Grandfather would’ve said I should be proud of myself. And honestly, I think he’d be right—what seventeen-year-old manages to stay sober at a drinking party? I did, and I count that as a serious achievement, especially when you compare it to the state Sunset is in right now.

  That trio—Harry, John, and Harold—started last night with cheap, strong whiskey and moved on to even cheaper, stronger moonshine. They offered me a couple of shots, but I stubbornly stuck to wine, sipping it drop by drop, savoring every sip. As a result, Harold stumbled into a taxi around dawn, John stayed in one of the guest rooms and now serves as a living example of the wretchedness of drunkenness, and Harry... well, Harry tried to cast a purification spell on himself, managing to activate it only on the third attempt, and then spent the morning vomiting and cursing louder than Kettle did after trying my potion. He wasn’t far off from matching Daphne, our fiery headmistress, either.

  While the struggle of these drunken fools occupied some space in my mind, they weren’t exactly the main focus. Still, they were hard to ignore. Of course, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to deliver a few remarks about age, brains, and self-restraint—when else would I get a chance to lecture people twice or three times my age?

  But even in their alcohol-induced haze, the trio had been brimming with ideas last night. Most of them were utter nonsense, but one working plan did emerge: a way to get to the Archmaker through his patron—dear old Professor Chapman.

  Nothing supernatural, just a classic break-and-enter with a bit of distraction on the side—a diversionary provocation. And the more I thought about it, the more I started to believe it could work. Chapman didn’t strike me as a patient man. The issue was the chosen executors of the plan: one alcoholic and two mentally unstable bloodsuckers.

  After giving John a teacup filled one-third with tea and two-thirds with sugar, I got straight to business.

  “So, what part of last night’s nonsense do you actually remember?”

  “I don’t lose my memory,” the inspector assured me. “Are you saying it was all nonsense? I left with a clear impression of simplicity and brilliance.”

  “You tell me,” I pressed. “Where does a law enforcement officer get such a strong desire to break the law?”

  “Well, fine,” John conceded. “Maybe it’s not the most brilliant idea, but I like it. It’s time for decisive action!”

  “Two days ago, you were saying the opposite—you were afraid of Chapman. He doesn’t know yet about the attack… the son attacking the stepson, does he? Or has he already called you in for a scolding?”

  "Well, about that…" John pulled a face so sour it was almost impressive. "He did call me in… yesterday. Harold and I had already started drinking, and I might’ve… told him to bugger off. Just a bit."

  "‘Just a bit’ bugger off?" I asked.

  "Alright, maybe more than a bit…"

  “Well, that explains a lot,” I said. It explained things but also disappointed me. As if the fact that the Archmaker is the judge’s son wasn’t bad enough, John had to go and ruin their already shaky relationship with His Honour. Not that it was ever good, but at least last time we managed to de-escalate things to neutral ground.

  “How much did you tell him?”

  “Nothing case-related. But I did explain in detail just how much he’s been pissing me off.”

  “Great. Let’s head to Kettle’s place. Maybe we’ll catch him sober.”

  “No need. Give him a few more hours.”

  “What do you mean?”

  "The funeral. I have a couple of constables watching him. They’ll call once the burial’s done."

  Poor Carver was buried before ten in the morning. There were about ten familiar faces at the church service, and only one cook showed up for the wake. Carver’s son served in the colonial army somewhere in India, his daughter had married and moved to America, and the rest of his relatives had long been resting in the city cemetery.

  We found the baronet in a foul mood, but stone-cold sober. Simon sat in one of the chairs in the drawing room, spinning a glass of gin in his hands and glaring hatefully at the untouched snacks on the table. The constables had nibbled on a few, as was traditional, but for the most part, the food remained untouched.

  I’ve never known what to say in these kinds of situations. Public speaking has never been my strong suit, and Grandfather taught me more about action than words. But I had to say something, and luckily, John saved me.

  “My condolences,” he said, and I parroted him like a trained bird.

  “Gentlemen, give us a moment,” John added, addressing the constables. He waited until they left, then grabbed a clean glass and poured himself a shot of gin from the bottle beside the baronet. With a heavy exhale, he downed it in one gulp and quickly followed it with a slice of ham from the table.

