers that weren't in Veronika's little machinery and that were nothing more than tiny little decoys, ones Sid would find herself lucky to find dead because it would mean the hunt would be on, if not for the true murderer then for a probably even worst scum bag the police could pin the murder on. Eh, Veronika might say she wished everything always went right, but Sid knew her better then all the guys in the SSPD and so she could say with certitude: If something could go wrong, it would make everything go right.

Still, as they came to the door, she raised a hand and began to silently gesticulate commands to her men to stack up and prepare to enter. She didn't expect anything, but it didn't hurt to be ready either. Her men were in position, but Sid didn't give the go signal yet. No, she closed her eyes and held on to her assault rifle, trying to commune a bit with her bloodied partner... It was not an equal relationship, both wanted to be the dominant spirit involved. It felt like the rush of Demon's Blood overtaking one's mind, a sensation Sid was familiar to... or at least used to be. Still, she was not of a lesser will.

Behind this door there was blood, one person, of strong constitution but still stressed, she knew they were behind that door... still, the heat... people were there, very recently, they had just missed them... no matter. "Be nice." She raised her hand to give the go signal and the front man kicked the door, the (unlocked) piece of wood slamming on the wall as the SWAT team entered with military efficiency. Some pointed their guns at the mob boss but the others went pass to sweep the room.

"Clear."
"Clear."
"Clear."

With the room confirmed to be empty, the gaze of the officers slowly turned toward the sole non-SWAT in the room. There was a silence as footsteps were heard, entering the room. Veronika had ordered Sidney to be especially gentle with the mob boss, not to treat her like she did everyone else. But Sid wasn't stupid either. She knew the difference between people you wanted to bother talking to and people you wanted to go crawl in a hole. Plus... Going back on that tidbit earlier about Demon's Blood, any user would have some distant connection to the one who controlled the monopoly of the stuff. Yes, Sid would do Nyx the favor of courtesy. That was as much carrot as she'd give however, the last person who had tried to blackmail her knew just how painful her stick was.

"Nyxvira Bloodbloom, you are under arrest under the suspicion of murder. Put your greasy hands behind your back. Men, search her for weapons, devices and charms." That was hardly how you saw things in the movies but reality was a tad different here. The right to remain silent, attorney and so forth? No, that was only if Nyx was officially put under investigation, this arrest was just a way to make the Superintendent's presence known, a way to cut Nyx from her command structure and give Nyctari a chance at fighting. She could be held for 24h without charges and that little insult? It was just the justice system daring Nyx to try and get in the system that was rigged in Veronika's favor at every turn, make her waste time and money on something that would end on nothing.

Two officers began to pat down the Fearie while a third and a fourth took out magic scrying devices and a metal detector respectively. All of this to make sure this wasn't being recorded and that she couldn't use magic to do anything, they'd clean the room entirely after that for the same reasons... oh, and to find 'evidence' or something.

Still, the SWAT members didn't seem interested much in keeping their hands on the crime boss, Sid was probably to blame for that as after all she had chosen her men with certain traits in mind. The most predominant was a lax view on how to make justice but there was also a matter of ego and respect, Sid's people looked up to her with respect and admiration, so it was no surprise that this also traduced itself in bedroom preferences. A woman that's fit rather than chubby, to put it bluntly. As such, the people in the room were looking down (All of them being 6ft+) on Nyx with a mix of disgust and pure smugness about their self perceived invulnerability in front of one of the most powerful mob boss of the Americas.

__________________________________________________

At the exit of the hotel, the she-elf attempting to exit the location quickly found she wasn't the only one to try and do so. Luckily for her however the police was there for one person and any other arrest would be incidental. The Superintendent had ordered a barrage and inspections of everyone going out of the hotel for the next 6h but in reality this traduced itself by 2 policemen going each side of the vehicles to ask for IDs and then letting people go through.

"Good evening, can I see your ID and licensees please?"

Not a very threatening force indeed.

But there was something else at work out there, in the night. Tolstoi knew her own force's incompetence and had learned to rely on it and in this situation especially, try and capitalize.

A kobold on a roof was as surprising a sight as a rat in a sewer, this one especially was dressed all in black and was armed with a camera. Another thing Veronika knew was that her always very efficient tactic of asking for retroactive warrants after the police had entered somewhere was becoming more and more known, making staying home with an arsenal or drugs much less of an efficient tactic as it was in the past, but she didn't care. It made people panic at best but like tonight, it could also just flush 'em out.

Krubus, under the very specific order of her beloved, was in a crawling position on the roof of an adjacent building and taking pictures of people walking in and out of the hotel. ALL of them. These people were all possibly guilty by association and this tactic had proven quite efficient in creating some info on newly rising criminals, before they even realized they were on the radar. Of course right now Krubus had no idea who these people were and in the good old days, these pics would have probably gathered dust. But now? With computers capable of matching millions of individuals every hour? This was a powerful tool.

“This fucking city, man.”

Dallas Royce laughed aloud, as he slowly revved his harley down the narrow street, glove-clad hands resting on the slick handlebars.

“Give a dame a gram of dust and she’ll go down on you like a vacuum cleaner. Even if you’re a fucking zombie.”

The darkness concealed the rotten blotches on Dallas’ once handsome face, as threads of green ooze and peeling skin ran across his right cheek like a poorly drawn subway map.

“It's only cause yer one of them pretty zombies, man.” Johnny Feng called out, guiding his motorbike carefully behind Royce’s.

“You gotta stop trying to get in my pants, kid.” Royce said with a smirk, killing the engine and climbing off of the Iron 883 “You’re more than welcome to shag me, but I ain’t gettin’ you a promotion.”

“That’s a damn travesty,” Feng chuckled, as he pulled up behind Royce and dismounted “I might have to do some actual work, for once.”

Whereas Royce was fairly well-preserved, Feng was a peeling mess of paper-thin flesh and oozing pustules. His eyes were dark and sunken, and he looked as though he were a strong breeze away from crumbling into a pile of dust.

“Right…” Royce unfastened his sawn-off shotgun from its holster on the side of his bike ”Lets get to work.”

The pair moved through the night, heading down the road towards Sosa’s Emporium Of Procured Property.

Way back when, Royce had been part of the Reapers, under Mad Maddie Hollinghurst; the most psycho bitch in a city full of psycho bitches. When Maddie went full demon, the Reapers were history, and it wasn’t long before that creep Cicero took care of the Rotfaces. A man named Henning Maddirish had brought the former mortal enemies together, and those who’d resisted had gotten themselves zombified. Royce included.

Now he rolled with the Brotherhood of Rot, and spent his days relieving stress with his trusty 12 gauge.

“Yo! Sosa!” The door to the Pawnshop flew open with a powerful kick, as Royce and Feng strode confidently inside “The Big bad bikers are here to party!”

The small mexican man was stooped down behind the counter at the other end of the shop, past rows of second hand guitars and old stereos. The pair swaggered confidently towards him, sizing up to the older man.

“You boys got nowhere better to be at this time of night?” He scowled.

“Don’t you be getting cranky with us, little man,” Royce warned “we do not have time for your old guy bullshit.”

“You got time for my bullshit,punk?”

Royce stopped dead in his tracks. Turning as one, the pair came face-to-face with two suit-clad figures; one male, one female, both pointing giant fuck-off pythons squarely at the two bikers.

“Sosa, dude...not cool.” Royce hissed “You sold us out.”

“Not like we gave him much choice,” Agent Kunis smirked “hard to say no to this face.”

“I bet.” Royce gave her a quick once over. “You kids are all dressed up.You Bloodbloom’s?”

“Magical Regulation Bureau.” Agent Voss said plainly.

“No shit…” Feng grumbled.

“Sorry to disappoint you, officers,” Royce laughed dryly “but there ain’t nothin’ magical going on here. Just a good old fashioned business disagreement.”

Kunis nodded to the Biker’s weapon.

“You solve all your business disagreements with a sawn-off shotgun?”

“You do in Santa Somabra.”

In a lucid flash of movement, Royce jerked the shotgun upwards, before anyone could react, and smashed Kunis in the jaw with the butt of the weapon, knocking teeth loose and cracking bone. The young woman let out a sudden gasp as the weapon connected with her face, and she went stumbling backwards, giving Royce the opening he needed to pull the trigger.

The bellow of the shotgun ripped through Kunis’ chest, knocking her off her feet in a deafening blast of red gore, sending blood mist spurting out into the air.

“Motherfucker-”

Voss cocked back his Python and fired, blowing a hole clean through the living side of Royce’s face, and out the back of his neck.

The Biker swayed...and fell, crashing to the ground with a deep ‘THUD!’.

Before Feng could reach for his weapon, Voss had his arm behind his back, and was forcing him down into the carpet.

“Mister Sosa?”

“Si, Signore?”

“I suggest you make yourself scarce.”

“Si, Signore.”

Sosa left quickly out the back entrance.

“Listen up, scumbag,” Voss snarled, pressing the barrel of his python against the back of Feng’s rotten neck “You’re gonna tell me everything you know about your wretched fucking organization, and then I’m gonna paint this room with the inside of your head. Capiche?”

“Hold on,” Feng spluttered “I gots me a get out of jail free card.”

“You fuckers killed my partner of Six Years,” Voss roared “And you think I’m gonna let you just...walk away?!”

“I’m with the Obstacle!”

Voss loosened his hold on Feng, considered that for a moment, and then let him stand up.

“So you guys are real, huh?” Voss asked numbly, as Feng began to dust himself off.

“Not as far as this cities concerned.” The zombie gave a shrug “best to keep it that way, for now. Need to know basis and all that.”

“And the Bureau ain’t in the know?”

“Only selectively.”

Feng gave the agent one last nod as he began to walk away.

“Keep up the good work.”

“And you…” Said Voss, as he gazed sadly down at the corpse of his friend.

The air of Lorelai's apartment rang with characteristic whack of training swords. The furniture had been cleared to the side, and Lorelai and Shaun circled each other in the middle of the living room. Every so often they'd cross their wooden blades in a series of rapid strikes, parries, and attempted ripostes. Shaun was an imminently talented swordsman, one of the reason he's been chosen nearly three centuries ago. Lorelai was a practical compendium of the art, it was a secret passion of hers, and though she hadn't had opportunity to practice as much as she'd liked over the years she'd gotten plenty more than the average mortal ever could.

"Your stance is impeccable as always Mi'lady." Shaun said between small, controlled breaths.

"Flattery will get you everywhere Shaun. Yours in excellent as well, as expected." Lorelai could simply over power the man with her inhuman strength and speed if she'd like, but that wasn't exactly conducive to training now was it?

They crossed 'blades' again. the flurry of faux steel between them had begun when Shaun had thought he'd notice a hole in his mistress' defenses, but every action began in the mind, and Lorelai was cunning. The trap had closed, resulting in an exchange that left Shaun more and more off-balanced with each rejoinder, until Lorelai's sword found its way to his throat.

"Well done Mi'lady, I see that opening was naught but an illusion, closed up as easily as it was found." Shaun bowed and took the training swords to the closet to replace them in their proper places. "I have to ask though, mistress. What has you in the mood for training this evening?"

Lorelai carefully considered her response. As tempting as it was to go with the old fall back of 'fuck you, that's why' she decided if she couldn't confide in Shaun she couldn't confide in anyone. "The inconsistency of mortals...their hearts to be precise."

