“If Alexandra’s behind this,” said Nicholas Boily, “wouldn’t it be simpler to grab her and shake the truth out of her?”

  “Did you see her at the meeting?” I asked. “She’s mad. She lives for revenge. Shake her all you like, she’ll just keep laughing in your face.”

  “Anyone can be broken,” said Nicholas.

  “In an hour?” I shot back.

  He grimaced, conceding the point.

  “So who’s the hostage, and who’s been brainwashed?” he asked.

  “Jenny. And Logan.”

  “Wait, your Logan?! Kinkaid?! Jesus Christ!” the warlock exclaimed.

  These warlocks and religion have a... complicated relationship, so I half-expected a string of colourful profanity instead. But Boily just snatched the receiver and started furiously dialling the rotary phone. He could’ve just used the hook-switch, but odds were, that’d only have pissed him off more, and I quite liked having fingers.

  I launched into rapid-fire speech, trying to keep him from acting too soon.

  “The compulsion’s been dealt with, he’ll stall them. But think about who you’re calling and why, because…”

  I didn’t know how to finish that. Because it’s Logan? My brother? What does that matter in the grand scheme of the clan? Especially now, when Sean was clearly the priority.

  Maybe because Logan would want revenge?

  No. He wouldn’t. If Jenny died, he’d just… fade. Like those dogs that stop eating when their master dies.

  “Because your decision,” I said, “could kill him. Not right away, but you know I’m telling the truth.”

  Nicholas did know. In his line of work, you learn a lot about fighters and about the rest of the clan too.

  He hesitated.

  My heart pounded in my chest.

  The line rang once. Then twice. Someone picked up.

  Boily didn’t speak at first. The voice on the other end repeated the question, and he came back to himself.

  “It’s Nick. What’s the situation? … No, nothing to worry about. … Got a job for you.”

  “If it’s Sean,” I said quietly, “we might be able to use him in the city. I doubt they’re holding Jenny on clan territory. And if we go in force, we’ll only draw attention.”

  Boily nodded, accepting that.

  “Alright… Duncan… Be ready…” Sean must’ve asked who was there and what he should be ready for. Boily answered the first clearly. The second — vaguely. “For everything.”

  He hung up, assessed the situation for half a second, then dialled again.

  “You’re right, Jenny’s definitely not in the district.”

  The next call connected after just one ring.

  “Bob, cancel everything. Get Chief and Important to me. Now! Amulet stays in position.”

  Amulet? That had to be Donald. In the subtler layers of magic, the man lit up like a bloody Christmas tree. Chief? There’s no one higher than Bryce, which made Important McLilly. Yeah, suits him.

  Boily didn’t stop there, he placed another quick call, asked someone else to come in immediately, then turned back to me.

  “Alexandra’s up to her neck in this. She’s turned the basement of her house into a full-blown lab. Cages full of rats: some alive, some not, all very much moving…”

  I remembered the one that nearly killed me, and hazarded a guess:

  “Poisonous?”

  “Could be. McLilly didn’t get a proper look. Alexandra rarely leaves the house. All he managed was to nick a couple of bees.”

  “Bees? Chimera bees?” I clarified. “Poisoned chimera bees?”

  If the venom was as deadly as the one that nearly sent me to the next world — why the hell did she even need werewolves? That mad bitch could’ve taken out half the clan herself.

  “Poisoned, yes, but not the way you think. At first, we couldn’t identify the toxin. The mice didn’t react to it.”

  “And?” I prompted. “Don’t keep me hanging.”

  “The analysis showed that instead of poison, the bees' reservoirs contained a solution carrying the vampirism virus.”

  Well, that’s new…

  Vampirism only survives in weakened human hosts. A healthy immune system fights it off easier than the common cold. It doesn’t even affect mice, not even dead ones. There are some post-mortem changes in animal tissue, but unless you recreate highly specific conditions, the virus can’t persist. Dogs are the only exception, and even then, the chance is tiny.

  Alexandra was clearly aiming at humans, at the people of Bremor. I felt physically ill at the thought. Her plan with the werewolves attacking Avoc and the clan had already been sinister enough…

  But now?

  I’d thought we were looking at a massacre. A pile of bodies and the fall of Bremor. But if even half the fighters were stung by the bees, those corpses would rise.

  Not all of them, of course. Werewolves aren’t exactly gentle in their frenzy. There’d be enough shattered spines, severed heads, and hearts ripped clean out. Then again, a missing heart wasn’t exactly a dealbreaker for turning. The vampire’s internal organs rebuild themselves. What does matter is the hunger. And that would be worse in broken bodies than in relatively intact ones.

  We’d be looking at fifty… maybe a hundred trained hunters, newly-turned, with a thirst that obliterates all rational thought.

  And who do fledgling vampires seek out?

  Always the people they loved in life. That’s why the best answer to a turning is a bullet to the head. We’re trained for that.

  Whoever put this plan together, a brilliant mind without question, knew that.

  “There has to be someone in the city with command over young blood,” I said. “Or Alexandra’s been given that power.”

  Nicholas shook his head.