  “I’ve got an idea. You in?”

  Kettle stirred slightly, slowly raising his eyes and setting his glass down. Then, in a voice dripping with bitterness and self-irony, he said:

  “I’ve given up drinking. What else is there to do?”

  “Pick a fight with your grandfather.”

  “What for?”

  “Inspector,” called one of the constables from the door, “you have a visitor, sir.”

  “Let her in. And the other one, too, when she arrives.”

  The first visitor was Kate. As always, the vampiress was dressed in red, though this time the shade was so dark it was hard to tell if it bordered on disrespect for the dead. Of course, she couldn’t care less about yet another corpse—she’d made plenty of those herself, enough to make the gallows cry for justice. But she’d managed to stick to decorum. Almost.

  Her voice was cold and devoid of emotion.

  “My condolences, Sir Simon,” she said before taking a seat in the corner by the window. On her way, she plucked a grape from the fruit bowl and popped it into her mouth.

  The second guest arrived a minute later. She was dressed in black, and her voice radiated genuine care and concern.

  “How are you?” Nina asked, touching Kettle’s shoulder before perching herself on the armrest of his chair and wrapping an arm around him.

  Kate let out a disdainful snort and popped another grape into her mouth, presumably to keep herself from spitting venom.

  “Not great,” Simon admitted honestly. “I have a burning desire to drink and kill someone.” He then turned his gaze to Sunset. “What’s all this about?”

  “Do you know who attacked the baronet after you left this house?” John asked the vampiresses.

  Nina was the first to answer, her eyes narrowing slightly.

  “He didn’t confess.”

  Kate shook her head in the negative but feigned interest nonetheless.

  “The Archmaker,” the detective said.

  The vampiresses immediately tensed. Kate reacted more sharply, demanding details, but John wasn’t in a hurry to oblige.

  “We all have a score to settle with him. But I can’t trust everyone with this. The ladies are too headstrong, and Sir Kettle has a tendency to lose control.”

  “I’ll do whatever it takes!” Simon assured him with utmost seriousness.

  “Only if I decide what ‘whatever it takes’ means!”

  “Don’t forget,” Simon countered, “I know as much as you do.”

  “Oh, not even close! And the little you do know, you wouldn’t use properly—you’d botch the whole thing and let him get away.”

  “That is, if he hasn’t gotten away already... Fine. You’re in charge! Happy now?”

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  “No, sir. This isn’t a game. I don’t want you to lose your temper and screw things up like you always do.”

  “I get it already!”

  John held the suspense a little longer, letting his stern gaze sweep over the vampiresses until they gave their reluctant nods of agreement.

  “The Archmaker is Gregor Chapman,” Sunset finally revealed.

  Both vampiresses frowned in unison, then shifted their gazes to Simon. Nina even pulled back slightly to do so. John waited patiently as the women worked their way through the stages of acceptance and digestion of this news. He answered their questions one by one but omitted the details of how we’d connected the elder Chapman to his grandson.

  Once the questions stopped, Sunset handed out his orders. “I want the vampires to break into Professor Chapman’s residence, make a mess, and drag all his dirty laundry into the open before the police arrive.”

  “You need an excuse to arrest him and search the premises,” Kate surmised. “In that case, it’s best to stage a corpse… or two…”

  John blinked rapidly, caught off guard by her suggestion.

  “Have you completely lost your mind, suggesting something like that? Think about who you’re even saying it to!”

  “It works!”

  “Should I remind you what happened to Lucas the last time he tried that?” I asked. That sobered the vampiress up slightly, though it didn’t stop her from arguing.

  “Then we’ll have to act blindly. And what if we find nothing?”

  “Then turn the house upside down,” Sunset replied.

  “That doesn’t require many people,” Nina said, glancing at Kate. “You called both of us here. I suspect there’s more to this.”

  “There is,” John admitted. “As Kate pointed out, there might not be anything in the house, and as Simon mentioned, the Archmaker might already have fled the city. I need someone to keep an eye on the old man. After their argument, he’s bound to contact his grandson to warn him.”