---

_{The previous night, Lexi's apartment}

"You're a vampire!?" Lexi's face was shocked at Lorelai's revelation. "And you just killed Jamie!?"

Lorelai examined the girl's face. She'd expected Lexi to be concerned that she was a vampire, most people seemed to be, but Jamie's death was a matter of course right? "More like made him kill himself, I'd hate to dirty your apartment, that would make me a poor guest after all. He was going to hurt us, and while I wasn't exactly afraid I didn't particularly like the sentiment in his eyes."

"So you killed him." Lexi's face had gone white. "Just like that? Without a second thought?"

"Why would I think twice? The first time told me everything I needed after all." Lorelai tried to explain herself calmly. "If he could generate the willful desire to hurt you, he could do so again. Why allow that to occur? I've grown...fond of you, which is a rare thing for me."

Lexi wondered at the fact that Lorelai's words still had the power to make her heart race after listening to her calmly confess to killing a man. "T-thank you I think?" She shook her head. "I-I need time to process this...c-can I call you when I figure it out?"

Lorelai felt a small, and unfamiliar pain in her chest. "As you wish Lexi." She turned and entered the apartment from the balcony that had played host to this...disappointing conversation. After she'd gotten dressed in her own clothes again she turned to the blonde. "I've left my number on your bedside table. Take whatever time you need, but do inform me if you do not wish to continue our interactions."

Lexi's eyes, which had followed Lorelai's eerily quiet movements throughout, settled on hers briefly before looking away. "O-of course."

---

_Present

Shaun nodded as Lorelai explained what had transpired. "So you've become infatuated with this young woman then Mi'lady?"

"It would appear so." Lorelai admitted. "I just need something right now to clear my mind, and shake off this unwelcome melancholy."

"Perhaps now's the time to get serious about allying yourself with the syndicate ma'am." Shaun ventured. "Some work might serve as a distraction while you wait for this...Lexi to reply to your most generous affections."

"You're quite right I think." Lorelai's eyes brightened as she remembered something she'd decided not too long ago. "Especially considering I know what I want from this Madam Bloodbloom."

"Have you settled on something then ma'am?" Shaun's eyebrow arched.

"Yes, I've realized that my un-life has become entirely too comfortable." Lorelai explained. "If I'm to regain hold on my passing time I must struggle for something. I'm going to place this Bloodbloom atop the city you see, just to do it. All I'll ask is to be showered with affection, and to be kept entertained during the interim."

"Showered with affection? Surely you don't think she'll...'shower you with affection' Ma'am." Shaun doubted the self-styled fairy queen would put out at the asking.

"Not what I meant you miserable old lech." Lorelai rolled her eyes grinning. "I merely want to ensure that I'm appreciated. Gifts is mostly what I mean, and to be invited to parties, gatherings, and meetings. I want to meet new and formidable people as well Shaun."

"Well...I think she'll certainly pay you, but gifts ma'am?" Shaun was still unsure. "It's simply self evident why you should be brought into the inner-circle quickly of course."

"Shaun...gifts...a paycheck. You can pop my bubble as easily as I can pop your head. My bubble will come back Shaun." Lorelai narrowed her eyes at the man.

"Of course ma'am. I'm sure you'll receive plentiful displays of your new patron's awe at your many and varied talents." Shaun grinned. If his Lady had found something to be excited about far be it for him to dissuade her.

Lorelai's eyes brightened immediately. "Me too! I'm excited Shaun! Set up a meeting at her earliest convenience." She strode towards the door. "I'm off to shop for an outfit better suited for the meeting, and to eat of course."

Shaun's smile was wide and genuine as he watched the back of his mistress disappear out the door. Somabra had been the right decision after all. He didn't particularly care about the specifics of what was to come, but if she was smiling again did it really matter?

Vigilance and her five companions hurried towards the misshapen shadow that was Yuri's Books and Baubles, the blue streetlamps of Miracle Square transforming the store's parking lot into a mosaic of shadows and teal-colored light. The ljosalfr couldn't understand why spellcasters seemed to take such delight in being inscrutable and eccentric. What was the point of having blue streetlights? Did they actually benefit anyone? It probably had something to do with the convoluted bylaws written by the Thirteenth Cabal, a formidable group of seven magi that controlled the district, but the bounty huntress found the lights irritating.

Obnoxious streetlights notwithstanding, Narcissa was genuinely impressed with how quickly Baruch, Puck, and Shar had reached Miracle Square. Like her own group, the light elf's other three bodyguards had been stopped by the SSPD on their way out of the Hotel Imperius' parking lot. Thankfully, Puck's license and registration had been enough to get past the blockade. It was ironic that Allister had been forced to wait half an hour while the cops ran his license, but the green-haired faerie was allowed through without hesitation. Especially since Puck's license and registration were expensive forgeries, but Allister's paperwork was real. The Latino had a surprisingly clean record apart from a few unpaid parking tickets. At least both teams had escaped Southwind Park relatively unscathed.

When Narcissa asked Puck and Baruch what they'd done to hide Shar Goodfellow, they'd simply asked the blue-skinned faerie to climb out of the SUV. Shar emerged, wearing a massive pea green trench coat and a wide-brimmed black hat, and twirled around like a model on a runway. He looked like an idiot, but apparently the rank and file of the SSPD was still as unobservant as ever. Some things never changed.

At any rate, the Syndicate members had gathered around Allister's Volkswagen so they could put on their work outfits and retrieve their weapons from the bag of holding. The sun had gone down by this point, and Narcissa decided it was safe to go into the shop. All the customers were gone, though there were still two other vehicles in the cobblestone parking lot. One was Yuri's gas-guzzling Ford pickup, and the other was a white van with the words 'We Like to Move It, Move It Moving Company' painted on the side in bright orange letters. Why was there a moving van in Yuri's parking lot at seven o' clock at night? Narcissa made a mental note to ask the Russian about it once he'd located the Blood Atlas of Akhmat Khan.

The she-elf approached the tinted glass doors leading into the hideous brick building. Yuri's Books and Baubles, which used to be called Sokolov Antiquities, was one of the older shops in Miracle Square. It was also the district's biggest eyesore. The structure was mostly cube-shaped, but there were a few weird angles and half-finished additions that made the building look far more ramshackle than it was. Thanks to the Fat Boy's Burgers across the street, the raised sidewalk leading to the store was littered with discarded burger wrappers, empty cups, and enough vomit to fill a bathtub. While most shop owners would be appalled by this state of affairs, Yuri carefully cultivated his store's dilapidated appearance to keep the kiskas away. Kiskas was the Russian word for "pussies." The Russian hacker preferred to deal with people that were ready and willing to get their hands, and possibly their shoes, dirty. He had no patience for anyone with delicate sensibilities. Or morals. Or anything approaching human decency.

Narcissa raised her gloved hand and knocked on the door, which immediately caused a deluge of red sparks to pour from the brickwork overhead. The little specks of light swirled around and formed the word 'Closed' in front of the elf's face for a few moments before fading away. A simple spell, but one the ljosalfr would never be capable of casting. Some magi might view this as a waste of mystical energy, but it impressed the tourists so the Thirteenth Cabal wholeheartedly supported it. Every shop in Miracle Square had similar enchantments placed on their main entrances and exits. Luckily, Vigilance had learned long ago that closed signs only applied to other people. Not her. She pounded forcefully on the door, ignoring the repetitive magical lightshow, and tried to see if anyone was coming. It was hard to see anything through the tinted glass, but what looked like a dozen cardboard boxes were stacked just beyond the door. There was even a roll of bubble wrap leaning against the boxes. It really did look like Yuri was planning on leaving Santa Somabra. Had the gang war brought this on or was there something else at work here?

After a few more minutes of pounding on the glass, a bearded man wearing a wife-beater and black sweatpants staggered into Narcissa's field of vision. Glaring at the fully-armed Syndicate members standing outside his door, Yuri rummaged around in his pockets and pulled out ornate copper key. He unlocked the door and said, his words muddled by a thick Russian accent, "We are closed, idioty. Can you not read the magical, glowing sign, eh?"

Smirking beneath her ceramic death mask, Narcissa shoved past the groggy shopkeeper and her graysuits followed. The interior of Yuri's store was dark and smelled like expired sour cream, but the light elf could pick out a dozen more boxes and roughly fifty wooden crates scattered around the main showroom. As her security detail spread throughout the store, occasionally poking things with their guns, Vigilance faced Yuri and tilted her head to one side. This wasn't what she'd expected to find. Not at all.

Groaning, Yuri ran a hand through his tangled silver beard and said, "Da, da, you got me, Deathbringer. I'm leaving this fucking city." The heavyset Russian swallowed, his face screwing up in disgust, and said, "I would...I would greatly appreciate it if you did not tell your boss about this." When the light elf didn't respond, Yuri threw his hands up in the air and stomped over to the slab of rotten plywood pretending to be the store's checkout counter. "Things are getting too damned crazy around here, elf! First this Somabra Slayer der'mo then the attack at the Red Windmill Cafe' earlier today and now Nyxvira fucking Bloodbloom is being investigated by the SSPD?! One of my regulars even told me she'd heard there was a gang war coming! Bezumiye, Deathbringer, total bezumiye. I just think..."

The computer engineer paused again, noticing for the first time that Narcissa and her graysuits were staring at him, and then he lovingly patted the counter. "This shop means the world to me, Deathbringer. But, what is that charming expression I am always hearing? When the going gets tough the tough get going? Well, things are getting too tough for me so my tough ass is going. I may be an old bastard, but I have no desire to die. Not yet. So, do what you must," Yuri snarled, his icy blue gaze daring Narcissa to try and stop him from leaving.

Chuckling, the light elf stepped closer to Yuri and said, "Hello to you too, you old bastard. Honestly, I don't care where you go or what you do. I'm only here to call in that favor you owe me for helping you get rid of Ivan. I won't tell Nyxvira that you're planning to leave, though. I'm not a total monster. Now, I want you to hack into the internal database of Barrow and White. Just like you did when the queenpin wanted to learn more about that Kurtz fellow, the one who killed William Haggerty in front of all those witnesses. I need to know where they keep the Blood Atlas of Akhmat Khan. Can you do that for me?"

The grizzled Russian snorted and said, "That's it? Easy as blinking, my smertel'noye tsvetok. I was smart enough to keep all my decryption algorithms from my last visit to the Firm's database. This should take less than fifteen minutes or I'm a goblin. Come with me, Deathbringer, and tell your thugs that if they break anything I'll gut them like lybras. Got it?"

The five graysuits nodded, and Baruch signaled for them to take up defensive positions around the store. If anyone else decided to pay a late night visit to Yuri's Books and Baubles they'd be in for an unpleasant surprise. Grunting in satisfaction, Yuri led Narcissa to a wooden door at the rear of the shop and opened it, revealing his foul-smelling back office. The rancid sour cream smell was worse in here and, combined with the unmistakable odor of sweat, created a truly breathtaking stench.

Narcissa swallowed the bile rising in the back of her throat and leaned against the wall while Yuri shuffled around his redwood desk and sat in his rolling chair. Humming what sounded like a Russian marching tune, the hacker produced a battered silver laptop from the desk's main drawer and set it on his lap. Cracking his knuckles, Yuri turned on the machine and said "I will have your answers soon, Deathbringer." Eyeing the elf for a moment, the shopkeeper cleared his throat and said, "So, besides asking me for a favor, did Nyxie want you to ask me about the tally? Because I may have some thoughts on the matter."

