Drip... drip... drip...
Mist clung to the angled, slick surfaces of the darkened alley, pooling along the sagging shanty roofs that hemmed in the narrow passage and trickling down the sinister gargoyles perched on the taller buildings beyond. Water fell steadily from those carved figures onto the street before the shadows where she crouched, her ice-blue eyes cutting through the dark.
Drip... drip... drip...
Waiting.
Drip... drip...
Her kooler rested against the wall, tucked into the shade of a wheeled trashter, while her spear lay loosely across her knees. She didn't expect to need the weapon tonight, but carrying it cost her nothing — not here, not anywhere in the capital. She'd even bring it up into the spires among high society, if she ever had cause to go there. She wouldn't, though. Not someone like her, born of the streets.
Not far off, a riot was underway. She could make out its distant roar — shattering glass, cries of pain and fear — as city enforcers worked to crush the slum protesters. The Valrathian forces would come out on top, as they always did. Nothing in this city lasted long against the Vampire Lords once it drew their notice; retribution always came fast and hard.
Once the fighting died down, she planned to head that way, hoping to find some casualty too wounded or dead to resist. Clashes like this one usually left a few behind, abandoned by fleeing comrades who'd run rather than face the Valrathi shotguns. Her kooler sat empty, and she needed to fill it if she wanted food this week.
For now she stayed still, watching, waiting for some injured wanderer to stumble her way and land, unknowing, on the edge of her blade. It wasn't an honest way to survive, but honesty was in short supply in a city run by vampires and stalked by demons.
Her ears twitched.
Someone approached.
⁂
Synthblood kept the vampire capital of Valmyr running, the Dominion itself included. It was also what had dragged him out into this damp night.
Investigator Yakub Crowley cut through the tangle of alleys, moving away from the noise of breaking glass and raised voices. Most nights, the two enforcers trailing him — a scarred, heavyset fenrir and a sleek, sharp-eyed nekora — would have been pushing back rioters on the front lines, forcing them back toward the slums. Tonight he'd pulled them from that duty to help with his own case. Somewhere in this maze of alleys, home to the desperate and the dangerous, a small operation was brewing illegal synthblood for the black market. Normally Yakub, himself a vampire, wouldn't have bothered with such minor players — their product gave lower-tier vampires like him a cheaper, riskier alternative to the tightly controlled drug. But this particular dealer had drawn attention from above. Their batches were stronger than typical back-alley stock, strong enough to threaten the comfort of bigger interests.
So orders had come down that Yakub was to shut the operation down for good. He was the investigator; he would track down these so-called criminals and remove them — which explained why he'd brought muscle along.
"This ain't my idea of a good time, boss," the female enforcer said from behind him as Yakub stopped at an intersection to check around the corner.
"Same," her partner agreed, his scowl as fixed as always. "I'd rather be back at the station cracking skulls than soaking in this piss-stink of an alley."
"Rain falls everywhere, idiot," Yakub said quietly, eyes fixed on the darkness ahead. "You'd be wet no matter where you stood."
"Sure, but if I'm busy breaking protester bones, I'm too happy to care," the enforcer shot back. The female laughed under her breath, though Yakub couldn't see what was funny about it. He narrowed his eyes, running a hand absently over the tangled scars beneath his high collar — the mark of a transformation that hadn't gone cleanly when he took the kiss. He sometimes wondered if those scars were why he'd stalled out as an investigator instead of rising through vampire society. Still, he counted himself fortunate to have survived the process when it started going wrong. He could just as easily have ended up a thrall — mindless, and ranked below even the slum-dwellers of Valrathian society.
As a faint thirst began creeping in while he weighed their situation, he drew a vial of red from his pocket and drank it down, tossing the empty glass aside with a small shatter. He exhaled sharply. As the hunger faded and that familiar surge of strength filled him, he turned his attention back to the alleys ahead. Something felt off.
"Why are we stopped?" the brute demanded, trying to shove past him.
"Wait," Yakub said, raising a hand to hold him back.
"What's wrong?" the female asked.
Yakub's mouth curved slowly into a grim line.
"Something's hunting us," he said.
⁂
Three figures stood ahead. Two wore full enforcer gear, helmets off, stubby shotguns in hand and stun mauls at their belts. The third wore a long dark raincoat over neat civilian clothes, and carried the unmistakable scent of vampire.
Trouble.
She weighed her choices.
Ordinarily she'd have steered well clear of these three, but they were walking through her territory — closer still, they were nearing her regular buyer's shop. If they'd come this way, they were likely after him, since a vampire wouldn't normally set foot in a place this run-down otherwise.