  “Why not use your usual flatfoots?” Nina asked.

  “Because I don’t care if you lot get hurt,” Sunset replied. Vampires might believe such a blunt answer, though the real reason was more pragmatic: the station was leaking information. Someone was tipping off Judge Chapman, and planning an operation involving a potential mole would’ve been reckless. Then again, trusting the vampires wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of wisdom either.

  “All right, who’s doing what?” Nina asked Kate. “I’d prefer the break-in. Any objections?”

  “Hold it!” John interrupted. “I already said I don’t trust you.”

  “And?” The vampires didn’t follow.

  “You’ll work in pairs.”

  “What kind of nonsense is this?” Kate protested.

  “My boys will tear her girls apart,” Nina muttered.

  “Who’s tearing whom apart? You lost your masters last night!” Kate hit Nina where it hurt, pointing out her vulnerability. Vampires can endure a lot, but maintaining the illusion of invincibility is often their highest priority, even at great personal cost.

  Nina sprang to her feet. Kate bared her claws and fangs, I reached for my pistol, and Simon started to rise—but only John kept a cool head.

  “Shut it and sit down!” he barked. “You!” He pointed at Kate, then gestured to the chair against the wall. She’d been standing the entire time. “And you two!” He turned to Simon and Nina. “Back in the chair! Now! No more chaos. Your nests are roughly equal in power right now, and continuing this feud will guarantee the destruction of both.”

  “That’s the foundation of your plan?” Nina asked.

  “Yes,” the detective admitted. “You’ll keep an eye on each other, and you’ll be only too happy to snitch to me if the other tries to betray you.”

  “And what are you going to do about it, flatfoot?” Nina sneered.

  “Vixley still owes me a favor.”

  At the mention of the shifter from the Special Squad, Nina’s fangs slipped out involuntarily.

  “Don’t you dare mention that slippery freak in my presence!”

  “Sit down or leave.”

  Nina cast a quick glance at Kate, who had already taken her seat and was chewing on another grape. Nina’s thoughts must’ve been running along the lines of John’s right, damn him, and I can’t leave this witch alone here. With a light shove, she pushed Simon back into the armchair and perched herself on the armrest. I holstered my pistol as well.

  “Excellent,” Sunset said. “The plan is simple. You”—he pointed at Kettle—“go to your grandfather and tell him you plan to kill Gregor. Say you’ll spare no expense and that the slums are full of people willing to take the job.”

  “The slums aren’t credible,” Kate cut in.

  “What about The Noose?” I suggested suddenly, recalling the place where the other Simon used to take his first contracts. Both the detective and the vampiresses nodded approvingly.

  “What’s that?” Kettle asked.

  “A joint in Smuggler’s Bay,” Nina explained. Kate added:

  “Where you can order bad booze and a good hitman.”

  Strange—Knuckles once told me the booze at The Noose was perfectly decent. Though, to be fair, he only knew that from hearsay. Kate, on the other hand, might’ve actually been there as a customer. Especially since John confirmed the information with a nod and continued speaking.

  “But our main leverage will be the vampires. Tell your grandfather they’d be more than happy to take a bite out of anyone who laid a hand on one of their own. Show some emotion, but don’t linger too long, and don’t say more than necessary.”

  “There’s just one thing I don’t understand,” Kettle said. “How did I figure out my grandfather was involved?”

  “I’m wondering that myself,” Nina added.

  John and I paused, both lost in thought. Logic alone wasn’t going to cut it here. I’d linked the professor and the Archmaker through the raw, seething hatred the old man had displayed after my clash with Gregor. I still didn’t fully understand why he’d attacked me, and while the information about the attack had leaked from the Fourth Division, Kettle couldn’t possibly know all the details—or draw the right conclusions. Hell, I wasn’t even fully confident in my own conclusions. Mine were based more on instinct than logic, and emotions are terrible advisors.

  “Emotions!” I said aloud, turning to Kettle. “When your brother disappeared, was your grandfather upset?”

  “Well, they didn’t think much of me back then, so I wasn’t really in the loop. But he seemed angry—he was constantly arguing with the cops.”

  “Did he shed a single tear?”