"Oh?" Narcissa asked, trying her best to sound like she hadn't completely forgotten about the tally. Essentially, before any major conflict between Santa Somabra's criminal organizations, the leaders of the gangs involved would send gifts and invitations to other influential powerbrokers. They'd wine and dine these potential supporters in hopes of gaining their assistance for the battles ahead. Once promises were made and contracts were signed, the gang or business in question was added to the initiator's running tally of supporters. And these bargains could become quite intricate depending on the faction being wooed.

For example, if the Nyte Kyngs declared war on the Rats they'd definitely reach out to Nyxvira to see if she could be persuaded to help them. While Nyxie would never work with such a low-class gang, one of the Nyte Kyngs' members, a withered vampire named Claus "The Carver" Stanton, was considered by many to be the finest chef in the United States. In exchange for the faerie's support, the Nyte Kyngs would more than likely pay the queenpin a shit ton of money and allow her to use Claus as she saw fit. If Nyxvira decided she still wasn't going to help the leeches, she might simply promise not to assist the Rats. Sometimes convincing a powerful group to stay neutral was just as good as buying their support.

Again, this was just an example of how tallying worked. The current gang war was shaping up to be an interesting one for the Bloodbloom Syndicate. With Nyxie under heavy police scrutiny, nobody was issuing commands as to who needed to be pressed or persuaded to assist the Syndicate against the Nyctari. Narcissa was curious to hear what insights Yuri, who typically remained neutral in situations like this, had on the subject.

"Da," Yuri said as his fingers danced across his laptop's grimy keyboard, an expression of contentment and determination spreading across his face. "I am not thinking your boss will find many people willing to help her fight the Nyctari. Not this time. Ach, the first firewall is different than it was last time...let me just..." For about five minutes, the only sounds in the office were the groaning of the ceiling fan overhead and the pounding of Yuri's nicotine-stained fingers on his keyboard. "There we are. Amateurs. Where was I? Oh yes, look, I liked Marius. Really, I did. We once had a three hour discussion about laptop brands. How in the name of God could an ogre know so much about computers? It was like something out of a fever dream. But Razorhallow? Ted fucking West? These aren't men to go to war over. And with everything else happening in the city right now...I think Nyxvira is going to be disappointed by how many people plan on remaining neutral. They won't help the Nyctari, obviously. Nobody is that stupid, but they won't help her either."

Yuri had a point. While they might not support Concetto and his bloodsuckers, there was a chance many of the wealthier businesses and criminals would be too busy dealing with their own problems to get involved in a gang war. On top of that, the Hotel Imperius had been invaded by the SSPD. One of the Bloodbloom Syndicate's most important strongholds had been compromised. Would loyal Syndicate supporters, like Nick "The Archmage" Conti and Victoria Lovelace, see this as a sign of weakness and also declare their neutrality? The Bloodbloom Syndicate had enough manpower and resources to wage this war alone, but it would be incredibly costly.

Narcissa frowned beneath her mask, wondering how this would play out, when Yuri said, "Ach, I'm in! Let's see...the Bandersnatch's Athame...no, no, no...here it is. The Blood Atlas of Akhmat Khan is...oh, it's still in the vault at the Firm's main office in Tranquil Valley. Sucks for you, Deathbringer. I can tell you the name of the last person who handled the book. It was some freelancer named Valorie Pierce. Do you want me to open her personnel file?"

The ljosalfr sighed and stood up, shaking her head slowly in response to Yuri's question. Fuck. Now, she'd need to come up with a plan to infiltrate Barrow and White's offices so she could access that goddamn vault. Yuri was one of several emergency resources Narcissa had been saving for a special occasion, but this job was starting to make her feel like she'd be tapping the rest of those resources sooner rather than later. This was going to be a colossal pain in the ass. The light elf started to walk towards the door when Yuri said, "Huh. I clicked on this Valorie girl's file, and it looks like there's a video in here along with all her personal information. It's labeled 'Gish's Workshop Battle' and it was apparently filmed about a week ago. It looks interesting. Do you want to watch it? Maybe you'll learn something about the book?"

Narcissa stopped in her tracks. A shiver ran down her spine and she said, "Play the video."

"Alright," the Russian said as he resumed typing. "There's some minor encryption blocking the video, but I can break through. For some insane reason, the Firm keeps files on almost everything. They probably have entire folders filled with documents about what their employees eat for lunch. Now, Valorie Pierce is something they call a 'potential.' Someone who may end up working for the Firm one day, but is considered a freelancer for now. It's interesting, though, because they don't usually waste time making psych profiles for potentials. Valorie's file has one. Also, Kurtz, that ublyudok you wanted me to look into before, has authorized this girl to borrow the Blood Atlas again if necessary. As long as she returns it to the vault within twenty four hours. Strange...anyways, the video is ready now. It looks like some Barrow and White flunky filmed the fight on his phone. Let's see." Yuri hit a few more keys and Narcissa walked around the desk so she could see the screen.

Whoever had filmed the battle in Chinatown had arrived about ten minutes before Cain had. The Barrow and White goon was watching everything unfold through a broken window on the street side of Gish's workshop. He'd had the perfect angle to see what transpired. How had Baruch and the others not seen this jackass? Narcissa's breath quickened as the recorded image of Valorie Pierce, which was helpfully labeled by a red graphic, snapped Justice in half. The light elf wanted to put her first through Yuri's laptop, but she forced herself to keep watching. The girl was now staring down at Narcissa's crouched form and saying, "Just give up! The things I could do with your body. Oh, the things I will do with your body." Apparently, the onlooker decided things were getting too intense, because the video feed cut a few moments later.

As the video ended, Yuri looked up at Vigilance and saw the ljosalfr was trembling. For a brief moment, the Russian thought he was about to die. He shouldn't have been concerned, because there was only one thought rattling around Narcissa's head at that moment.

What were the odds the putrescent piece of shit that had broken Justice was the same putrescent piece of shit that could help her retrieve the Blood Atlas of Akhmat Khan?

"Yuri, is the girl's current address in her file?" Vigilance asked and the hacker nodded slowly before tapping a series of buttons, which minimized the video and printed all the information Barrow and White had on Valorie Pierce. Yuri handed Narcissa the paperwork and she said, "Thank you. We're even now. Oh, and good luck getting out of here in one piece. I have no intention of telling Nyxvira that you're running away, but this is Santa fucking Somabra. City of coincidences. If even one member of the Thirteenth Cabal hears you're trying to leave they won't be pleased."

With that hopeful sentiment, Narcissa practically sprinted out of Yuri's office, her mind whirling as she barked at her graysuits to follow her. The six killers made their way back to their cars and Narcissa explained what she intended to do. Kurtz had authorized Valorie Pierce to take the tome out of the vault again. That's how Narcissa would complete this job. Of course, she needed to get her hands on the drug addict first.

Time for a little vengeance.

---

It usually takes time for things to get screwed up: Marital issues usually simmer for a couple of months, at least, before somebody cheats and thus starts down the long, long road paved with deception, resentment and 'Brian fucked a WHORE' spray-painted on a windshield; a political affair might take a few weeks to unfold in full, enough time for journalists to reveal the stupid lies this senator or that congressman reacted with and ending a career. But in Santa Somabra, things went from the usual 'bad' to 'fucking terrible' in under 36 hours.

When Cain had dropped off Concetto Nyctari's daughter, the Vampire boss had regarded him with an expression he didn't quite expect: The usual impassive look was mingled with the faintest hint of... no, not gratitude - Cain wasn't sure if a creature like Concetto Nyctari was even capable of feeling grateful - but respect. He had handed him a box with DVDs - literally every scrap footage from any and all security camera in the general vicinity of the Somabra Slayer murders - and a folder with what later turned out to be a summary of all that. Before the private investigator left, Nyctari had warned him not to work for Nyxvira Bloodbloom anymore. The suppressed anger in the vampire's voice told Cain unmistakeably what the words couldn't: The truce was broken.

The city was going to war.

It didn't take him long to work through the file: Nyctari assumed that the semen found at the Calhoun/Blackwood crime scene and in Calhoun and Blackwood was planted, perhaps to throw off the police. He concluded that the modus operandi didn't fit a spreekiller mindset and the Slayer knew how to cover his or her tracks.
Then there was a bit on Calhoun and Blackwood themselves, notes under the data compiled on them which not only confirmed that they were undercover SSPD agents but that Nyctari had had trouble getting rid of them, despite his considerable resources and contacts; nothing really suggested what they were investigating specifically - Concetto knew better than to just hand Cain information like that - but he felt threatened.
The last part discussed some connections between the SSPD and the Forlorn Disciples, a ponderous remark regarding the arrival of the MRB in the city and then something that really caught Cain's attention, something he had only come across once or twice in his investigation: The Great Obstacle, a secret organization of sorts.

Despite a few fragments of new information here and there, most of what the file contained was merely a summary of what everybody seemed to know about the Slayer. He worked his way through the SSPD files, courtesy of Kennedy's network access, to cross-check information and at the end of the night, Cain put the file down and shut his computer of in the knowledge that, really, both the Nyctari and the SSPD were a long way from finding, let alone capturing the Somabra Slayer.
He wanted nothing more than to sleep for a couple of hours but he had to pay somebody a visit since he hadn't been able to the day before, so grabbed his coat and left in the early hours of the day.

---

He returned to the apartment, just as Valorie closed the door, hand clutched to his side and pressing a semi-clean rag on a gushing wound, his shirt, jacket and coat all stained with blood, the smell of ash and singed hair clinging to him like a perfume.

The pain and exertion deepened the wrinkles on his face and made him look his true age but when he finally noticed Valorie, about two steps away from bumping into her, he managed a crooked smile that made him look youthful again, at least to some degree.
"I was wondering if you'd be here."

Back turned to him as she locked the door, she started at the sound of his voice and instantly forgot any of the tiny stories she had created to cover what had happened last night. For a split second Valorie was overwhelmed with the urge to just bolt towards the stairs without saying a word. She'd come back later, of course, but then she'd have both an excuse for her strange behavior and for the goddamn bloody and dirty dress she had shoved into his kitchen wastebin without even thinking to take it out. Valorie, you idiot, she thought as she turned around, a little smile on her face that even with all of her (admittedly little) willpower she could not make it appear as anything but guilty. Without any makeup and her hair left down she felt as if she'd look like the child who had just gotten caught drawing on the walls in permanent marker.

"And I was wondering where the hell you've..."

Her smile quickly faded as she turned and saw the bedraggled Cain, her words trailing off. He looked about as bad as she had the other night, minus a bleeding wound and about half a century of age. In a flash she unlocked the door, grabbed the man by his hand, and dragged him inside before slamming the door behind them.

"What the fuck, Francis?" she asked in a whisper mixed with anger and concern as she batted away his arm, grabbed his shirt, and less-than-gently hiked it up to get a better look at the seeping wound. Cursing under her breath, she dabbed her fingers in some of his blood and began to draw a ward on his side, not caring if her sleeve got stained in blood. The ward was one that quickly congealed blood and was the same one she had used back at Kurtz's office to prevent herself from bleeding out. It was also the same one this idiot had taught her, at least she believed in her jumble mind that he had taught her, but was too fucking stupid to practice it himself. Or maybe he'd just wanted somebody to play doctor with him.

