Given the circumstances, I wasn’t able to give my guests a proper welcome – not even offering them tea. Fortunately, the girls knew their way around the place and quickly took over the kitchen, while the men settled into the living room.

  Ellie’s father was named Hal, her older brother Marcus, and her younger brother Garfield, whom I was already somewhat acquainted with. The three of them turned out to be veterinarians and offered to provide first aid. The youngest, who claimed to have the spirit of a horse – a literal war steed, as he put it – seated Knuckles in an armchair and, with a loud crunch, popped the dislocated fingers of his injured leg back into place before moving on to bandage it.

  Hal and Marcus laid me down on the couch – on my stomach, or rather, with my leg propped up – and began a consultation, poking and prodding the bite wound every which way. They did this under the guise of cleaning it, using the last of the gin they’d found in the kitchen.

  “Can you feel this?” Hal asked, pressing on my calf.

  I felt it very clearly and was about to describe it in vivid detail when his eldest son answered for me.

  “Yep… odd. Should I grab the tools?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “What tools?” I asked, alarmed.

  “Relax, young man. There’s just something left in the wound.”

  “Left? I was bitten, not shot! What could possibly be in there?”

  “A tooth, for instance,” Hal suggested. “I’ve pulled fragments out of horse necks before. Young vampires often lose their heads and go after livestock. They think the bigger the prey, the easier it’ll be to quench their thirst. Horses don’t take kindly to that.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier for them to just buy a liter of blood from the butcher?”

  “I’m not talking about Nest vampires,” the veterinarian explained, “but wild ones – those no one takes care of. In the first few days, their skin is especially sensitive to sunlight; the rays burn straight through to the meat and bone. At the same time, their bodies use up an enormous amount of energy to transform. No one tells them about the changes their bodies are going through. Pain, fear, humiliation, and hunger – that’s all they know. It’s no wonder their decisions aren’t exactly rational.”

  Did he actually feel sorry for the bloodsuckers? There’s nothing to pity. In most cases, those who turn end up attacking their families, not horses. Everyone knows it, and there’s only one solution to that – a bullet to the temple.

  “Aren’t they destroyed immediately?” I asked. After all, vampirism required vampire blood, and the Nests kept a close eye on – what was I even saying? It had been less than a week since I’d fought off a horde of bloodsucking rats. If even one of them had escaped… well, it’s possible.

  “They are destroyed, but cases of vampirism still happen. Strictly speaking, blood isn’t the only vector. Any part of the body or fluid will do, if you catch my meaning.”

  “Ugh, Sheridan!” Flower protested in disgust.

  “It’s natural,” Ellie’s father said, waving him off.

  The conversation didn’t go any further because Marcus returned with a metal toolbox. The kettle boiling in the kitchen was used to sterilize the instruments. Hal dug into the wound with a pair of forceps, and my eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. I really shouldn’t have skimped on the painkillers. I bit into a pillow to keep from screaming.

  “There it is, the little bastard!” Mr. Sheridan rumbled triumphantly. “I was right – it’s a bloodsucker.”

  I had some anti-vampirism potion in my satchel. I’d need to remember to take it before bed.

  “This is about the size of the fragments I’ve pulled from horse necks,” Hal said. I turned to look.

  “There was also that cow in Greenhouses,” Marcus reminded him.

  “And the pig in Smuggler’s Bay,” Garfield added.

  “That was a dog’s tooth,” their father corrected.

  “Let me see,” I said.

  Hal handed me the forceps with the fragment. The tooth was slightly thicker than the one my grandfather had broken off himself, and it clearly belonged to a young vampire.

  “What trouble have you dragged yourself into this time?” James grumbled. “When’s the next kidnapping? Who’s it going to be, and who’s after you now?”

  “Even if we assume the bloodsuckers are after me,” I replied, “surely they’d send someone older and more experienced. Look at this.” I handed the forceps back and tossed the fragment to Flower. He caught it without even turning his head in my direction.

  “How would I know? I just don’t want you dragging the girls into trouble again,” James said.

  “Strictly speaking, it’s their own fault,” Hal came to my defense. He must not have known yet that his daughter had shot a vampire. I even turned to study his face for a hint of his thoughts.

  “I know, young man,” he said, as if reading my mind. “Ellie got her share of switches.”

