Caius was certain he was lost. The only thing here was an old bar, but this was the address Elias had given him. He had planned to join Caius, but an emergency had kept him away. Pushing his way into the old building, a warm atmosphere cleaned the chill of the morning from him.

  Lights hung above tables giving them an intimate feeling. A long, well stocked bar lined one side of the bar. The only resident stood behind this bar, studying a cell and the lines of liquor bottles. Caius caught the bartender’s eye in the mirror, and he turned to greet him.

  ”Morning kid.” He looked human, but his pointed ears and strange irises gave him away as something more. An elf maybe, but he hadn’t heard anyone talk about elves.

  ”Morning, I think I am in the wrong place.” He pulled out his cell, showing the elf the name and address of the place he was supposed to meet Isolde. “Do you know where Blackthorn Pursuit is?”

  The elf grinned and pointed straight behind him.

  ”She works upstairs. We have a rent agreement. There’s an outside door in the alley you can use if you have to come back.”

  “Well, I hope I come back. I am working for her now.”

  This causes the bartender’s eyebrows to shoot up, and his jaw to drop open. A little laugh of incredulity escapes him, and he shakes his head.

  “Well. About damn time. Good luck kid.” He turned back to his bar, taking his cell back out.

  “Thanks.” Caius turned slowly, breathing deeply as he moved toward and then up the stairs. A few groaned under his weight, and he winced each time. He came to a stop in front of the door, studying the polished filigree on it. Probably stood there for too long actually, but damn was he nervous. This was his first real step into this world. He was being given responsibility, and he had less than six months to prove himself a good citizen and some kind of asset.

  He knocked twice, the door creaking open on the second knock.

  Not really sure what to expect, he studied the office as he stepped inside. It was warmer than he had pictured, the wood and brick of the walls giving an almost homey vibe. He could see a fireplace burning along the back wall, and the edge of two desks peeking around the edge of the archway further into the office.

  “You’re late.” A voice called from inside. It drew him from his inspection, hustling him along.

  On the left wall, a large cork board sat full of pinned papers. The occupied desk in front of it was a mess of handwritten notes, wrappers, cigarette butts, and a pair of sheathed daggers.

  Behind the desk, one boot up on the desk and coat hanging half off of her shoulders sat Isolde Blackwood, the Blackthorn.

  She said nothing for a moment, not even looking up at him. One hand waved toward the chairs that sat across from her at the desk.

  ”Sit. Touch nothing.”

  Making as little noise as possible, Caius did as he was told. He felt a little nervous, and hoped it wasn’t showing outwardly. As a few minutes passed, he began to catalogue the room. How would he get out if she decided he wasn’t worth it. Grab her daggers? No, bad choice. The door to the alley outside was behind him, maybe he could get there before she reached him. Calm down. She is a Pursuit Agent and a good person, apparently. The instinct to distrust a vampire was illogical, and just part of his strange cultural knowledge from Earth.

  He instead studied her as discreetly as he could. One thing that Earth media got right was how gorgeous vampires were. Her skin was smooth, and her features symmetrical. She looked a little younger than he expected- early thirties maybe. But what did that really mean for a vampire? Shit, how old was she? Could you ask a vampire that?

  His gaze wandered to her clothes. Her coat was stained with something too dark to be ink. Bandages peeked from under one sleeve. She looked like she’d lost a fight but walked away anyway.

  ”So.” The silence shattered as she spoke. “You’re the outworlder.”

  She hated this.

  The kid was stiff, eyes flicking everywhere like he was cataloging threats. Or escape routes. She couldn’t decide which.

  He noticed the blood. Of course he did, they always do. She was always a little upset how bad she was at cleaning magic. It was so damn useful and she tended toward being messy in most aspects of her life.

  She’d expected someone taller. Or more smug. Or at least visibly magical.

  Instead, he looked… average. Tired. His hands were folded too neatly, his jacket didn’t quite fit his shoulders, and he had that fresh-caught-animal tension in him.

  He did not smell of fear though. That was the only thing that had really surprised her so far. He just watched her like a test he hadn’t studied for, apprehension, expectation of failure. That was fair.

  She leaned back in her chair—slowly, because her ribs reminded her that being alive was sometimes painful—and studied him like a puzzle she wasn’t sure was worth solving.

  “Tell me what you think we do here.”

  He looked startled. She liked that. The confused ones always showed you who they really were before they had time to fake it.

  He started to speak- halting, uncertain- she only half listened. She knew what had been in his file. There were two possibilities. Either he was a lost puppy dropped in their laps by the multiverse… or he was a loaded wand waiting to go off.