"There," she said, sealing the wound temporarily. He'd still probably need to actually get it patched up, but at least he wouldn't be staining the carpet. "Are you okay?" she asked, glaring up at him with a rather angry stare. "What happened?"

Funny how quickly they switched roles: Only a few days before, he had been the one taking care of her wounds; now, she was drawing a ward over his wound to stop the bloodflow - he had used it right after the fight was over but the wound reopened about halfway home and the shirt had wiped off most of his first circle. He needed to properly stitch it but in this moment, he felt an odd sense of pride in Valorie that shone down at her in his smile, despite her angry looks.

"War. The Nyctari are going to war against the Bloodbloom Syndicate. I guess those two bloodsuckers thought I was with Bloodbloom, so they shot me. They underestimated what I could do, though." His smile wouldn't fade. No, it wasn't just pride, it was also a strange high: He was glad to be alive. He was glad to be home. He was glad that she cared - she tried so hard to drown her concern in anger but it was still unmistakeable. "But I'm fine, Valorie. Thanks to you... and this."

He reached into his front pocket and revealed... a rabbit's foot. Among magic wielders, luck charms were generally treated with disdain and those who considered them a 'proper' form of magic usually laughed at. And yet Cain stood there, smiling like a little boy who had just caught the biggest frog in the pond.

"You should keep one of those around. A bullet out of nowhere like that can really ruin your day. I guess I deserved to be grazed after yesterday", he wondered out loud, then groaned as he laboriously tried to take off his coat. "Speaking of which, did you have a fun night out?"

Valorie cocked an eyebrow at the rabbit's foot, saw his smile, and gave what she assumed was the appropriate chuckle. He was joking, right? Did he also have a horseshoe hiding in his closet or a bunch of four-leaf clovers pressed in a book somewhere? Of course, he could have embedded some ward into the rabbit's foot that would protect him from physical harm, but she couldn't detect anything from it. Not to say that she was really good at detecting magic in the first place, but to her the charm seemed to be nothing more than the foot of a rather unlucky bunny.

She almost hopped like a rabbit when he asked her about her night, but managed to change it into a sort of laugh as she sheepishly scratched her head.

"Oh, you know, nothing too crazy," she said, glancing to the side. There was no way in hell that she was going to tell Cain that she had almost been murdered by some demon bitch who, under the pay of some Rats, had interrupted what would have been a drug binge so big that Tony Montana would have backed down, only for Valorie to be rescued by a werewolf who she then resurrected his long lost friend before ditching him crying in the graveyard so she could go find a Rat and, despite the fact that they may or may not be out to kill her, get some drugs from him so that she could spend the rest of the night high as a fucking kite, alone, in a city full of killers. Yeah, no way in hell she'd tell him that. She looked back at Cain.

"It was kinda lame, actually. Really lame. You think pretending to be some asshole rock star getting absolutely wasted and tearing up a hotel room would be fun, but I just ended up spending the rest of the morning with a splitting hangover and agreeing with the hotel manager to pay for all of the damages so that he didn't involve the cops," she said with a sigh. "I get why they never mention that part. The prick talked to me for nearly three hours and I can hardly remember a thing of it."

She was right about the protective spell, though the rabbit's foot really was just what it seemed to be. Most of the time, Cain carried a small clay trinket with him that looked like it would fall apart any second; in truth, it was quite sturdy and could deflect or slow a large-calibre bullet - but only one before it broke. Still, it was preferable to your clothes going up in flames: A metal trinket might be able to deflect more but it would also heat up with every projectile until you'd have a pocket full of white-hot liquid steel - Conservation of Energy be damned. At least the clay trinkets were easily replaceable; but since that still left a lot of room for error, Cain was at least partially serious about the rabbit's foot.

More pressing than how he survived, however, was a simple question: Was Valorie telling the truth? He didn't know her well enough to be sure that she had the inner strength to kick her bad habbits from one day to the other... but she had spoken of starting over, had made a good case about wanting to learn before she went to see Kurtz; what she described did sound like her. And really, he wanted to believe her and was too tired to give her the third degree.

"Good girl", he smiled which turned into a pained expression when he leaned back on the couch. "Glad you didn't murder anyone. Rockstars do that too and you wouldn't believe the mess that makes for the manager."

He felt the lack of sleep weighing on his eyelids, his forehead, his limbs. God, he was exhausted. He had to fight mental tooth and nail to stay semi-focused.
"Valorie, could you fetch me the first-aid kit from the bathroom? I'm starting to feel the last two days... I ought to send you in my stead to find scraps of information on the Somabra Slayer."

"Oh, yeah, ha, that'd be a great idea," she said, her eyes darting away. Swallowing as if she could store her shame in her belly, she looked back at him and flashed him a cocky half-smile as she walked towards the bathroom. "Serious, man. I watched a gross amount of Scooby-Doo as a kid. I once one a game of Clue on the first fucking turn. I'm like a real-life Nancy Drew."

More like Sherlock Holmes with all of the drugs in her body. Her strained voice was echoing now from the bathroom alongside noises of her rummaging through whatever Cain kept in his medicine cabinet as she continued: "Pretty much any time there's a murder mystery it's always the guy you first meet and then completely forget about. Have you met any new middle-aged white guys with mommy issues lately? Because that would totally be your man."

She cursed and there was a clattering noise, followed by a louder curse and a splashing noise, and then a nearly silent curse as she turned the faucet on. A moment later and Valorie emerged from the bathroom with a first aid box and streaks of water on her sweatshirt from where she had clearly dried her hands. She gave Cain a sheepish grin and sat next to him on the couch. Popping the kit open, her brow knitted as she stared at the case's contents. She knew enough about needles and veins that she would probably excel at administering IVs, but beyond that her trying to play nurse would do more harm than good. She slid the case over towards him and caught his eye.

"You were joking about me being your little informant, right?" she asked.

"Unless you want to start in my PI agency. 'Cain & Pierce' has a nice ring to it", Cain grinned. He gave Valorie a grateful nod as his hands reached for gloves, disinfectant, needle and thread, and anesthetic - he wasn't exactly squeamish but why subject yourself to the excruciating pain of stitching your skin and muscle tissue back together when you could just not.

"'You pay, we find that unfaithful son-of-a-bitch.' Come to think of it, it's been a while since I-", he paused as the disinfectant set every nerve-end in his side on fire, "-since I had a simple 'photograph somebody in the act' job. Maybe romance is dead after all - gone are the good ol' times when a married man could find true love inside the DD-cups of his secretary."

The anesthetic hadn't quite numbed every sensation but it dulled the pain enough so he could stitch the wound without his hands getting sweaty inside the gloves. It was hard enough to stitch the wound as is, given that he could barely see what he was doing.

"Seriously though... Maybe you'd have the right instinct for helping me out. Thing is, after what I had to do to even get that handful of notes", Cain gestured to the folders on his workdesk, "I'm not sure I'd want you going out there. If that bitch I met yesterday had been a little more trigger happy before I got her, you'd have this apartment to yourself. Here", he said suddenly, offering Valorie the needle, its thread keeping about half of his wound shut, "you can finish it. I can hardly see what I'm stitching together at this angle. Plus, a necromancer's gotta know how to do proper needlework."

"Come on, really? A proper necromancer would just raise up some seamstress from the grave than actually do any real work herself," she said in mock protest as she fit on a pair of gloves and took the needle. She slid back to get a better view of Cain's wound and began threading the needle through his torn flesh. The last time she had sewn up flesh had been years ago with Sammy, and dead dog skin was a bit different than living human. Still, by the time she was done it wasn't too shitty of a stitch job; at the very least she thought it should hold nicely until the wound healed. Valorie slipped her knife out of her hoodie's pocket and trimmed the excess thread with a quick flick of the wrist. Grabbing some gauze and tape she wrapped his wound and snapped off her gloves.

"There," she said, bouncing up to her feet and grabbing a cigarette. Her lighter ignited the tip of her cigarette; smoke plumed from her mouth as she opened it to speak. "Now, don't go tugging at it or getting shot again or anything like that. Doctor's orders. Seriously, you're setting a bad example for your young, impressionable student." The playfulness dropped from her now muttering voice. She looked down. "Seriously. I..."

I don't want to think about it.

"You should get some rest, old man," she said, her smile returning. "I'll pick up something for us to eat—my treat. I still got a wad of dough burning a hole in my pocket. Chinese good?"

"Yeah, sounds good enough."

Strange, how vulnerable that moment in between, that unfinished thought had made her look. There was still an entire young woman he didn't know behind that mask of a headstrong necromancer-to-be. For a second, he considered telling her to stay in, but he couldn't treat her like a kid - that was part of their deal, after all.

"Don't go waving around too much money at once or they'll think you're buying them and the entire restaurant - twenty Chinese are a big responsibility; and you really don't wanna mess with the FSIS. Food-crazed pyromancers all."

He reached to his unwounded side and held out his pistol to her.
"Undo the safety, aim, shoot - that's all there is to it. Take it. The streets are dangerous right now."

Valorie said nothing as she reached out and grabbed the gun, keeping her quips to herself about how the streets were always dangerous anyway. Well, now I don't have to buy bullets at least, she thought as she grabbed her purse and set the pistol inside next to the one she had stolen weeks earlier. Her hair, frizzed from the heat of the shower, fell in front of her face. Grabbing for her ribbon, she caught a glance of the dark red vials. Valorie quickly zipped the bag back up, somehow feeling worse that Cain had believed her story instead of calling her out. The bag felt heavy on her shoulders; the weight of guilt, perhaps, or maybe it was just the extra gun. She sighed out a cloud of smoke.

"I think I can handle picking up some lo mein," she said, flipping her hair back and tying it up into a loose ponytail. She turned and began to head for the door. "I'll be back soon."

"I'm counting on it", Cain replied with a tired smile. "I don't think I could stand another lonely night, so don't go talking to strangers who look shiftier than me."

She looked over her shoulder, back at him, and he could see her rolling her eyes, but as she turned to exit the apartment, he thought he could see a bit of a smile curl her lips. But he may have just aswell been imagining it because another wave of exhaustion washed over him about the same time as the door snapped shut and maybe a minute later, Francis was fast asleep.

Unsurprisingly, Nyxvira Bloodbloom hated Police Stations. The feeling of powerlessness, of your fate being completely and utterly in someone else’s hands. Like lusting after one of those pretty people who wouldn’t pay you a second glance when you were a child.

It had been years since the Queenpin had set foot in a Police Station, and the armed escort did little to ease the transition. The Superintendents goons swarmed around her like flies around a rotting corpse as they escourted her to the interrogation room, with its sickly white lights and enormous one-way mirror.

The officers parked her down in a much-too-small chair, before marching out and slamming the door behind them, leaving her to wallow in silence.

Nyxie hadn't recognised a single one of her people whilst glancing over the station on her way in. That didn’t necessarily mean there weren’t any flittering amongst the ranks of Tolstoi’s rabble, but it wasn’t a good sign.

Had the Superintendent managed to root the Syndicate’s muscle out of her private circle? Improbable, but not entirely impossible.

She’d make a good mob boss. The Faerie mused inwardly, as she waited impatiently in the chamber, drumming her fingers against the cold metal desk.