  I had no idea what he knew, but I wasn’t about to clarify – especially considering I wasn’t exactly in top form right now, and he had a box full of sharp cutting tools within reach.

  “You whipped her?” James asked, incredulous.

  “For the first time,” Garfield grinned. “Can you believe it? The favorite child got whipped! Not like Marcus and me.”

  “Virgil got it worse,” Marcus added.

  Another brother? How many of them are there?

  “That’s enough chatter,” Hal barked. “Young man, I’d like to open the wound and clean it properly. There might be smaller fragments left. We’ve got an excellent healing potion at home.”

  “No need. Mine are better,” I said.

  “Don’t be so sure,” Garfield tried to argue.

  “Bremorian,” I reminded him. “From the clan’s chief alchemist himself.”

  “Oh, right, you’re…” Garfield began, but Finella walked in with a teapot, followed by Ellie carrying a pie. Probably a new one, since we’d already finished the last.

  Suddenly, the warhorse shifted from casual to serious, raising a finger as he began to count. “You’re related to the clan head, apprenticed to a wizard, a pretty solid fighter… You know, sis, I approve of your choice. Very good match! Even Dad’ll approve. He’s been worried you’d drag one of your strays into the family. No offense, Clint…”

  Clint looked as stunned as I felt. That’s the trouble with older brothers: one hates you for no reason, and the other… Well, I wouldn’t say Garfield liked me, but he certainly loved tormenting Ellie. Her face had turned redder than a hot stove. Though, to be fair, I could feel my own face burning too.

  Ellie stormed toward her brother but stopped, uncertain what to do with the pie in her hands. Garfield must’ve been counting on that because he flashed a sly grin.

  “Just make sure you behave yourself. If he finds out what you’re really like, he might not marry you!”

  A large piece of pie flew straight at Garfield.

  “That’s enough!” Hal roared, his voice like an angry bull. “Both of you, home! Now!” He pointed a commanding finger at Garfield. “And you, tomorrow you’re going to Lord Marsden’s kennels to treat his dogs’ constipation.”

  “Yes!” Marcus clenched his fist in triumph.

  “No, no, no, Dad!” Garfield protested.

  “Too late!” Hal barked, slashing into my wound with a scalpel to emphasize he wasn’t about to discuss it further. What was just a gesture for him nearly made me howl in pain. Damn, I should’ve taken more painkillers.

  Once the troublemakers were sent home, Hal and Marcus quickly reopened my leg, demanding the potion. I showed them where it was, then buried my face in a pillow as they poured, stitched, and bandaged. I’d be as good as new in a day, but for now, the pain was unbearable.

  Before the impromptu medics finished, the police arrived.

  “Constable Second Class Prudy,” introduced a tired young man sporting a spectacular shiner under one eye. “Was there a call for assistance?”

  Hal and I answered simultaneously.

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  “No,” I said.

  “Yes,” Hal replied. “There was an attempt on these young men’s lives.”

  The look in his eyes was so resolute that I decided not to argue.

  “Constable, are you from the Fourth Precinct? Call Sunset. He might have some thoughts about this.”

  The officer raised an eyebrow skeptically, rolled his eyes, and pulled out a notepad and pencil.

  “Before I bother the detective inspector, I’d like to establish exactly what happened here.”

  He probably thought I was trying to pull rank. I tried to sit up but was stopped by Hal.

  “What about him?” I asked, pointing at Knuckles.

  “He’s fine as long as no one steps on his toes.”

  “Pass me the satchel,” I asked Knuckles.

  From the bag, I pulled out my notebook and flipped to the back, where a small list of contacts was scribbled: names, addresses, and phone numbers. Most of them were from Avoc, but a few were local. Opening to the right page, I handed the notebook to Knuckles.

  “Call.”

  The constable didn’t look thrilled, but I reassured him, with all the respect I could muster, that I wasn’t trying to pull rank – Sunset simply had some critical information… Poorly explained, and James just had to chime in with commentary that didn’t exactly help my case. Thankfully, Knuckles was allowed to make the call.

  A groggy Sunset demanded to speak to the constable, then ordered him to wait and take no action. The inspector arrived at my house half an hour later. During that time, James kept repeating various versions of, “I told you so,” to Hal.

  Sunset, angry as a thousand devils, interviewed the guests and, despite their protests, promptly kicked them out, citing the confidentiality of the investigation. The Sheridans didn’t seem too bothered, but Flower was visibly outraged.