  “It’s a vampire. A human can hold sway over young blood with words, but they can never master the call.”

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  I nodded. Agreed.

  Unlike werewolves, who follow strength and power, vampires obey bloodline. The thicker the dark magic in your veins, the stronger your authority over the turned. Which means… unless Alexandra runs around to every corpse, giving orders not to attack her, an experienced leech could wordlessly command the entire horde.

  Or lead them away. Into the forest. Onto lorries. By train.

  Who’s going to stop them when the streets are rivers of blood?

  And a few years later, an elite squad of vampires, hunters, trained in our lands, familiar with the terrain, but with no loyalty to the clan, returns to Bremshire.

  That would be the end of us.

  Cold, sticky sweat prickled down my back.

  “I’m guessing you haven’t found the leech,” I said.

  But Nicholas surprised me, he gave a rather pleased grin.

  “You know how they stay in touch? … There were pigeons in the basement too. Along with the rats.”

  “Chimeras?” I asked.

  “Of course. We were planning to release them after we nabbed Alexandra, to track the signal…”

  A knock at the door.

  In came Lisa Logg — a short, round-faced brunette with the kindly look of a lifelong baker. She must’ve been the one Nicholas had called earlier.

  “You rang, Nicky?” she asked.

  Boily nodded toward the card in my hand. I passed it to Lisa.

  She didn’t seem to notice anything odd and took it without hesitation.

  “What’s the number?”

  “Presumably the werewolves,” Nicholas said. “Do what you need, keep it quiet, but I want to know where it is in ten minutes.”

  Lisa spun on her heel with surprising energy and reached for the doorknob, then stopped, turned back slowly, and asked:

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  In the subtler layers, the earrings in her ears shimmered with blood. Threads of enchantment wrapped around her head.

  “There’s compulsion on the card,” I said. “Planted on one of ours, with a very specific task. So take it seriously.”

  “You couldn’t have said that earlier?”

  “If you’d rushed in too eagerly, it wouldn’t have mattered.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Lisa promised before leaving the office.

  Nicholas turned back to me.

  “So, you’re suggesting we ‘kill’ Sharon?”

  “Why not? We did it with Robert.”

  “That was on clan territory — no one could check.”

  “We can isolate a house in Avoc,” I said. “Bring in people, stir up some noise, splash a litre or two of blood for scent. But none of that matters if we can’t find where they’re keeping Jenny.”

  The phone rang. Nicholas picked up and glanced my way.

  “Yes? … Right. … Bring it here, I’ll pass it on.”

  He hung up. I was about to ask what that was about, but the door opened again.

  Bryce and Bryan entered, their formal suits swapped for practical gear. Ties gone, boots on, potion satchels slung over shoulders. In short, dressed for battle.

  Uncle said nothing, simply took a seat by the window. McLilly, however, glanced at me and smirked.

  “Well, who’d have guessed?”

  I ignored the jab. Apparently all my bravado had leaked out with the blood. Speaking of which, I'd have to do a severing ritual later. Otherwise, knowing Betty, she might hit me with a love charm next.

  It took about five minutes to bring Uncle up to speed. He spent another five thinking it over. Then Lisa returned with the address.

  “Vogeltown. 58 Donald Street.”

  “That’s right across from Feron’s,” I said.

  “Not quite,” Lisa corrected. “Number sixty’s directly opposite. Can I help with anything else?”

  “No,” Bryce shook his head. “Thank you. Don’t take any action, Lisa.”

  “How?!” I blurted. Werewolves smell. Especially after a fight. Not to humans, maybe, but dogs and shifters would sniff them out in no time.

  Then again, what was I thinking? We’ve got potions that mask scent. Wouldn’t be surprised if the enemy used them. And how many times had I seen people, whose power was far beyond my grasp, pretend to be ordinary? The werewolves had already proven they were more than just mindless brutes. The principle of hiding in plain sight still applied.

  “What worries me,” Nicholas said, “is whether there’s actually a girl in there, or if it’s just a decoy flat.”

  “There’ll be someone,” Bryce replied. “It’s a good position. And Logan needs watching, just in case he falters.”

  “We know he might,” I interjected. “Remember how Alexandra sees us. In her eyes, the Kinkaids are nothing but bloodthirsty, selfish beasts.”

  Another knock at the door. It creaked open and Eugene McLal poked his moustached head through the gap.

  “Come in, Doctor,” Bryce said. “You have something for us?”

  Eugene stepped in with surprising purpose, holding up a small jar of ointment. He entered fully and closed the door.

  “Here,” he said, handing it to me.

  In the subtle layers, the jar glowed with grey-blue light tinged with green: earth, ether, and blood. I took it, unscrewed the lid, and sniffed carefully.

  Most potions and medical concoctions don’t exactly smell pleasant, but this one, a brown oily mass, had the scent of clay, pine, and just a hint of eucalyptus. Surprisingly pleasant, actually.

  “How do I apply it?”