Behind the glass, the interrogation crew. It seemed awfully limited for an interview with one of America's most powerful crime lord. Ivendale, there with his computer to quickly research anything Nyx would say to make sure she wasn't trying to invent stories. Zug, having been an inspector before he detailed the faerie very carefully for any facial expression, hints of what she was thinking. Sidney, just to be sure no one from her Syndicate tried something extremely bold and... Krubus. Always shadowing Veronika and there for reason that were known only to him and the Superintendent.

It wasn't long until people were siting and waiting for the main actress to arrive, but the Superintendent, after almost half an hour, was nowhere to be found. It was Ivendale, annoyed they'd lose his time like this, that spoke first. "Ooookay then, anyone knows what's keeping the Superintendent?"

Krubus merely scoffed as he continued to clean his weapon. It was Sid who looked down with surprise. "No one told you? She's sleeping right now. It's night." The elf's mouth opened in disbelief while the ogre looked at the rest of the crew with surprise.

Ivendale spoke. "What?! We have the city's crime boss in our interrogation room and we'll just leave her like that?" That hardly seemed productive, but Sid just laughed it off, looking at the female behind the glass that was no doubt asking herself why no one was there to try and coax answers out of her.

It was Krubus that ultimately enlightened the rest of the crew. "We can have her here for 24h with no fuss. More, if we want to bother with some legal paperwork. So we'll do just that." Sid nodded and faced the group again, side by side with the kobold. "Yup. But since we're good hosts, we'll send someone in every 20 minutes or so to make sure she's alright."

Ivendale rolled his eyes and closed his laptop to leave and go get some sleep himself then. Likewise Zug saluted the two agents and left to go about his business.

Psychological warfare. The duo would keep Nyxie awake and starving for the next 7 hours until Tolstoi bothered to come and visit. "Think she'll throw a little tantrum?" Said Sid, looking at the mobster.

Krubus had a hissing laugh under his breath. "Think she'll break a finger when she punches the bulletproof mirror?" The two of them were joking but were really curious on how Nyx would react.

It took Nyxie a while to catch on, but after the third of her twenty-minute check ups she began realize that they were fucking with her.

“Do you have any medical conditions we need to be aware of?” Asked the latest uniformed officer to make their way into the interrogation room.

“I’m sure it's all in your files.” Nyxvira said plainly, as she stared, unflinching, at the wall across from her.

The officer shrugged and left, the bulky metal door clanging shut behind him.

The Faerie’s inner-self and outward appearance were in two VERY different states right now, as rage frothed and bubbled beneath her skin, threatening to overflow at any moment. How long were they planning on keeping her here? What if they forfeited regulation and just left her to rot once the twenty four hour mark was up? Her people would catch on by then, and intervene, but that did little to endear Nyxvira towards the prospect.

Once two hours had passed, the queenpin began to sing.



Her voice was soft and sweet, with a slight icy quality to it; that one vestige of her usual manner of speaking which broke into the melody. The words drifted calmly out of her lips, whilst the Faerie worked slowly to soothe the anger which was rising inside her.

Would the SSPD think she was trying to cast a spell, and burst in to try and stop her? She couldn’t tell. Honestly, she was beyond caring at this point. The tyranny of time was scraping viciously away at her at her mind, slowly peeling back her sanity, and she needed some kind of coping mechanism.

Perhaps someone behind that One-way mirror was versed in traditional Fae dialects, and would know that she was simply singing about the Roman-Persian Wars, a seven hundred and twenty year long conflict which fascinated the Faerie peoples?

She didn’t know. She didn’t care.

---

This was like she was back at Camp Bowie for Sidney. Good old camouflage training where she had to stay motionless for hours on end because the officers in charge of finding them did exactly as Veronika was doing now: Go to sleep and come back tomorrow. At least now she had the luxury to do something productive, even if it was just loading every magazine of the police department.

"Whatcha readin'..." The Kobold looked up from what he had in his hands to look at Sidney. "My rifle's instruction manual." They both laughed it off as they realized just how bored they both were. It was when they heard the singing from the microphone they jumped up, Krubus to the console and Sid to her gun.

"Is it casting?!" Said Sid as she moved her hand to the door handle leading to the corridor, ready to take the few short steps to the interrogation room to put an end to this.

"How should I know..." Krubus replied as he tried to look on Nyxie's face for any give away of anger or other sign she was trying something. Turning around, Sid opened the door but the Kobold raised a hand. "Wait!"

"Interrogation rooms are enchanted to be magic proof, no suspect with anything dangerous allowed." It was a fact everyone knew acutely because of how impractical it was not to be able to cast a little spell to force people to talk. Something about this being coercion and illegal.

"So we should trust some magical engineering of the 50s?" Sid replied, not convinced the place was up to code against magical casting. Krubus began to relax and sat back in his chair.

"I'll send it to Ivendale in the morning. If it's a spell, even if she did communicate instructions or whatnot to her goons, then we have her on camera casting it and thus being in a breach of rule, so we can detain her even longer... Plus we'll know what message she was sending."

Sid was hardly convinced. In fact she'd like to wake Ivendale right now to know if this was dangerous and thus if she could enter and put a bullet in the fat bitch's head! "Just stand down, its harmless... and..." Sid frowned, really disliking how Krubus, being outside the usual chain of command, allowed himself to not obey her. Still... she allowed him to finish his train of thought. "...Having as many spoken words of her on record can always be useful."

Psh... Krubus was an exception in term of kobold, skilled and in the police... but ultimately he came back to being what his entire species was: Crafty. And to a lesser extend: Dishonorable. The chances they could manufacture something useful from the recordings of whatever few words Nyx had said however were abysmally low. Still, she sat down. Waiting some more.

____________________________________________________________

It was at 5 in the morning that the Superintendent arrived at the police HQ, her personal car escorted by 2 police ones and 4 officers on motorbike. Maybe overkill in terms of security, but considering the problems they had before, Veronika preferred to go overboard than not.

On this fine morning the Superintendent was rather vexed, indeed the circumstances had forced us to leave her home without having the time for a breakfast. Then again, she supposed her anger was probably nothing in face of the one of Miss Bloodbloom she was walking to meet, forced to stay awake, without any distraction or food whatsoever, for the last 8 or so hours.

Veronika would feel bad about herself, if it wasn't for the fact that the Faerie was stuck so far in what Veronika considered 'Evil'.

People moved to the side to allow the woman to pass at her brisk pace as she went straight to the control room of the interrogation one Nyx was in. As she entered, the two individuals inside looked up from their 'Go fish' game. Krubus got up as a sign of respect, but Sid allowed herself to remain seated. Considering she had been up for the last 8h, doing a whole lot of nothing for her, Veronika decided to let it slide. "Anything?"

Sid just got up and took her jacket, leaving that one for Krubus. "Perhaps something, I'll run it by Ivendale once he's here before I end my shift."

"Thank god for overtime." Whispered Sidney. "Interrogation crew?" Asked the kobold.

"You're it." Replied the Superintendent before walking out without any other word, quickly followed by Sidney who walked away from the entire ordeal, closing the door behind her.

Veronika didn't take the time to stop to clear her mind, prepare herself mentally or touch up her makeup. Her mind was clear, prepared and her face perfect (With what she was given to work with), as always.

She opened the door and looked at Nyxie, admiring how composed she had remained despite the ordeal. The last person she had 'Left to cook' tried to assault a police officer and had to be put down, at the great satisfaction of Veronika who didn't have enough to convict him. No, Bloodbloom would be tougher to crack, if she even could.

Her pacing got a bit slower as she reached the table and placed down a folder, taking the time to run her finger along the edge to push it in a perfectly symmetrical position. And, signaling the end of the waiting period, the Superintendent sat in front of the crime boss, taking out a silver ornamented pen (gift from her father) and opening the folder.

Diligent as always however, Veronika first filled the bureaucratic element of the report, her calligraphy so perfect it seemed to come from a machine and after a minute, placed the pen down once again to finally look up to Nyxvira Bloodbloom.

"Thank you for your patience Miss Bloodbloom. I am Veronika Tolstoi, Superintendent of the Santa Somabra Police Department. Do you have an opening statement or any questions before we begin?"

Another person would probably have had a smug smile as they thanked Nyx for her 'patience', but Veronika was cold, detached and emotionless, as if she was simply going through the motions, Bloodbloom being nothing but another common criminal.

Nyxvira considered this for a moment. She envied the Superintendent’s emotionless demeanor, something that the Faerie herself had lost about three hours ago. She was tired, and she wanted to go home; but this whore-faced cur seemed intent on fucking about with her, possibly for the sake of fucking about with her.

Was she trying to make some kind of statement? Had she not stopped to contemplate the repercussions of what she was doing?

Half of Nyxie wanted to ask her something stupid like “Who’d win in a fight, a shark or a bear?” and spend the next few hours making Veronika feel as hair-splittingly agitated as the Faerie herself was feeling, but she resisted.

She’d keep it calm, for now. She wouldn’t say anything that could be used against her, just in case. Chances were she could have her people inside the SSPD to destroy anything potentially incriminating, but she wasn’t taking any chances with this woman.

“A pleasure, Miss Tolstoi,” The Faerie said coldly, looking the superintendent up and down “If you could start by explaining what I’m doing here, that’d be greatly appreciated.”

Oh? Too bad, the superintendent had hopped to make the mob boss lose her temper and make her say, or do, things that she might had regreted. No matter, Bloodbloom was still exactly where Tolstoi wanted her to be. "Of course." She said.

Veronika placed her pen down right at the side of her folder and looked up to Nyx, joining her fingers between them both. "You are under suspicion of murdering Edmund Jankovic, Ted West, Emilie Harding and an as of yet unidentified Orc. This of course, along with the other crimes associated to it, unlawful discharging of a weapon, assault, et cetera, et cetera."

"These are however not yet formal accusations as I am waiting for further evidence to be gathered, but in the meantime, I am keeping you under protective custody." The Superintendent leaned in a little as she joined her palms together, as she readied herself to show her leverage.

"Under rules and regulations, we can keep usual suspects in custody for a period of 24 hours. Under the suspicion of murder however, this goes to 96. Hours." She insisted on that last part, but oh, she was far from done. "After that of course its a matter of if I judge the evidence found to be sufficient. As I said, there is a case to be made and if maybe not a strong one, that would incur, as dictated by the 114th Congress Public Law 38, you to be held until the 'earliest practicable time' that a court of law can examine your case."

She leaned back on her chair, more relaxed despite fixating the woman in front of her with the same neutral expression. "As I am a personal friend of the District Judge General you can however be certain I will make sure the earliest practical time is... very 'practical' indeed." For her own self, of course.

"So, at the minimum this would give a 30 day delay, the period which my officers are allowed to present new proofs to be used in court, but could easily go to 70 days and beyond. If we should reach that point, you will be allowed to communicate with your lawyers and they, with the District Attorney General Albert... Well, that would be Mister Breech for the non acquainted, will see the period of time befitting the start of the trial depending on the sanctions of section 3162 applying to this subsection."

"As you are accused of murder, you would be held here, for this entire duration with no possibility of a bail. Then..."

"Notwithstanding the provisions of subsection (b) of this section, for the first twelve-calendar-month period following the effective date of this section as set forth in section 3163(a), the time limit imposed with respect to the period between arrest and indictment by subsection (b) of this section shall be 60 days, for the second such 12 month period such time limit shall be 45 days and for the third such period such time limit shall be 35 days."

At this point she was just recalling her law studies and making one thing very clear: Veronika was a bureaucrat, not a policewoman. And somehow, that made her very, very good at being a pain in the ass.