  After that, over a cup of tea and a slice of pie, Sunset questioned Knuckles and me.

  “Who?” John asked. “Any ideas?”

  “Not a clue,” I admitted. “Definitely not vampires.”

  “Why not? The move is entirely in line with twice-dead Lucas’s style. Think about it: all of Kate’s fighters are under scrutiny. She picks a promising new recruit, arms and equips him, and sends him after you. If the recruit fails, he can be quietly buried, no questions asked.”

  “And why would she do that?”

  “Revenge for her father, perhaps?”

  I frowned, trying to gauge just how much John knew.

  “You promised not to dig into that,” I said.

  “I’m just considering possibilities,” the detective deflected.

  “It’s not Kate. I’m certain of it.”

  “Fair enough. It’s a weak theory – I didn’t believe it much myself, but I had to consider it. What puzzles me is your confidence. Are you dealing with the Lindemanns? Will it interfere with our main investigation?”

  “It won’t,” I replied. “She knows how to kill me.”

  “What do you mean? I know more than one way to kill you. A bullet to the brain works just fine.”

  “She knows an easier, more reliable way. If the killer had come from Kate, he’d have used it.”

  Sunset set his cup down, thought for a moment, and tapped a rhythm on his knee with his fingers.

  “And him?” John gestured toward Knuckles. “Can he protect you?”

  I frowned, not understanding where this was going. Sure, that was Knuckles’ role, but…

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Kate hinted at it. You brought him to see her, but you didn’t take him to the baronet.”

  “And how haven’t you found the Archmaker yet?”

  “Keep joking,” John said with a glare. “I’m not impressed by you. It’s Harry and his knowledge that hold value.”

  “He’s busy with the arch formulas. He can’t come with you.”

  “True,” Sunset admitted. “But don’t get cocky. I can carve out half an hour of his time if I need to.”

  “You could. But what if the killer was sent by the Archmaker?”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Sunset sighed.

  “Why? Doesn’t that mean we’re getting close?”

  “That’s not what worries me. I’m afraid the Archmaker has become a vampire. It would explain the latest victim.”

  “Fine, take the tooth to Harry. If the bastard didn’t perform the ritual of severing the flesh, it might help.”

  “Good point,” Sunset agreed. “Prudy!”

  The constable with the shiner appeared in the doorway.

  “Grab a partner and get settled in. You’re standing guard here tonight. And God help you if I find out you both fell asleep on duty! Understood?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  I didn’t object. Somehow, it was reassuring. We refreshed the signaling charms on the doors and windows and handed over my ring to the constables since I planned to knock myself out with a horse dose of painkillers.

  I barely made it to the bed before downing the potion. Sprawling on the mattress, I pulled the blanket over myself, but I couldn’t get my leg comfortable. I tried propping it up with a pillow, then the blanket, even letting it dangle off the bed, but nothing helped until the potion began to take effect.

  Finally, a light fog crept into my mind, and the pain in my leg faded. I closed my eyes, sinking into the blissful world of Morpheus.

  Breathing suddenly became difficult… My throat tightened. I tried to cough it out and opened my eyes.

  “Oh, you f…hollow-headed ghost! What the bloody hell!?”

  The sight of Simon Feron’s translucent head looming over my bed snapped me out of my haze, but breathing didn’t get any easier. The dead bastard was choking me again.

  I stretched my hand toward the nightstand. I’d left the card with the spell that had worked the first time right there, but my hand met only empty wood.

  Simon chuckled softly, his voice a whisper.

  “Lost something?”

  “Bastard!” I croaked back, just as quietly. Not because I was trying to stay silent, but because I simply couldn’t get enough air. The ghost didn’t weigh a damn thing, but he still managed to pin me down to the bed like a sack of rocks. If he were alive, at least I could poke him in the eye. Hundreds of ways to throw off a living body, but not a single one for dealing with a ghost. A glaring gap in clan education.

  That left me with only one option: call for help.

  I stretched my arms behind my head and began banging on the wooden headboard of the bed.

  Simon snarled and tightened his grip.

  Damn it. Knuckles was limping, and the cops were all downstairs. Even if they heard me… I should’ve ordered a ring-amulet from Harry. Wait – the ring! The shield had an ether foundation.