  Beck thought the kid was worth saving. Beck thought he had potential.

  Isolde didn’t trust potential.

  She trusted instinct. She trusted evidence. And right now, all she had was a mostly-empty file, a redacted incident report from Hearthstone, and a boy who looked like he’d never seen blood before—until a few days ago.

  Still.

  There was something in the way he met her eyes. Not challenging, not desperate. Just… steady. Curious.

  You’re either a survivor, she thought, or a fool. Let’s find out which.

  ”Tell me what you think we do here.”

  What? That came from left field. Was this an interview? He would play her game for now, but goddamnit, he wasn’t going to be selling her any pens.

  “Well…”He started slowly, not sure what answer she was looking for. “This is a Pursuit Agency. You get cases from the BPER, and investigate or arrest based on what the evidence is, and how severe the Accord Violation is.” His tone had evened out, and he felt more confident as he answered.

  Her expression didn’t change. Damnit, he thought, she’s not looking for a test answer. I went too literal.

  “We help people.” He blurted out suddenly. “Er, you help people I guess.” Her eyebrows raised slightly, apparently his second answer was better.

  “This is a dangerous world. Everyone and their mother has access to magic of some form or another, and many people just naturally could tear you apart if they wanted. You are the shield, the sword, and the watcher.”

  One beat passed, then two. The Blackthorn leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest.

  “Adequate.” She pointed at the desk across the room. “That’s you. Clean it up, set up, and then I will send you the paperwork I want you to fill out.”

  Caius leaned his head against the coffee table, a small groan setting his mood.

  ”It could not have been that bad.” Milo said, flicking a Snaphex card onto the table, “It’s your turn.”

  He raised his head, one of his rune pairs sticking to his forehead.

  “My brain hurts, man. She had to have been saving months of paperwork for me, I swear. Every time I had to clarify something, I thought she was going to stab me. It's a miracle I made it out of there without her biting me.”

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  ”Ooh, touchy subject there my friend.” Milo leaned across the table and peeled the cards from Caius’ face. “Vampires don’t really do the ‘biting people’ thing much anymore. Society saw it as, well, a little barbaric. Some clans would challenge you to a duel just for suggesting it nowadays.”

  “They do need blood though right? I swear if my metric buttload of vampire lore from Earth is wrong, I am gonna be so disappointed.”

  “Yes, but generally it's packaged and sold to them, or they drink from their partner. The bite is a little intimate, and a lot of vamps see it as a privilege to share that experience.” Caius raised an eyebrow at his roommate.

  ”Is this common knowledge, or do you just know a lot about this?” Milo’s face flushed.

  ”It’s not, like, uncommon knowledge.” He rubbed a hand on the back of his head. “I may have dated a vampire in school.”

  ”Ooooh, intimate indeed!” Suddenly, Caius had some energy back. Juicy details are always interesting.

  “Shove it Ward.” Milo laughed. “As far as the Blackthorn is concerned though, she probably is just testing you. I wouldn’t expect more than a day or two of this.”

  ”Okay, yeah, fine.” Caius waved the topic away, “I want to hear about sexy vampire biting time.”

  Caius barely got his head out of the way in time for Milo’s cell to soar past him.

  Milo was wrong. A week later, Caius was still drowning in paperwork, with no end in sight. This damn witch kept finding things for him to do, no matter how quickly he finished. A few days ago, she had set out on some investigation, the details of which she refused to share with him. Each day, she would be there when he arrived and stayed only long enough to thrust the day’s forms onto him, and then vanish out the alley door. He would studiously work through the day, and she rarely was there when he finished.

  This morning was no different. He was now positive that she was just giving him busy work though. The paperwork for the day was ‘Retrospective Threat Level Categorisation’. She wanted him to go through each of her cases, and organize them by how dangerous they had been.

  “This is actually ridiculous.” He muttered. He had been at it for several hours now, and it was just past noon. He categorically refused to spend his whole day doing this. His eyes wandered to her cork board. Most of it was covered in half written notes, and general information she could need. But the center of the board held her case, and GOD did he want to work on something else.

  ”She would probably respect this right?” he said quietly, convincing himself to disobey Isolde. “She’s just waiting for me to fight her on the paperwork so she can give me more responsibility.”

  Slamming his hands on the desk, he pushed himself from the chair. The case was a siren call, and he was a drunken sailor trapped in its music. His eyes drifted over each paper, taking the pieces in one by one.

  The first disappearance was about three weeks ago. A minotaur boy, 14 had run away from his parents, and was regularly seen in a popular Nexus cafe. Reports of a young naiad girl talking to him, and then nothing else.