"... This is becoming tedious and I understand you have no studies of our great judiciary or law system. But to get to what would be the ultimate amount of time you could be held here without any trial to actually end... we're talking about 7 years. Its the reasonable time after which the validity of any proof we would have could not be recognized in court, then you would be entirely free and never could anyone use the events that happened today... well, yesterday, against you in a court of law.

"2555 days in prison, 2557 days if you count the leap years. We'd have to compensate you afterward of course, since that's becoming quite the amount of time and we understand you have a life to go on with, but that's what it takes to catch criminals."

She watched silently for a moment, allowing her to process the unreal and ridiculous amounts of time involved when someone, rather than do like the previous chiefs of police and try to get criminals through the judiciary system as quickly as possible, went entirely the other way and devolved all of their efforts to slow the machine to an halt. Of course, this would likely not go so far, this was the absolute limit Veronika could keep some shmuck stuck here, and no doubt Nyxie had some very good lawyers, but fact remained Veronika wasn't here to win this case, she just wanted it to drag on and on and on...

"This is what you expose yourself to, Miss Bloodbloom, should you refuse to cooperate with me."

Fucking pretentious cunt-faced son of a...

"Well, I'm sure neither of us want that." Nyxvira managed through gritted teeth, fighting with every cell in her body to keep her fists from clenching.

Motherfucking piece of shit judicial system.

"I can assure you you'll be receiving my full co-operation."

I'll jam my foot up your snatch, you worthless whore-spawn.

"Jankovic and West are...were part of my private secuirty detail, and I'm very saddened to hear of their deaths." The Faerie said slowly "The woman and the Orc I can't speak for, regrettably. I hadn't heard about the unfortunate passing of my two employees. Might I enquire as to when this happened?"

Secuirty footage from the Red Windmil had been looped, so there was no way of placing Nyxvira at the scene of the crime. She'd pulled a few strings at the Imperius, so as far as official records were concerned, she'd been booked in at the Hotel for the last three days. The hotel earsed all of its security footage after two days, and any video evidence of the Faerie not being at the hotel would be conveniantly mishandled before it could reach the Superintendent.

Ted West had indeed been contracted as part of Nyxvira's small army of personal bodyguards, but the shootout at the Red Windmill had occured when he was officially off-duty, so the only thing linking his death to the Faerie queepin was professional association.

As for Jankovic; vamprism was a crime under California state laws, and the vampire hunter's license was still valid, so Nyxvira had done nothing illegal by hiring him to take care of Concetto Nyctari- a well known fugitive, who was wanted by the SSPD-. There might not have been a court-approved execution in California since 2006, but Vamprism was punishable by death under federal laws imposed by the Magical Regulations Bureau.

"I can't speak as to what those under my employ get up to when they're off the clock, but I'll try to answer any relevant questions as best I can."

"Of course..." Veronika took a few more notes before looking at Nyxie with her unflinching gaze for a moment. Looking away, she slowly pulled the cover back on the file she was writing in, closing it and then slowly pushing it at the side of the table. She waited a few seconds.

Behind the scene, or to be more accurate behind the mirror, Krubus ended the recording of all equipment, knowing the signal that her boss wanted to talk 'in private'. Still... he took the liberty to take out his phone and push his swivel chair in a corner of the room. He began recording and made sure to only have the mob boss in the frame. The voices were still being transmited by the microphone if not recorded and he'd make sure to edit away the Superintendent's voice as he always did to make sure this isn't... to compromising. It would still be of course, as even if this wouldn't be evidence to be used in a court, it would cast doubt, and that would do all the wrongs possible.

So he simply planned on not letting that fall into wrong hands, storing it instead in a Batman USB key hidden behind his computer desk at home.

Veronika took a hold of her father's pen with fingers on both side and observed it for a long moment before looking up at the mobster in front of her. "I know you didn't do it. Everyone knows, but nobody cares. At the end of the day you just have so many more enemies outside of this room rather than friends that there is simply more pressure to see you die than to see you live. I will confess of something to you."

Not letting go of her pencil, Veronika leaned toward Nyxie. "I called Concetto Nyctari. And I told him that in exactly 3 hours and 22 minutes, you will walk out of here in the back alley, sedated because you tried to assault me, and that you will be defenseless... No one but me and Nyctari knows this."

She went silent for a moment and leaned back. "Nothing you can say or do, nothing you might try to convince me might happen if you die, will make me change my mind... Unless."

She slowly placed the pen on the table. "You ask me to be your friend. And do as anyone who had a good friend as the chief of the police would do, and ask me to protect you."

The Superintendent slowly pushed the pen toward the crime boss. "I want you to sign an official request for police protection because you fear someone might try to end your life and I will dispatch 24h escorts with you. All the time, everywhere, along with agreeing to have a microphone on your person."

She removed her hand from the pen and at the same time, Krubus got a hold of his pistol, ready for Nyx to grab the pen and try to stab Veronika in the throat with it.

"I won't try to play that down, it's almost as bad as it sounds. But here's the thing... At the end of the day, I mostly don't care about you. The people you sell drugs to... that's just nature weeding out the weak. The mobsters you kill? It makes my heart beam with joy each time a lowlife decided to use his ammunition to kill another thug than a real, upstanding citizen or police officer. It really only annoy me that your racket and protection schemes don't pay any taxes, but then again you probably pay as much in bribery to officials and, somehow, you pay for people's salaries to."

"These officers will work undercover, you don't have to tell anyone about who they are or what they do. They are completely and utterly loyal to me. But ultimately, I ask you to trust me. I know I will find some really dirty things about you if I can hear what you say all the time, but I guarantee you one thing. I swear to you, on my honor, that as long as you do not betray my trust, I will not betray yours. And once we part ways, that means once duty calls me for being more than a police chief, then it will all stop, and there will be no records of this ever happening. What there will be of course is all the evidence I will have gathered, waiting to be used if you would open your mouth about me but considering how long you'll live compared to me, a simple human? Its not a sword that will stay above your head forever."

"And likewise, the officers will keep quiet, but they will also make every possible document to point out that if they die, you are the one to have done it, I will even ask you to help them falsify these proofs and make a case hard as concrete against you that will no doubt get you to the chair if you decide to kill them."

Veronika crossed her legs as she looked at Bloodbloom, grim, stoic and confident. "You agree to all that and you don't die in 3 hours. Not only that, but your best interest will become my best interest. You can consider Concetto dead. I know where he hides, I've known for months, it just didn't suit me to take him out. I'll take care of the remnants too and on top of that I'll even turn a blind eye on the pettiest of crimes. Luckily for you, those are often the most lucrative ones. Drug dealings, prostitution... What the people do of their own will and with their own money isn't the government's business. Though, I will ask you to lay off most of the protection schemes, protecting people is the police's job and at times, I might ask you to use your resources to help me. Nothing that would compromise you, I mainly aim to stop senseless violence, I think you might know what I'm talking about..."

The Somabra slayer...

"And of course, an increase in perceived security will also bring in more business and growth to the city, which will in turn result in higher wages and employment, thus insuring an influx of new customers and thus, profits from your activities, what I offer is also a sound long term solution..."

Tolstoi allowed herself to lean back in her chair. "And of course, this is non negotiable. You agree or you die. Feel free to ask about specifics, I may or may not have answers to give you."

Nyxvira remained quiet whilst Veronika spoke, watching her from across the table with her large golden eyes.

She let silence hang over the room once the Superintendent had finished, regarding her for some time with nothing but a calm stare.

The woman was certainly an apt tactician, and clearly knew how to get under the skin of slum lords and mob bosses.

But Nyxvira wasn't just a mob boss. She was the Queenpin.

She'd taken control of a city which was caught in a constant, bloody civil war; threatening to rip itself apart at the slightest provocation. Her enemies were immortal beings who would construct skyscrapers decades in advanced, so that they could use them as the perfect place to position their snipers in battles which wouldn't unfold for another fifty years. You didn't get monsters like these to kneel and pay tribute to you by making deals with Policewomen.

That said, Veronika's threats were impressive. They almost certainly would have worked on anyone else.

Was she telling the truth? It didn't matter. Nyxvira had gambled her life before, and was willing to do so again. Whilst making the Faerie wait hours upon hours before Veronika turned up was a good interrogation tactic, it also meant that the Bloodbloom Syndicate had more than enough time to find out where their leader was being held.

If Concetto's men did turn up to try and finish Nyxie off, they'd get a bullet through the skull.

Her people were almost certainly watching the station by now.

If Veronika decided to carry out her threat of letting the Faerie rot in jail, they'd find a way to get her out. It might be a crazed gunman, a suicide bomber, or a fully-armed squad of greysuits, but they'd figure something out.

She'd have to go underground after that, but she'd get by. The Faerie had immortality on her side, after all.

"Those are some very strong, baseless, accusations, madam," She said at last "and whilst I enjoyed the showomanship, I'm afraid I don't do...whatever it is you think I do. I'm an employee of JPMorgan, not Al Capone."

Nyxvira allowed her words to hang in the air.

"You're welcome to hold me here, if you wish. Or release me. I won't indulge your fantasy, any longer."

Veronika took a deep breath. She knew it wouldn't be this easy, it never was. Still, this was a better outcome than Bloodbloom accepting but deciding to fuck everything over afterward. Obviously Nyxvira thought she had leverage still, but the Superintendent was quite certain she had distributed the entire deck.

"Of course you'd say that. You'd be a terrible mob boss if you didn't have contingencies... this means that someone is vastly underestimating someone else here. Time will tell." Veronika got up.

"You will be terminated in a little less than 3 hours. So I suggest you make the mental preparations for it. I'll sens my anesthetist in a few minutes for your scheduled 'resistance'. In the mean time I'll go direct the dismemberment of your syndicate. Goodbye miss Bloodbloom. You shan't be missed."

As businesslike as when Veronika entered, she took a hold of the papers and the pen, leaving nothing behind as she exited the room and went to the one Krubus was located. The kobold sighed and closed the camera. "That could have gone better."

Veronika only nodded before going to the console table and reopen the camera and begin to save footage again. "I will go administer the sedatives, miss Tolstoi." As Krubus got up, Veronika raised a hand to stop him. "No, I have someone else on the case. A... Mister Bell, if I remember correctly."

That name... it awoke nothing, Krubus had honestly no idea who that man might be and it showed on his face. Veronika however, allowed herself a rare corner of a smile. "He's a plant. Nyctari plant. You see, when I phoned Concetto, I wanted a way to get rid of Bloodbloom before she left the station. I can read her, she's confident in her men. At her place I would be too, which is why she should never meet up with them."

"And so God answered my prayer with him, asking me to be part of the case about Bloodbloom with some story about how she killed his family and so forth. I played dumb, have him a handshake and welcomed him aboard. I'm not stupid, and neither is Concetto actually, he'll try and end Nyxvira before she leaves, while she has nothing to defend her and before her gang makes a move."

The kobold beamed, seeing the logic of the plan, now Veronika could kill Nyx with complete deniability! "Still, I expect this to go wrong, the guy just needs to say something stupid to tip Bloodbloom off, which is why we'll keep the camera on... and why I want you to stay here and finish the job."

Make sure Bloodbloom died. The poor schmuck being set up might succeed, who knew, but if he didn't. "Oh and Krubus? If Mister Bell's work becomes violent... if he survives the encounter, make sure he didn't. Use your service pistol." Tie up loose end, and be able to say Nyx stole Bell's pistol and blame her for the murder. Plans within plans. This was why the kobold admired her.