From her perch on an overhanging roof, she tracked their path through her stretch of slum. The vampire moved carefully, as though he understood the risk of being here. His two enforcer escorts showed none of that caution, likely assuming nothing out here posed a real threat to them. Part of her wanted to prove them wrong.
She knew better than to take on all three directly, especially with a vampire in the mix. Her better move was to separate them and strike when one was isolated from the rest. Her kooler only had space for a single body anyway.
She straightened and moved off across the rooftop with quiet speed, leaping to the next building and vanishing into the fog. This was her ground. They'd learn to tread carefully on it.
⁂
"What are we standing around for?"
The fenrir enforcer's patience was wearing thin at Yakub's careful pace.
"Quiet," the investigator snapped. "I'm working out where the threat's coming from."
"Or you're just scared," the fenrir muttered.
Yakub let the comment pass, though the nekora shot her partner an uneasy look, clearly uncomfortable with him mouthing off at a vampire, even a low-ranking one. The fenrir didn't seem to notice her discomfort at all.
Not the sharpest one, this guy.
Then again, Yakub doubted the fenrir's life had ever demanded much cleverness. He was a bully through and through, with a cruel streak, and his recklessness would eventually land him in trouble his strength couldn't fix.
"There!" the female hissed, pointing. Yakub followed her gesture.
Her eyesight was sharp — he could barely make out a small figure standing in the fog at the end of a side alley. She was short, wrapped in a worn coat with a peaked hood hiding most of her face except for strands of dark hair, and she held a spear fitted with attachments along the shaft below its blade.
Yakub held his gaze on her for a long stretch while she stayed perfectly still. Then she stepped backward and vanished into the silvery mist.
"Looks like we've found what's hunting us," Yakub said calmly.
The larger enforcer snorted dismissively and pushed past him.
"She's mine."
He lifted his shotgun and moved down the alley. The nekora started to follow in support, but Yakub stopped her with an outstretched arm.
"Let him handle it," he said.
"What if he needs help?" she asked.
"If one girl's too much for him, he's earned whatever happens."
She stared up at him, unsettled by the strange look on his face. When she tried pushing past him again, gun raised, he held his ground, his red eyes catching the dim light. His tone turned firm.
"If you want any chance of taking the kiss someday, you'll listen to me." She eased back, lowering the shotgun. "Good. Head back to the precinct. There's nothing more to find here tonight."
With that, he pocketed his hands and turned away from the direction the fenrir had gone. She stared after him, then glanced once more toward her partner before falling into step behind the investigator.
⁂
Rak pressed on through the twisting alleys, shotgun up, swinging around each corner ready for trouble.
The girl had vanished from sight. It took a few moments longer for him to notice his backup had too.
"Cowards," he spat. Fine by him — he didn't need help bringing down one girl. Felsia was decent in a fight, better than most of his coworkers, but she had a habit of holding back once an opponent was beaten. Where was the fun in that?
As for the vampire investigator, the guy was clearly useless in a fight anyway.
A noise made him freeze, and he strained to listen in the eerie quiet. The fog swallowed most city sounds — even the riot's noise had faded entirely out here. Maybe his fellow enforcers had already finished off the protesters. Rak grumbled inwardly at missing the action.
Well, he'd make his own fun right here.
"Come out, little girl," he called. "Drop that spear — it won't save you."
He caught the sound of quick footsteps and spun just in time to block a wide swing of the spearhead against his shotgun's barrel. Despite the gun's solid metal build, the blade sank deep into the firing mechanism, bending the action out of shape; when he wrenched it free and tried firing anyway, it jammed solid.
The girl smiled, her ice-blue eyes flashing, and pulled the spear back for a thrust toward his chest.
Nice try, girl, he thought, satisfied, letting the dead weapon fall and grabbing the spear's shaft with both hands. Her smile vanished, replaced by irritation, as she first yanked back and then shoved forward again. But his size and strength won out, and with a grin of his own he began forcing the weapon from her grip.
"Tough luck, girl. Your ambush fell apart, didn't it? I'm going to have fun pulling you apart."
She snarled, teeth clicking together in frustration, as the spear inched closer to his chest.
"Give up already!" the enforcer laughed. "You've lost!"
"You're the idiot," she answered. "Take this!"
Her finger found a hidden trigger along the haft, and the cartridges ringed around the spearhead flared to life. Jets of steam hissed out as aetheric energy surged into the blade, turning it blue-white. A mirrored image of the metal blade, forged entirely from glowing energy, launched forward and struck his chest, punching through his breastplate, through his heart, and out his back in a hissing spray of vaporized blood. The energy blade faded seconds later. Shock froze on the enforcer's face, almost peaceful, before he dropped and died within a few heartbeats.