  I thrust my fist upward, the motion sending my hand straight through Simon’s transparent head. With a hoarse whisper, I rasped, “Take that!” and repeated the same trick I’d used earlier in the night.

  The edge of the shield collided with the void in Simon’s head, sending out a brilliant etheric flash and a crackling sound like static electricity. The ghost’s face contorted in pain, his form rippling violently. The crushing weight on my chest and throat vanished. I sucked in a wheezing, rasping breath and rolled off the bed.

  Simon howled with rage and reached for me with his phantom hands again, but this time, I raised the shield in anticipation. I easily deflected him, following up with a sharp strike to his side with the edge. The point of contact between his etheric body and the shield lit up and crackled, warning me that I was burning through ether reserves faster than I should. But while Simon risked losing his current manifestation, I was gambling with my last line of defense.

  Where the hell was that damn card? Not on the nightstand, not on the floor! I’d at least need to grab the reservoirs from my satchel. Worst case, I’d fend him off with raw ether.

  After another solid strike with the shield, I dove toward my bag and dumped its contents onto the bed. Aha! The “Brick” was ether-based too… Empty? And the reservoirs? Damn it – that’s where he’d gotten the energy to materialize!

  “Duncan, Duncan,” Simon sneered, laughing. “Forever the loser!”

  “Says the guy I shot with his own gun,” I shot back.

  The ghost didn’t like that. With a snarl, he lunged at me with renewed fury. I met him again with the edge of my shield, holding it horizontal this time. But Simon didn’t aim to collide – he shot upward toward the ceiling, then dove straight down at me.

  At the last moment, I angled the shield up to intercept. Another flash and crackle of magical discharges erupted as he collided with it. For a moment, we stared at each other through the transparent plane of the shield.

  Simon growled and pressed against it with all his might. I pushed back just as hard, trying to force him toward the wall, but neither of us gained the upper hand.

  There was a heavy bang on the door from the other side, followed by Knuckles’ pained yelp and a string of curses. Was he trying to kick it in? The handle turned, and the door opened.

  Knuckles awkwardly stepped over the threshold, his bandaged leg raised toe-up, all the weight on his heel. He dropped the submachine gun from his shoulder and unleashed a long burst at the transparent figure.

  The bullets didn’t harm Simon in the slightest, but the window behind him shattered into hundreds of shards. The ghost didn’t even flinch.

  “Not bad,” Simon said with mock approval before lunging at Knuckles. The boy fired another short burst in panic, but the ghost passed through him effortlessly. Simon reappeared behind Knuckles, his head emerging through the boy’s face, his phantom hands resting over Knuckles’ own.

  The submachine gun rattled again, its burst swinging in my direction.

  I threw up my shield, dread creeping in as I recalled how quickly the killer’s shield had failed under rapid fire earlier – and mine was already barely holding together.

  It was Knuckles who saved me. He managed to break Simon’s grip on the forward handle, and the gun dipped down, sending bullets into the floor and splintering the wooden boards.

  I leapt over the bed and ducked behind it for cover.

  The constables burst into the room just in time, swinging their truncheons at Simon’s back.

  The ghost let out an unearthly howl and was violently torn away from Knuckles. The boy scrambled toward the wall, while the constables – surprisingly effective – landed a few more hits on Simon with their batons. Ether flashed at every point of contact.

  “Aim for the head!” I shouted.

  The constable with the black eye followed my advice and slammed his baton into the gaping hole in Simon’s spectral head. His partner added another blow, and with a bright flash, the ghost dissolved into smoke.

  Exhausted, I collapsed onto the floor.

  There it was – the card. That damn bastard had hidden it under the bed.

  “Tough one,” the constable remarked, surprised.

  “Yeah,” his partner agreed. “When one showed up at old Mrs. Parker’s, a single swing was enough to finish it.”

  “That was just some see-through shadow. This one had every detail down to the last wrinkle. Hey, Lord, should we call Sunset?”

  “No need,” I said. “But I’ve had enough excitement for today. We’re moving out. Feel free to let your superiors know.”

  About twenty minutes later, we were standing on the porch of “The Anvil.” A sleepy Harry opened the door, yawning.

  “I told you moving wasn’t worth it,” the wizard said, rubbing his eyes.

  “Thanks for the reminder!” I snapped. “I’m going to bed.”

  “What happened this time?”

  “Knuckles will fill you in,” I replied, dragging myself inside.