______________________________

The door opened, showing a short and gaunt man. Mister Bell smiled with all his teeth and raised a hand, lightly pressing on the innoculator to let a transparent liquid out. "Good morning ma'am, you're just about to be freed. Just need to make sure you're... relaxed for your leave."

The police officer casually walked behind Bloodbloom and as he left her field of vision, his smile became more wicked until immediately behind Nyxvira, he raised the needle dramatically. "It might sting a little. Oh and! Nyctari sends his regards." And with this as the only warning, he plunged the needle downward.

---

A slither of light crept into Nyxvira's vision, as the world came flooding back to greet her.

"Motherfucker..." She hissed, as the huge woman pulled herself up off of the ground, the left side of her head thumping and throbbing like mad.

Down at her feet, spread out across the cobbles, lay the corpse of a police officer, his wide eyes staring lifelessly up at the sky. Apart from the thin thread-like red incision which bit through the centre of his chest, there were no other signs of combat on his body.

Even in her groggy state, Nyxie knew whose handiwork it was almost instantly.

"Sharrahonzu."

"My lady."

The blind woman stepped slowly into view, as she sheathed her Katana with the delicate flick of one wrist. Lady Sharrahonzu inclined her head to the Queenpin, whilst dabbing at the small trickle of blood which ebbed down the side of her light brown cheek.

"Grezbill should be here with a car soon, madam." Sharranhonzu said in her quiet voice.

"Good," Nyxie grunted, rubbing at her tired eyes "I want every officer who was involved in my arrest hanging from a tower in the Narrows by the next time the sun sets."

"And the Superintendent?" Sharrahonzu asked.

"Leave her be," The Faerie replied "She might be of some use to us yet."

_{in collaboration with @Kingfisher}

---

"Where are we going Shaun?" Lorelai's head rested against the window of her car. The people and sights of Santa Somabra flashed by. Each sight seemed spotlighted by the street lamps, standing resplendant in its gritty glory against the grey concrete of this man-made jungle of flesh and sin.

"To meet Madame Bloodbloom, as I said Mi'lady." Lorelai was excited. Her smile of late had seemed almost carved into her dead flesh, as if nothing could remove it. She'd collected her blade, and her finest thralls for this meeting. Clad in a blood red dress complete with black frills and hints of lace she was looking to make a good first impression. Shaun had said something about the juxtaposition of her appearance and her predatory gaze being 'striking', and had helped her pick the ensemble.

The car came to a halt in front of a large building. It stretched into the sky as a behemoth of glass and steel. Ensconced inside the towering ediface was her new would-be liege. Lorelai paused on the steet while Shaun fixed her bow and smoothed her dress and hair. "You are truly terrible to behold Mi'lady, are you ready?"

Lorelai stepped towards the pair of gatemen outside the building. "Lorelai Von'Strauss, here for a meeting."

"Weapons check." The men gave her a thorough but respectful pat down before ensuring her thralls were unarmed. "We'll hold on to these, and return them to you on the way out." They'd taken up a small collection of auto-pistols and combat knives.

"In the interest of transparency I'll have you keep this as well." Lorelai handed one of the men the long attache containing her sword. He nearly dropped it due to the surprising weight of the thing. Lorelai's blade was composed of an imminently dense adamantine alloy fully capable of splitting most modern metals with ease.

"Have a seat in the lobby, someone will collect you when the boss is ready to meet with you." They gestured into the building.

Lorelai was a little disappointed that she'd have to wait, but took her seat in the lavish lobby anyway. She paged through various magazines while she waited. "Ma'am, please relax. It'll be here soon enough." Shaun's brow was wrinkled with worry as she looked up.

"I'm quite alright Shaun. this isn't anger dear, it's anticipation."

Some time later, a trim Faerie with slicked back reddish brown hair came striding into the lobby, all done up in bright black shoes and a hand-tailored suit.

"Miss Von'Strauss?" The man regarded Lorelai with a sharp smile "Mister Vladimir called ahead. Miss Bloodbloom is ready to see you now."

The Faerie gestures behind him with one delicate, almost feminine hand.

"My employer is in the steam room. We can provided a change of clothes if you and your companion don't have a bathing suit handy."

"Clever!"" Lorelai stood, grinning ear to ear. "Yet another layer of protection, see Shaun? Much wiser than...whatever his name was."

"Indeed Mi'lady." Shaun said simply as he turned to the Faerie. "We'll have to avail ourselves of your offer then, thank you."

The two stepped into the small locker room that the attendant showed them. Sure enough two simple bathing suits awaited, a one-piece for Lorelai, and a set of swimming shorts for Shaun. They quickly changed into the articles before allowing themselves to be led to the steam room.

"Ma'am, if you'd allow me to announce you when we see her." Shaun pushed the door to the steam room open. "Madam Bloodbloom, I'm pleased to present Lady Lorelai Von'Strauss." Shaun offered a small bow as his mistress entered behind him.

Nyxie was spread out across the humid stone backbench which ran across one side of the room; her gigantic form squeezed into a designer two-piece that was just about managing to hold everything in.

"Miss Von'Strauss." The Faerie smiled warmly by way of greeting, tilting her head in an act of casual inclination.

"Please," she gave a slight wave of one hand "have a seat."

The steam room itself resembled a small cave of smooth blue stone, with multi-coloured lights bouncing off of the walls and breaking through the thick veil of cloud-like vapour which wafted over the room. The temperature of the room was tailored exactly to the Faerie's personal preferences, whilst also taking into consideration Vampire's inherent vulnerability to heat.

"Now," Nyxvira clasped her fat hands together, giving her knuckles a sharp crack "what is it that I can do for the pair of you?"

Lorelai offered a small bow before taking a seat on one of the benches. She hated steam rooms, but at least the rotund Faerie had been considerate enough to keep the heat low enough to only be annoying as opposed to insufferable.

"This is about what I'd like to do for you." Lorelai spoke cheerily. "You see I'm a bit into my old age now, and have found my unlife growing tedious."

Lorelai's laugh echoed off the walls of the room. "I've decided that my life has become to comfortable, and was hoping you might serve to remedy that." She made a broad gesture with one arm. "I'm here to offer my service, and promise to see you at the top of this city on a throne of the broken bodies of your enemies. For the right price of course."

Nyxvira considered this for a moment, her theatrical smile never losing its warmth.

She knew Lorelai's type. Women like her weren't interested in financial gain. What she craved was excitement; the kind that only the queen of Santa Somabra could offer her. Why else would the childe of Vladimir be on her doorstep? There was a reason she'd refrained from shackling herself to the Nyctari, after all.

"You've not been in the city long." The Faerie stated bluntly. This was not a question.

"I'll assume you're not versed in some of the cities more...clandestine passtimes. The snuff industry, for example, is something which Concetto Nyctari gets a HUGE chunk of his business from." Nyxie spread her arms apart for emphasis.

"He employs people with all sorts of interesting connections to scour the streets for him, and find the freshest meat possible to use in his little home movies. His most recent 'talent scout' was a man named Jamie, who seems to have gone missing all of a sudden."

The Faerie cocked her head ever-so-slightly, shooting Lorelai a sly wink.

"With him out of the picture, Concetto will be looking for a new recruiter. My people inside the Nyctari can whisper in all the right ears, and get something solid set up. What I need is someone who can get inside Concetto's operation, and find out how everything works, so that we can start tearing it all apart."

She shifted her bulk about, sending ripples through her gigantic form.

"There's an abandoned casino the Nyctari use for filming and the like. If you can play that part I need of you and start feeding me information, then I'll reward you with more excitement than you can handle. It'll be very James Bond."

Once she'd finished, Nyxie pressed her thumb against a button in the side of the wall; turning to speak into the well-disguised intercom.

"Have Engstrom make me a rack of spare ribs with Hoisin sauce...and a couple portions of chips."

She turned back to the pair who sat across from her.

"Can I get you guys anything?"

"An elven red if you have it, otherwise we're fine thank you." Lorelai was excited at the prospect of infiltraton. Shaun meanwhile began fanning his mistress. "So you'd like me to play the part of this recruiter then? Finding people to die for my own enjoyment has never been a problem, I don't imagine finding them for the enjoyment of others will be all that difficult." She let out a decidedly demented giggle.

"I think I could handle that yes." Lorelai flashed her new patron a bright, malevolent grin

"A bottle of elven red, for the lady." Nyxvira said into the intercom, before taking her thumb off of the button.

"So, it looks like we're at an agreement, then." She grinned darkly "Who knows what sort of crazy bat-shit fun we'll get up to together?"

“You can’t rely solely on others, Persephone.” Doctor Alves said calmly, sitting across from the young girl in his broad black chair.

“I know,” Persephone sighed, playing nervously with a lock of strawberry blonde hair “but I just feel like I shouldn’t have to be completely self-sufficient, you know?”

“We’ve been over this,” the doctor spoke in a firm voice, but one which lacked even the slightest hint of irritation “Your parents are in a difficult position right now, and from the way you make it sound they weren’t particularly reliable beforehand.”

“I just don’t understand why!” She tensed up all of a sudden, feeling her pulse quicken.

“I think you know why, Persephone.”

“The dust...right.” The young girl said quietly.

“I know you’re reluctant to tell anyone, and doctor patient privilege has my hands bound, but I would strongly advise you to mention it to a teacher at school, or even the police if you feel up to it.”

Persephone snorted loudly.

“Yeah, right. Like Santa Somabra cops give a shit about a couple of deadbeats with a drug problem.”

“I think you’d be surprised,” Alves gave a little shrug “I’d struggle to believe that every single cop is crooked. And if we live in a world where Nyxvira Bloodbloom can be called in for questioning, who knows what might happen.”

“I guess.” Persephone replied, clearly unconvinced.

“Come on,” The Doctor said, rising up out of his chair “I’ll write you your prescription.”

The two made their way out of the small room and down the corridor which led to reception. It was a fairly spacious expanse, with clean white walls and the sort of comfy chairs you only got in the nicer hospitals.

“I’ll just be a second,” Alves said with a reassuring smile, as he slipped behind the desk and into the back room.

It was then that the screaming started.

A shrill shriek came screeching from way down in the streets below. Soon, the patients in the waiting room were on their feet, all crowded around the window as they fought to see what was happening.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Someone yelped.

“This fucking city man…” said a man in disbelief.

Persephone rushed over to join the rabble, slipping through to the front so that she could see what everyone was looking at.

The sight which greeted the young woman filled her heart with dread.

---

The Lich Lord Henning Maddrish sat calmly in the blacked out apartment, the cool breeze of an open window dancing softly off of his back, and making the curtains blow gently into the room.

In his time he had been a Grand Duke, an assassin, a necromancer, and -most recently- a crime boss. Now, the pale figure combined all those roles, as he waited to carry out a mission which would set him on the final stages of his journey to become a god.

The door opened with a dull creek, whilst a hand extended into the darkness and flicked a switch. The apartment lit up in a sudden flash, revealing the Lich Lord in all his calculated majesty.

“I was hoping you’d given up.” An old man said with sadness in his voice, as he gazed across at Henning from his spot in the doorway.

“Don’t comfort yourself with such preposterous delusions,” Henning grinned “I’d never stop hunting you.”

