Dawn was approaching. He could feel it – his skin prickled all over, as though he stood before a furnace without sensing any actual heat.

It was obvious that Dirk could feel it too – Lodus’s friend was yawning every ten minutes like clockwork. Most of the others had already retired; they wouldn’t be back till mid-afternoon.

The third game of fortify was drawing to a close, and Lodus was going to be victorious once more. It was the Geomancer, again. Too static. Too slow. Too defensive. It could never win. He’d put an innocent expression on his face during the first game when he employed a Vampire Lord to invade Dirk’s Northern Hold.

But now as he moved his hand, he could feel a sudden lethargy sneaking over him – not his mind, but his flesh. Where before his motions had been swift, powerful, he was now halting, shuddering. Like his prickling skin was tightening.

Something he hadn’t noticed in his grave.

“You could be one of those tragic vampire-killing vampires. There’s always one of those in the stories,” Dirk observed, tipping over his Geomancer for the second time of the night.

“Technically, the vendetta applies. He did kill me, after all. But you guys can’t do it – I’d have to hunt down my maker… We could even get Poem Pethra to write something.”

His back was stiffening now.

He tried to ignore it. It would go away, right?

“Now that sounds fun. I’d be up for something like that.”

“You’d back me up? Against a vampire?”

“Why not?”

“We’re not just unkillable. We’re strong, and fast, and –“

“With all due respect, Lethal – you know I respect you – but you’re not unkillable. Not even close. You’re just… unusual.”

The vampire smiled. The teeth still had the unsettling effect on his friend.

“You…” he stirred, neck muscles locking “… think you… could take me?”

“Honestly? No, of course not. Not in a fair fight. But when we take down your murderer – remember, that’s what he did to you – your ma and pa ‘made’ you, not this thing – when we take him down, we’ll do it our way. Not his way. No fair fight.” Dirk drew in a breath, then matched his smile. “And don’t you forget it either. I don’t want you thinking you’re unkillable. That’s a liability someone in our profession can ill-afford. Especially my mate.”

The little assassin’s eyes widened. “Lodus?”

Lodus couldn’t move. He was frozen, smiling, sitting slouched in the chair.

Panic swelled and receded, swelled and receded.

“What’s up, mate? Talk to me.”

He couldn’t even breathe. How he’d ever spoken since returning from death was a sudden mystery to him. He wasn’t able to force breath between his lips, like he’d always assumed he’d be able to if he’d been paralysed. He wasn’t alive.

At least he didn’t need to breathe, blink, or perform any of the other bodily functions as far as he could tell.

This was it. This was the price he’d paid for his powers.

This was the price of death.

And it completely sucked.

Day, he discovered, wasn’t fun without a few solid feet of earth above you.

The prickling sensation continued, intensified, reintensified, over and over. People came and went, talking to him. Talking about him. Looking at him. And all the while he just felt like writhing but with even that simple pleasure, the contortion of his flesh, entirely denied to him.

Whenever the front door opened, while no shaft of sunlight even entered the room in which he sat languishing, the prickling would redouble for as long as it was kept ajar, such that he felt like screaming at them to just – shut – the – dropping – door! – but there was no way to activate that magic that let him emit sounds.

The boss-man came himself to look at what had happened to “one of our best” (his words). Phantom Phinn wasn’t one to waste his time; the wire-thin, white-bearded old man said he’d return at nightfall which, everyone guessed, would bring Lodus back to himself.

Then, when he thought he was out of earshot in a meeting room upstairs, the boss-man told Lady to look into methods of “offing the vamp” with “zero chance of him coming back”.

Lodus wouldn’t bear a grudge. He’d have probably done the same thing himself. He’d just have to convince Phantom to give him his shot at proving himself.

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At noon it was at its worst. Everyone was asleep upstairs or had left for their own lodgings, except for Bonkers Brell, who was asleep in a chair on the other side of the room.

Lodus was thankful he was alone. He felt two great, thick tears well up in the corners of his eyes.

He didn’t need to blink, couldn’t eat, didn’t even sweat – but it seemed he could still cry.

Slowly, the tears dripped down his face, burning tracks of acid into his skin.

I just have to outlast it. I can bury myself again tomorrow. Or at least find somewhere more sheltered to rest, and actually, you know, lie down. You dropping idiot, Lodus. You complete, dropping idiot.

Dirk was more right than he knew when he said what he said. How simple it would be to kill me now. A child with a twig could do it.

There was a temptation to fall into the depths of misery – he knew he should, that he ought to regret the life he’d lost – but what had it been worth, in the end? He was a trained killer. Not so much that he was an expert fighter, or even particularly knowledgeable about poisons or other exotic ways to take down a mark – neither was he a savage, enjoying the slaughter for its own sake. He never worshipped Yane, never prayed to the Blade-Lord for assistance like so many did. But he was trained to kill. He didn’t give himself away. He bided his time. He watched and waited. That was what he enjoyed. And when the time came, he moved relentlessly into position and delivered the stroke with precision.

What is death, to me?

There was a part of him that welcomed this as a natural conclusion. This was his fate. This was what he’d been working towards.