  A second disappearance the next week, a therianthrope kid, maybe 17, known street artist. Isolde had found pieces of his art on a couple of alley walls, and after checking street cam footage, saw a young tengu woman chatting him up, and then leading him further down the alley. They never came out.

  A few ideas were scribbled here and there. Kidnapping ring? Child labor? Gang recruitment? Each of those were crossed out with angry scribbles, a few drops of blood splattered on the papers. A newer piece sat on top of them, ‘Spider Bitch’ scrawled across it.

  ”Spider Bitch, Spider Bitch,” Caius hummed to himself, trying to figure out who this person was, “Does whatever a Spider Bitch-“ He cut off, finding a paper on the edge of the board.

  Jorogumo: Aracne Mendacis

  Inherent Abilities: Illusions, empathetic feeding, prey corruption(rare)

  Threat Breakdown: Most Jorogumo live perfectly normal lives, feeding on the everyday emotions from those around them or involved in their lives. Many take jobs where one would come across heightened emotions, strip clubs, retail jobs. However, on rare occasions, a Jorogumo may suffer a traumatic event while feeding on an emotion. The affected may become addicted, leading to more and more erratic behaviors. Application of targeted therapy and Collaring seems to be an effective treatment.

  Suggested Force: Team of 2-3 Pursuit Agents. If a rare subspecies (see page 25) suggested 6-7 responders.

  He looked up Jorogumo on the Nexus, coming across the species easily. A few images of the species popped up, images of popular Jorogumo influencers or celebrities. The species was largely female, their physical form shifting slightly based on how pure their bloodlines were. It seemed ancient Jorogumo were shaped similarly to centaurs of Earth legend, a humanoid torso with a squat spider body. Most nowadays however seemed to stand on two legs, and had a set of spider arms extending from their backs. They had multiple eyes, and a small set of mandibles set right inside of their mouths. They wigged him out a little, but that feeling seemed sort of racist considering the planet he was on. Shaking his head, he turned back to the board.

  ”So she figured out what it was.” He looked at the blood on the notes. “And where it was apparently.”

  He saw the third disappearance, again a young boy, 15, a satyr. He fit the profile, a reckless and rebellious teen, last seen in an Art Market. A stall keeper saw a young dryad girl showing him some necklaces and then leading him deeper into the market.

  Caius studied the map Isolde had drawn up. A rough outline of the areas the boys had been taken in stood out in red. Establishing the hunting ground maybe? A smaller circle surrounded a park in between each of the sites. An X had been drawn on it in blue later, another few drops of blood near it.

  “Definitely found it while hunting then. What are these marks then?” Caius dragged a finger over several yellow stars on buildings around the park. A quick search of the addresses on the Nexus showed that those buildings were currently empty for one reason or another. Each building had been marked as searched except for one. “Okay, that’s today’s target.” He murmured, something bothering him. What was missing? She had done a remarkable job so far, but there was a piece missing.

  A memory came to him from a few days prior. His assignment for the day had been sorting missing person’s reports. One case lingered, similar but different to what he had seen so far.

  He sprinted to his desk tab, pulling up the report. It was four weeks old, fitting the once a week pattern of the Jorogumo. A boy, but older, nineteen and a totally different profile. His boyfriend had reported him missing, and he was nothing like the boys that had been kidnapped. He worked an office job, had no outstanding debts, no criminal record. What had sparked his memory however, was that he had been seen with an older woman in a cafe. They chatted, enjoyed a poetry reading, and then left.

  “Okay, two artists is a coincidence. Three artistic people is a pattern.” Caius started a deep dive on the internet presence of the minotaur boy. It took him about an hour, but he found a site where the boy had been posting a comic online.

  “Four artists.” Caius smiled. Moving back to the map, he circled the cafe that the poetry enjoyer had been seen at. It was on the other side of the other sites from the park. Isolde had been on the right track but she hadn’t had all the information. Her encounter was just an educated guess, and a good one for the wrong reason. The park was well known to have groups of kids congregate skaters and the like, but it also had a theater club going on the other side of it.

  This new location expanded her possible nesting spot, nearly doubling it.

  “She is not gonna be happy about that.” He looked at the addresses she had marked, and then back at his own desk. Had he done all he could here? Should he go back to his work?

  ”Fuck it, I want to do something that matters.” Pulling out his cell, he started to search the expanded area for abandoned lots.

  Apparently, Noctwyn had a minor plague of abandoned buildings. His expanded range gave him almost twice the number Isolde had already tagged.

  “She’s never going to get through all these,” he muttered, scanning the list. “There’s gotta be a way to narrow them down.”