“By all the gods and demons!” The old man barked “Don’t you understand? I’m trying to protect you!”

“Like you secret order was supposed to protect this city?” The Lich sneered “The Obstacle failed, and so have you. You and all your high-born kin were just as weak and susceptible to corruption as the rest of this motherfucking shit hole city.”

The old man was silent for a moment, before he spoke at last.

“You know I won’t part with the key. You know I can’t.”

Henning rose from his resting place and bolted across the room, grabbing hold of the old man by the scruff of his collar, and forcing his head out of the open window.

“Look!” He hissed, gripping the old man tightly. “Look at what your cowardice has led to.”

All across Santa Somabra, the city burned.

The Brotherhood of Rot had come crawling out of their sewers, and they had brought their dark plagues with them. Nowhere was safe from the army of the dead, as they bled out into the streets and left only destruction in their putrid wake.

This went beyond a riot. This was a full-blown invasion.

“You’re mad..” The old man spluttered.

“I prefer the term psychologically liberal.” Henning said with a smirk.

“Alright,” The old man let his shoulders slump in defeat, as he reached into his pocket and fished out a dull bronze key “I’m done running.”

Henning took the key, feeling it's cold metal touch.

“Thank you.” Henning said.

Then he threw the old man out of the window.

She was jinxed, clearly. Perhaps she had, in a drunken stupor some time ago, walked underneath a ladder after breaking a mirror and then crossed paths with a brigade of black cats. At this point it was the only explanation Valorie had left for her extreme run of misfortune. Well, either that convoluted string of unlucky superstitions after unlucky superstitions or she had actually been cursed by some practitioner of witchcraft. It wasn’t such an impossible idea considering the kind of people she ran into in parties thrown by the Rats, or the kind of things she had done in those parties. Even back then she knew that she had been a mighty asshole. Still, petty squabbles usually didn’t result in an entire city being turned upside down.

Valorie could live with the thought that perhaps, just this once, the universe did not revolve around her. Not like coming to peace with that idea really mattered all too much anyway, considering that she was going to be dead within the next five minutes. Of course, that was assuming the door would hold until then, the hinges creaking as a body heaved itself against the opposite side with reckless abandon. She watched as she leaned up against the wall, a dead end, with her final cigarette smoldering away between her lips. The door bulged again and begun to splinter.

Valorie leveled the gun Cain had given her with quiet resolve while trying to steady herself against her own heavy breaths. There was a sharp pain in her side from running, and with every breath it felt as if she was being stabbed through the ribs: the cost of smoking like a chimney. She drew in another jagged drag of smoke, wincing as her lungs struggled to find some kind of oxygen. Yeah, maybe she should quit smoking, or she could just be one of the vaping douchebags. She huffed out what seemed to be a laugh at the thought. Never in a million years. Still, the pain in her side distracted her from the hundred other wounds stinging her body.

The door exploded open in a hail of dust and splinters. She smiled; there was something about a necromancer being torn to pieces by a mindless horde of marauding undead that just felt fitting. She only regretted that it wasn’t her mindless horde of marauding undead. The first of the bodies emerged from the cloud emitting around the broken door frame. Valorie wrapped her one hand around the other to steady her shaking aim as the body steadied itself against the frame before stepping forward with a groan. Beyond it, she could make out the shape of several others.

Sorry, Cain. Guess you’re gonna have another lonely night.

The gun went off with a loud crack.




“Can I also get some of those, uh, creamcheese things? Like a dozen?”

“Crab Rangoon?” offered the cashier. “That’s all?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Valorie, handing the cashier some money.

“Ten minutes.”

The young woman slumped down in a delipidated booth inside of the brightly lit, white walled Chinese restaurant that reminded her more of a laundromat than a place you’d come to eat if not for the delicious aroma coming from beyond the swinging kitchen door. Red and blue lights blurred by on the streets outside, although sirens in Santa Somabra were just another part of its ambience. A TV set to some late evening game show had its sound drowned out by a radio on the counter that was set to the eighties station. Valorie tried to ignore the synth keys as she watched some overweight, middle American contestant jump up and down because some old dude with a sprayed on tan was giving them a couple hundred bucks. She rolled her eyes. She could easily make ten times that much money just by doing her new gig and walk away with her dignity at the end of the day.

More sirens wailed by, briefly painting the walls of the restaurant in pulsating colors. Valorie craned her neck and looked outside as even more emergency vehicles quickly drove by the tiny street. She guessed it had probably something to do with that gang bullshit Cain had gotten himself caught up in, shrugged her shoulders, and turned back to the TV. However, there was no smiling, shit-eating host or stupid, overly enthusiastic contestant on the screen. A man in a decent suit was sitting behind a desk with a grim look on his face, a video of a fire playing in the background. A red ticker was running across the bottom of the screen, but the words were too tiny for Valorie to make out. The radio cut out, replaced instead by the loud beeps not unlike the ones used to broadcast tornado warnings out in the Midwest. A feeling of dread crept over her. The girl turned her head back to look out the window.

Valorie could not say what it was that came smashing through the window, but she knew that she wasn’t going to stick around to find out. Bolting out of her seat, the girl hopped over the countertop and charged through the swinging door with her shoulder. One of the cooks started yelling to her loudly, but was quickly cutoff as a loud bang and a fireball erupted through door. Valorie could feel the heat on her back and the end of her ponytail crisping as she dove behind a prep station, banging her knees and elbows against the hard tile floor. She could hear shouting mixed with pained whimpers as she slowly pulled herself up to her feet, looking over at the burnt up swinging door. From the smoke she could see a mass of figures moving forward. From their jerky, mechanical motions Valorie could quickly tell what they were; the staff soon found out as one of the ghouls lunged forward and began tearing into a man.

Fuck me, just let it be shamblers.

The thought was barely out of her head as the dead, catching sight and scent of the living, began scrambling to fall upon their easy meal. Valorie watched as the creatures became red of tooth and claw as they tore into the soft bellies of the staff, washing the already dirty kitchen in a flood of grime and gore. For a moment she was unable to peel her eyes away from the scene, her eyes drinking in the carnage, because there was something to learn even in observing mindless zombies. Soon her better senses pulled her out of her stupor, yet it was too late for already the walkers had caught sight of what would look to them as yet another tasty snack.

Valorie ran, and the horde ran after her. She chucked herself through the back alley door and skirted around a dumpster towards the main road. A bright orange was filling the sky despite the sun having set, and before she made it to the sidewalk even more of the undead began pouring into the alleyway. Cut off from the main street, she bolted down another side alley, and then another, and then another. Without even looking over her shoulder she could tell that the mass was still coming. Cursing loudly, she unzipped her bag to grab one of her emergency vials of Demon’s Blood.

Truth be told, she was rather scared of using the drug, but all things considered it seemed like the only option. However, the horde was too close for her to mess with the vial outside in the alley. Spying a broken factory window, Valorie squeezed through the missing panes of glass—only for a zombie to snag hold of her bag as she slipped through. Knowing that she was going to lose in a tug-of-war, Valorie reached in and snatched out what she could and bolted deeper into the factory, passing by rows of broken crates and damaged conveyor belts.

She could hear glass breaking behind her as the groans echoed throughout the warehouse. She was out of breath by this point and knew that she could not run for much longer. She also knew that running was her only way to survive. Coming upon a door, the young necromancer quietly opened it, slipped inside, and bolted it shut. Valorie placed her hand over her thumping heart and tried to silence her rasping breath, fearful that the ghouls might overhear her. The gun in her other hand felt foreign and heavy. It may not have been Demon’s Blood, but she was just as uncomfortable with a gun as she was with the drug. Placing the weapon down on a side table next to her, the girl leaned up against the door and fished a cigarette out of the pack in her hoodie.

Taking a long, slow drag, Valorie scanned the dark room for a way out. Already she could tell that there were no windows and no other exits. Stacks of boxes lined the walls and a desk with a busted out tube TV and an old IBM computer were the only features she could make out in the dim light cast by her lighter. She sighed out a cloud of smoke and told herself that she’d be fine as long as none of the bastards saw her enter the—the door jolted violently and Valorie jumped in shock, making her way beyond the beat-up desk and pushing her back against the far wall. She patted her pockets for her phone only to realize that it, like the vials of Demon’s Blood, was lost with her purse. She was alone.

Meaning I’m fucked.



Of course she thought she’d miss, but did it have to be every shot? She should have saved herself a fucking bullet. Seething with anger, Valorie let her hand holding the gun drop as the creatures pushed their way around the shitty barricade she had made with the desk and the boxes. She bared her teeth like a vicious dog at the mindless monsters, yet she couldn’t help but feel a bit of sorrow. Not because she was going to die, although that was a hard fucking pill to swallow, but because these creatures clearly lacked control. Unlike the zombie friends of Hurk that she had met, these ones lacked what had once made them human. They were unwhole, incomplete, failures even. Valorie’s lips curled up into an almost cruel grin.

They were controllable.

A decomposing hand was reaching out for her face when Valorie barked an order outloud in an ancient tongue. She could smell the rot under her nose and feel the crooked fingertips brushing her chin, but the zombie had stopped—and he wasn’t the only one to do so. All eight of the monsters in the room had frozen still as if they had been playing a game of red light-green light. Valorie could feel her connection to each and every one of the undead as it pushed back against the necromancer that had shoddily risen them.

The thing about raising the dead is that if you do it inefficiently or on mass, say to start some kind of zombie apocalypse, control gets rather easy to strip away when you weren’t around to monitor them. It’s the exact reason why Valorie could easily control Sammy whenever she had wanted to, and the same reason whenever she raised a human they quickly escaped back into the afterlife. The other thing about raising the dead is that they, in a way, become a part of you. Somewhere in Santa Somabra there was another necromancer right now who felt like something was missing, who felt ill at ease. And now, Valorie was going to put these shamblers out of their miserable state and destroy that something.

She barked out another order and leaned up against the wall, smoking another cigarette as the zombies turned on one another and began shredding into each others’ rotting flesh. She could smell a fire in the factory somewhere but made no motion to move quite yet. There was a lesson here she told herself as her eyes drank in the decaying viscera and sprays of dark blood, and Valorie was not going to rob herself of a learning experience. Besides, who doesn’t like a little bit of gore?

She leaned in with her lighter in hand to cast an orange glow around the last two remaining zombies as they clawed, tore, and bit at one another. She’d watch them like an emperor watches two gladiators fight, and then she’d reward the winner with her own knife. Valorie stepped forward as one of them stopped moving and rolled the survivor onto his back. She stared down into the cloudy, empty eyes and she pulled out her ceremonial dagger, flipped it around in her hand, and sat down on top of the creature. There was something painfully innocent in the way the zombie looked up at her and for a moment Valorie hesitated, but only for a moment. She jabbed the knife in and didn’t stop until she was satisfied, her hands black with filth.

Valorie didn’t move for some time afterwards, letting the mire and the stench of the corpses radiating around her bathe her. Finally, with an almost meditative exhale, the necromancer stood up, but only because she could see the fire spreading closer. She cleaned the blade and her hands the best she could using the inside of her hoodie and then pocketed it. As well, she picked up Cain’s gun and tucked that away into her waistband like some third-rate thug. Taking one last look at the carnage, Valorie doubled back through the now empty factory, grabbed her purse where it had fallen, and began the treacherous trip back to Cain’s. Hopefully the old man would be okay with grilled cheese for dinner.