She stood over the body, her victorious grin curdling into a sour scowl.
"Wasted a damn aetherite cartridge," she muttered, kicking the corpse out of annoyance. After scanning the alley to confirm it was still clear, she hauled him by the ankle toward the shadows where her kooler waited, ready for its passenger.
Looks like she'd eat well this week after all.
⁂
The Butcher was an enormous man, hair thinning and slicked beneath a butcher's cap, breathing through vent grilles fitted into his thick neck — likely installed to help him breathe under the weight of his own bulk. He leaned on the counter of his shop, which opened onto the dim alley, surrounded by hanging strings and cuts of meat. A single security light lit the storefront.
That his shop stayed open this late would have seemed strange anywhere else, but anyone who understood his real business — meat was only the cover — wouldn't blink. He raised a heavy hand in greeting as she approached, dragging the kooler behind her.
"Well, well," he rumbled, a greasy smile spreading across his face. "What brings you by so late?" She wheeled the kooler up and set it down before him, triggering the release that hissed the lid open. The Butcher let out an appreciative whistle at the coffin-shaped contents.
"Big one. Still fresh too," he said, clearly pleased. "This'll make for a good batch."
"Sure, sure," she replied flatly. "Just pay me."
"Patience, patience," the Butcher said, waving over a couple of drone assistants to lift the dead enforcer out and carry him inside, where he'd no doubt soon be wired up to exsanguinators and processing pumps.
"Hey! What's the deal?" she snapped. "You don't get the body until I'm paid!"
"Ease up, kid," the Butcher laughed. "I'm not about to cheat my best supplier. You know my word's good."
"Yeah? Well maybe I'll cheat you instead. My spear's still got a few aether charges left." She raised the weapon to drive the point home. It probably meant little — the Butcher almost certainly had hidden sentry drones covering him — but she couldn't risk looking weak in this business.
"Ha, fair enough!" The Butcher grinned and turned away, digging behind the counter for what she hoped was cash. A moment later he dropped a small stack of bills in front of her, along with a few vials of dark red liquid.
"That's all the cash I've got right now, but those vials should make up the difference."
She eyed the ampoules of synthblood warily as she picked them up.
"What am I supposed to do with these?"
The Butcher wheezed through his neck grilles.
"Not my problem. Trade it, sell it, drink it, toss it in the gutter if you're feeling stupid. It's worth more than the fee alone — there's a shortage right now, you know."
"I'm no trader," she growled.
"I'll take it off your hands," came a voice from down the alley. She whipped around, spear raised toward the figure stepping out of the mist. "You don't need it, kid."
He walked past her, casually pushing the spear's point aside as he passed.
"Investigator Yakub," the Butcher said, his smile obviously forced. "What a surprise. Tell me you're actually here to settle your tab this time."
"You should be thanking me — I just dropped off fresh supply right at your door, Big Guy."
The cadaver supplier's eyes narrowed.
"You're the vampire who was with those enforcers."
"And one of them is currently being turned into your friend's main product," Yakub confirmed. He glanced at the Butcher. "I'd say I'm owed a cut off that order, wouldn't you, Big Guy?" The Butcher waved a reluctant hand in agreement. Yakub turned back to the girl. "The offer's real, and you've earned it after what I saw tonight."
He pulled a roll of notes from his coat. Her eyes widened — that kind of money could keep her fed and off the streets for weeks. When he held it out, she grabbed it and handed over the vials without hesitation.
"Glad we're on the same page," Yakub said with a faint smile.
"Yeah, I said you could trade them," the Butcher grumbled, "not deal them right outside my front door."
"Your 'front door' is drawing attention, Big Guy," Yakub told him. "Might be time to find a new spot in the city."
"Huh. Maybe you're onto something," the Butcher said, blinking, before his expression soured. "But that tip doesn't earn you extra product. My red's worth more than that."
"Call it a favor, given our shared interests, Big Guy," Yakub replied. "And pass my regards to the Noxhavens."
"Ha! No idea what you're talking about, Investigator."
By now the cadaver supplier had tucked her roll of bills safely into her coat and turned to drag her empty kooler back into the fog. Maybe there was still time to find another mark now that the riot had quieted. All things considered, the night had gone well, despite the costly aetherite charge she'd burned through.
Yakub called after her.
"Hey, kid. You handle that spear well. Ever thought about taking the kiss?"
She stopped, turned, and fixed her strange ice-blue eyes on him. After a beat, a cold grin crept across her face.
"You sure you want to find out what I'd be like as a vampire, Mr. Investigator?"
She turned back into the mist, leaving Yakub somewhere between unsettled and amused.
"Eh... maybe not, kid. Maybe not."