  He started pruning — removing buildings with active renovation permits, sites flagged for demolition, anything that looked too unstable or too visible. That helped, but barely.

  Slumping in his chair, he popped open a canned coffee he’d grabbed from a bodega earlier. He took a sip. Grimaced.

  “This just isn’t good.” He stared at the can like it had betrayed him. “Definitely going to a real café next time. Somewhere that actually cares about coffee.”

  And then it hit him.

  He bolted upright, coffee sloshing across the floor.

  “Art.”

  He darted back to the list, crossing off addresses in a blur, eyes locked to the screen until he found it.

  Soulfire Theater.

  A once-thriving performance space known for avant-garde stagecraft and experimental mana-art. Closed a year ago due to lack of patronage. Legal ownership in limbo. Empty, quiet, and most importantly: steeped in the scent of dying dreams.

  “It’s about art,” he whispered. “It’s all she cares about.”

  With shaking fingers and burning excitement, he compiled the case file, merged the reports, added the map overlays, and sent the whole thing to Isolde.

  He stared at his cell.

  Waiting.

  Waiting.

  [Isolde: Did you touch my board, Ward?]

  Shit.

  [Caius: UH, don’t mind that. Do you want help searching the theater?]

  More silence. Ten long minutes.

  [Isolde: No, probie. Stay and finish your paperwork.]

  Caius sighed like the last air had been squeezed from his soul.

  “I might have to stake this motherfu—”

  He stopped, took a breath, let it out slowly .

  Then, with the bitter grace of a man condemned to drudgery, he swiped back to the threat assessment files and resumed work.

  Caius didn’t hear her come in. A soft wind caressed his neck, carrying the scent of ozone and something metallic. He yawns, stretching as he turns toward the alley door. Isolde stumbles into the light-or what's left of her.

  Her clothing is torn to shreds, deep slashes crisscrossing her body. Black webs flecked her body, like silk dipped in tar and a hole the size of his fist oozed blood from her gut.

  She tried to take a step forward, but had no strength left to hold herself up. Caius rushed to her as she sank towards the floor.

  ”Jesus Isolde! Was this the Jorogumo?” He brushed the blood out of her eyes as he pulled her onto his lap.

  “Found her.” She coughed, blood flecked phlegm spattering her chin. “Got pets. Those poor boys…” she trailed off, heaving a ragged breath.

  ”Why did you come here Isolde?!” Caius nearly screamed, “You could have called a BPER med team or gone to a clinic!”

  She chuckled softly, a cough consuming the laughter.

  “Car only knows the way here,” she rasped. “Didn’t have enough juice to steer it anywhere else.”

  “Do you have a medkit or something in here?” He asked, his head jerking around searching the room.

  She shook her head.

  ”Ran out of patches,” deep breath, “last week. Fucking bitch.”

  ”I'm gonna call a med team” Caius pulled out his cell, fingers firm as he found the medical emergency number for the BPER. Isolde nodded, leaning heavily on his lap. Her breaths got quieter, weaker.

  “Medical services, how can I help you?” Caius took a few minutes to explain the situation and give them the address, stroking Isolde’s forehead as he spoke. She had flinched away at first, but relaxed into his hand after.

  “She is a vampire, correct?” The man on the other end asked.

  ”Yes.”

  ”If she is in as bad a state as you say, you need to get her some blood. Does she have a stash there?” Caius looked down at Isolde and she shook her head. He relayed this to the BPER agent.

  “I can’t advise you to let her bite you, son. If she’s too far gone… she might not stop.”

  The way he said it made it seem like he wanted Caius to anyway. Apparently he couldn’t suggest Caius do something that would put him in danger as well. Caius put the phone down to the side. Isolde’s eyes were locked on him, having heard everything.

  “Ward, no.”

  ”You have to bite me, Isolde. You’re dying for god’s sake.”

  “I said no Ward.”

  ”You need it.” He was practically begging. She tried to push him away, her hand planted on his chest, but her strength was gone.

  ”I’ll make it.”

  ”Not with a hole in you the size of a goddamn grapefruit!”

  ”You don’t understand what you’re offering.” Her fingers trembled, her breath caught. “The bite, it’s more than blood. It’s memory, it’s emotion, it's…it's raw.”

  “I’m offering anyway.” He lifted her head and lowered his neck. Her breath was warm on his skin, and she resisted for just a moment before her fangs sunk into his neck.

  Flashes of memory. Sensation. Grief, rage, longing, triumph — all of it swirled together, tangled in euphoria. Her soul brushed against his like a storm cloud scraping the sea.

  He gasped as heat and cold rippled along his veins in waves. He could feel her very heart beating in time with his own as she drank.

  And then it was dark.