He had his own stupidity to blame for this mishap today. He should’ve learned from the myths, should’ve brought a coffin filled with earth to slumber in. This wasn’t a setback. It was a lesson learnt. He would be stronger for it.

But what other lessons were there to learn?

He could slay his maker, the one who’d done this to him against his will. He could find a way. Track him down and get Dirk to do it by day.

But did he want to?

Who else was going to give him answers, teach him how to live like this? Who else could be better than his ‘begetter’?

Minute by minute the prickling sensation diminished. He felt his freedom approaching, and for the first time since he was petrified the smile frozen on his face felt right.

More than two dozen were gathered – almost the entire guild – when it got close to seven o’clock, and Lodus started to move.

“A-h-h-h-h-h-h-”

“Lethal.” White-haired Phantom was standing across from him, the chair having been moved aside; his hands were on his hips, his stance and gaze more than a little intimidating, even to a vampire. “You’re back with us?”

“I nev… never left,” Lodus moaned. “Oh-h-h, that ser… seriously wasn’t fun.”

He managed to blink. Twitch a finger. Tense his calf.

Relax his mouth – oh, that felt good.

It wouldn’t be much longer now.

“They told me what happened to you.”

“I heard. Everything you all… said, all day.”

“I see.”

The thin old man stroked his beard.

Did I let too much slip out? ‘Everything you all said, all day’…

“And you want to kill the one who did this to you?”

“You’ve been sp… speaking to Dirk.”

His little friend walked around and into view. He’d known Dirk’s exact location behind him from his voice, his footfalls, but he didn’t want them to realise that.

Dirk’s face told him everything. Smiling, sickly.

The thing he could sense in Lady’s hand, ten feet behind him, was a crossbow levelled at his back. Presumably the bolt was wood-tipped.

The back of the chair in which he was sat was far too thick for a single bolt from a handheld crossbow to penetrate. He couldn’t rule out an ensorcelled bolt, but those were expensive…

More likely she was aiming at his head.

Every second she didn’t pull the trigger was a second he gained in vigour.

He’d have to make her wait.

Of more interest to him was the question of Dirk’s sickly smile.

Has he deliberately let his mask of cheerfulness slip? Or is he trying his best to pretend everything’s okay, and I’m seeing through him?

Has he betrayed me too?

It was impossible to say.

Or was it?

“You’ll forgive us if we have misgivings, Lethal,” Phantom was saying. “Have you been, ah… feeling hungry, at all?”

He rode a wave of nausea, fought the urge to spring to his feet.

I died. Died! And this is how you treat me? I should be eating you, old man!

“No,” Lodus answered calmly. “We’re… we’re all friends here…”

It didn’t work like he’d hoped. It was too weak. Phantom just nodded, and muttered off-handedly, “Of course, of course – but that hardly reassures me. I –”

“No,” he repeated himself, more forcefully. “We’re – all – friends – here.”

There was a brief moment where Phantom gazed into his eyes and blinked, when Lodus almost thought it had taken hold, that he’d successfully enchanted the guild-master.

Then Phantom’s gaze shot up over Lodus’s head, as though to meet the eyes of Lady – he was going to nod to her –

Lodus got out of the chair, and turned in time to see the wooden bolt leave the crossbow-string – twisted in time to let the missile pass under his arm, trailing a soft silvery radiance in its wake.

It would hit the table or wall behind him, assuming Phantom got out of the way –

Then there was an ear-splitting snap, like a tree struck by lightning, and he whirled again.

The glowing bolt had changed direction mid-air, wheeling about to dive at his heart –

So he caught it in his fist and crushed it instead.

He hadn’t thought-through the consequences of spellbound splinters in his hand – wincing from the pain, he growled at her:

“Don’t ever shoot me again.”

He met her gaze, furious. She met his, glowering.

And in that moment he knew the connection was made.

Lady’s face creased in horror and she let the crossbow fall from her hands, staring down at it where it clattered to the floor, nothing but complete disbelief at what she’d just done now shining in her eyes, contorting her mouth.

Fury, surety… pain… it was linked. He could access it now.

He looked back at Phantom, smiled winsomely. “As I said, we’re all friends here.”

Phantom smiled back, and Dirk visibly relaxed. The tension in the room eased.

There’d been a time, not long ago, when he’d thought being a vampire would be useful. That was the worst understatement ever conceived by a man’s mind.

“Dirk, what’s a word for something that’s useful, but like, just really damn useful?”

“Uh… something auspicious? Propitious… commodious… convenient…”

Convenient. Gods-damned convenient.

“Yeah, that’s it. Now, Danten, tell me the truth: were you up for shooting me in the back, right then?”

His friend lowered his face, and shook his head softly.

Lodus grinned as toothily as he could manage, and hissed, “I think it’s time for a change of leadership.” Phantom stared back at him, cringing like a scolded child. “Lady, come pick these bits of wood out of my hand. That’s the least you owe me. Poem – you’re gonna want to start coming up with some vampirey words for this one. I’m going out tonight, and it’s gonna be one hell of a story…”

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