  “No, but he’s not the emotional type. He’s... stern.”

  “And what about your stepfather? How did he react?”

  “Hm. Yeah, father was crushed. Nearly started drinking.”

  “There’s your angle,” I said. “Tell him you remembered how strange that was.”

  “If he has any skeletons in his closet,” John interjected, “he’ll fill in the blanks himself. Watch his reaction closely. If he reacts strongly, it’s a sure sign. Start the argument at the college, toward the end of the day. According to my sources, the professor’s teaching until five today.”

  “You’re planning to pull all this off today?” Kate asked in outrage. “With no preparation? We need at least a day to coordinate!”

  “The longer we wait,” John countered, “the slimmer our chances of catching the Archmaker—and the greater the chances that you two will conspire together.”

  “Us?” the vampiresses exclaimed in unison. I think their surprise was genuine, but in this situation, I sided with John. Vampires would happily strike a deal with the devil if it promised them an advantage—especially if they thought they could betray him later.

  Sunset ignored their protests and continued his briefing.

  “While Kettle’s creating a scene, two pairs of vampires will break into the professor’s house and turn the place upside down. If they find anything, they’re to drag it out into the open, call the police, start some shooting, and then get out.”

  “That’s Sungarden,” Nina reminded him. “First Division territory.”

  It turned out that the professor’s address wasn’t a secret to Nina. While they lived in the same district, they weren’t exactly neighbors; a few blocks separated Gratch’s Nest from the professor’s modest house.

  “Exactly,” Sunset said. “That’s why the Kilworth brothers will just so happen to be patrolling nearby. They’ll be the first to respond to the gunfire, but they won’t find anyone inside.”

  “And what if we’re lucky and the Archmaker is there?” I asked.

  “Don’t tell me you want him taken alive,” Kate growled.

  “God forbid! Kill him on the spot, just leave enough of his face for identification. But let’s not kid ourselves—our luck isn’t that good. The professor isn’t stupid. He could’ve prepared for this and already cleared out the house. That’s why one pair of vampires will also search his office after the confrontation, while another team tails him. He might visit somewhere… interesting.”

  “The club,” Kettle suddenly recalled.

  “And why don’t I know anything about this club?” John asked rhetorically.

  Kettle shrugged. “He used to spend a lot of time at the Naturalist’s Club with other scholars.”

  “Then we’ll add it to the list. Do we have enough bloo—vampires for this?”

  The bloodsucker ladies exchanged tense glances, hesitant to lay their cards on the table, though they were already well aware of their competitors’ positions. Nina was the first to crack.

  “I don’t have enough burglars,” she admitted.

  Kate confirmed this with a nod.

  “You don’t need that many,” John said. “The second person is there to keep the first in check. Mix and match.”

  Over the next half hour, we ironed out the details of this reckless scheme. There was plenty of time left—enough for Nina to draft a fiery monologue for Kettle and for Kate to scout out the Naturalist’s Club.

  With nothing more required of John or me, we stepped out onto the porch, where the constables were stationed. One of them was lounging on the steps with a newspaper but quickly jumped to his feet the moment the door opened, rolling the paper into a tube.

  “Is that the Farnell Daily?” I asked, holding out my hand.

  “Yes, my lord. It was on the porch,” he replied, handing it to me.

  I unfolded the newspaper and stared at the unfamiliar front page featuring a photo of Headmistress Daphne. Her face was twisted with rage as she clung to the bars of a jail cell.

  “WHAT ARE OUR CHILDREN BEING TAUGHT? How an Orphanage Headmistress Ended Up Behind Bars.”

  What the hell? I flipped through a couple of pages, looking for the photo of Professor Madigan clutching his fan of pound notes. Reaching the end, I went back, checked the date, and started over, this time scrutinizing the headlines more carefully.

  “What is it?” Sunset asked.

  I split the paper, handing him the front page after a quick scan of the back text, and continued searching through the remaining insert.

  “Interesting,” John remarked when I finished. “Didn’t find it?”

  “No,” I replied. “I should probably head back and make a call.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll wait here. Afterward, we’ll head straight to him,” John said, clearly referring to Harold.