  “A thin layer over the discoloured patches,” the doctor instructed, then turned to Bryce and Nicholas. “I guess Duncan’s condition isn’t cause for alarm, so I strongly recommend extended rest. Keep that in mind. Duncan, did you hear me?”

  “Of course, Doctor,” I assured him.

  “All the best, gentlemen,” he said and took his leave.

  I screwed the lid back on, dipped my grey-stained pinkie into the jar, scooped up some of the thick paste, and started rubbing it into the other finger. The ointment dried almost immediately, forming a solid, brick-coloured crust.

  “You look rough,” Uncle said. “Was it worth it?”

  I was about to give a sharp answer, but caught a glimpse of the element in my source, and thought better of it. It was full.

  “Hm...” I said. “Maybe it was. But we should get back to the more important point.”

  The paste on my finger had dried completely, forming a hard shell. I flexed, and the crust crumbled away like brick dust. The skin underneath had returned to its normal colour.

  So that’s how it worked, it simply drew the excess magic out of the body and converted it on the spot. I imagined Harry could’ve done the same with a single spell. I wasn’t quite there yet.

  “We’ll handle things from here,” Bryce said. “Doctor’s orders — you rest.”

  “He recommended,” I corrected. “And said my condition isn’t alarming.”

  Uncle frowned.

  I stood my ground.

  “This is Logan! He trusted me. If you kick me out, I’ll go straight to Aunt Mary. And you know how she gets when she’s emotional.”

  Uncle looked ready to do something unpleasant, he stood up with a very grim, very final sort of look. But...

  “Wait,” Bryan said.

  Surprisingly, Bryce listened.

  McLilly frowned, thinking it over.

  “Let him stay involved,” he said.

  “You’ve lost your mind,” Bryce replied flatly.

  “What are our chances of actually saving the girl?” Bryan asked. “You’ve seen those creatures in action. They’ll snap her neck before we’re even through the door. If she’s even there at all.”

  “What exactly are you proposing?” Bryce returned to his seat by the window.

  “We need to lure them out,” Bryan said. “And Duncan’s the bait. He’s the only one Logan trusts. If they’ve been gathering intel on the clan, if Alexandra told them anything, then they’ll know who Duncan is: not especially dangerous, but constantly poking his nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

  “I doubt they’ve got that detailed a file on me,” I muttered.

  “We clear the Feron house. First Sean, then the guards, then Duncan makes the call. He says he and Logan are at Sharon’s, tricked the guards — and the girl stays alive until they show him Jenny. Buy us ten, twenty minutes.”

  “Minimum thirty,” Nicholas interjected. “Less than that and it’ll seem suspicious, like we know how close they are. More than that, and they’ll wonder where Duncan stashed the guards. Better yet, don’t give them a time limit at all, it’ll make them nervous.”

  “If they bring Jenny outside, we’ll have a window,” I said.

  “We could set traps,” I offered. “In Farnell, I saw the Special Police Unit take down several master vampires in seconds, flattened the matriarch, too. They used a massive field of steel and sand seals and spells designed to stir emotions.”

  “Riling up werewolves when they’re holding a hostage is not a good idea,” Bryce countered. “And setting up those kinds of traps takes time and manpower. It’ll get noticed.”

  “Even without traps, we might have a shot,” McLilly insisted. “Best case, we get a mutt without any reservoir stones under the skin. One clean shot to the skull might give us time to cloak the girl.”

  “And if he has reservoirs?” Bryce asked. I remembered bullets fired nearly point-blank just curving away from a werewolf. “We could end up shooting Jenny!”

  “Not necessarily!” I said. “We can make linked amulets. I’ve got a deflection amulet myself, and Simon, the Feron, nearly killed me once using an ether-bound target. The bullet’s linked to its mark and flies in a straight line — ignores any magical interference.”

  “Any interference?” Nicholas raised an eyebrow.

  “If we’re talking about what I can craft, then no. A proper shield would still stop it. But the bullet will fly true. The real trick is getting the werewolf lined up with the target.”

  “Leave that to me,” Bryan said. “I’ll be pulling Jenny out anyway, might as well line up the shot. Stick a handle on the target, metre or so, and job done.”

  “What if we use a sawn-off and fire both barrels?” Bryce suggested. “The first slug overloads the shield, the second scrambles his brain.”

  “That would be perfect!” McLilly closed his eyes and grinned, clearly enjoying the mental image of a werewolf’s head exploding. I was picturing it too. So was everyone else, judging by the smiles.

  “It’s doable,” I said. “I’ll need an enchantment pentagram, a sawn-off, some cardboard, a pile of ether reservoir stones, and bullets…”

  Or maybe not bullets? I could engrave the accuracy enchantment directly on the barrels and use regular AP rounds…

  No — untested. Not the time for experiments.

  Better to enchant the bullets for accuracy and the casings for airburst, so the gunpowder gases push the slug harder on ignition.

  “Brass casings. Steel core,” I added. No doubt the clan stores had what we needed.

  “Get on it,” Bryce ordered. “Bryan, head over to Vogeltown. Get a look at the place. Nick, take Duncan down to the workshop in the cellar. Then get back here, we’ll talk details.”