Greg Van Helsing was not a nightclub kind of guy. A crappy dive bar with watered down drinks and greasy food? Any day of the week. A nightclub blasting his sensitive ears with bad music and stabbing his sensitive eyes with strobing lights? He’d rather pull his own fingernails off.

The night scene of Portland felt the same way about Greg, it seemed. People moved away from him like he were a drop of oil spilled into a glass of water. With his towering form, impressive physique, and generally sour disposition he could hardly blame these kids for wanting to avoid him.

Roma had the opposite effect. The very same young men and women that avoided Greg like the plague were drawn to her like moths to a flame. Though her haunting beauty and choice of attire were certainly a factor, Greg knew that her seductive aura was nearly impossible for these normys to resist. Luckily it only took one look at Greg’s glowering face to dissuade most from striking up a conversation with her. But not all.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” a young man was saying to the vampire that would rather drain him dry than go home with him.

He was a handsome lad. Young and muscular and well dressed. His friends, a pair of similarly styled young hopefuls, hung back watching their boy take a swing at the most attractive woman in the club.

“And you won’t again,” Roma told him, smiling wickedly before turning away and snaking her arm around Greg’s waist.

Young-hopeful’s friends harassed him as he returned to the group with his tail between his legs. Greg’s mood lightened, just a little.

The stop at Club de Tac had been brief. They stopped by to touch base with Tina and Sarah, who would be their eyes while they went from club to club. Greg didn’t hold much hope that they’d actually find what they were looking for, but there was a chance. And he got to spend the evening with Roma out and about in her natural habitat: the dark. As much as he hated the club scene, Greg was having an alright evening. Not good, but not entirely bad either. It felt good having a beauty like Roma stitched to his side, arm around his waist as they made their way through the Portland club scene.

After Club de Tac, Greg and Roma got a lift to a club called Mode. This club, in Greg’s eyes, was a carbon copy of Club de Tac. On the inside, at least. The building’s exterior was significantly more modern and well kept than Sarah’s shit-brown building. Within there were bright lights, loud noises, and obnoxious children.

Greg scanned the dancefloor, the bar, the DJ booth, everything, but did not see a man with an orange neck tattoo nor anyone holding a find disk. Though someone holding a cell phone wouldn’t look incredibly dissimilar, Greg was sure his sharp eyes would catch a find disk if there was one anywhere in this club.

“Bust,” Greg said once he and Roma were standing outside of Mode. “Where to next?”

Roma pulled the handwritten note Peter had given her with club names and addresses. “Next…” she said, trailing off as she located their next destination. “Pompe and Scrub. That’s an odd name for a nightclub, isn’t it?”

“Sounds more like a fancy dog groomer,” Greg agreed.

It was a little after midnight when Greg and Roma exited another nightclub, this one called Coffin Candy. It was a goth club that actually played music less offensive to Greg’s ears than the previous three clubs. He caught a whiff of vampire scent somewhere within but with all of the other scents permeating the club he couldn’t pinpoint exactly where the smell was coming from. Any other night he would put more effort into finding and slaying the blood sucker but this evening had its own task. Its own very, very frustrating task.

“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Greg said, grunting with annoyance. “We’re never going to…”

Roma looked up at the big man as he trailed off. Greg was staring intensely across the street. His mouth fell open. Wordlessly, he pointed. Roma followed his gaze and swallowed a laugh.

Right there, waiting in line to enter the nightclub they had just left was a tall, skinny, white guy with an orange tattoo on his neck. He was looking down at what could only be a find disk in his hand.

“What were you saying, love?” Roma asked with mock sweetness.

“Go time,” he said, now smiling wickedly. He stepped off the curb and began walking steadily toward their target.

“You don’t want to wait for the normys?” Roma called after him.

Greg did not reply and Roma hurried to follow.

The target, Tyler, was shooting nervous glances all around - his eyes darting from the disk in his hand to his left, right, over his shoulder, and back to the disk. When he looked over his shoulder again and saw Greg Van Helsing smiling devilishly at him from no more than a foot from his face, Tyler’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. Before he took even one step in his panicked attempt to flee, Greg had him by the arm.

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“Get off me man,” Tyler shouted, his voice cracking with panic.

He pulled at Greg’s hand uselessly as Greg pulled him out of the line to Coffin Candy and around the corner into a dark alley between buildings. He threw the man against a brick wall with some force and Tyler crumpled to the ground covering his head with his arms like an abused child before their drunk father.

“Been looking for you,” Greg said, standing over the cringing man. “Got some questions need answering. We can do this the easy way…” Greg paused, waiting for Tyler to look up at him and then flashing a wild, toothy grin. “Or the fun way.”

“I’ll tell you whatever you want,” Tyler said, still shying away and partially covering his head with one scrawny arm.

“Where’s the girl?” Greg asked.

“What girl?”

Greg crouched, leaning forward and locking eyes with Tyler. He could see the piece of shit’s fear rising to a full blown panic. Greg’s head tilted to the side, allowing the light of an overhead street lamp to illuminate the excitement painting his features.

“The fun way, then.”

“She’s at the compound,” Tyler blurted. “She’s at the compound. The Fauna First compound. I’ll give you the address just don’t do… whatever the fun way is. Please.”

“Isn’t this the ‘good time with a real man’ guy?” Roma asked. She scoffed loudly, looking down on Tyler with pitiless disgust in her eyes.

Greg barked a laugh in Tyler’s face.

“Take me there, real man,” he demanded, one hand stroking the handle of an oversized knife at his belt.

***

Renea Mayhew was quickly running out of steam. She and Peter had been going from crowded nightclub to crowded nightclub, dancing and drinking for hours. Peter, whether due to sincerely enjoying himself or because of the pill Greg gave him, seemed to have all of the energy in the world. Renea suspected it was the latter.

She parted with her husband to make use of Club Clive’s filthy ladies room. Sitting in the stall with her knees on her elbows, head in her hands, Renea took a moment to just be away from the noise and the lights. How had she ever enjoyed this kind of frivolity?

Washing her hands and looking at herself appraisingly in the cracked and dirty mirror, Renea frowned. She did do herself up this evening and, by her standards, looked acceptably pretty. But wondered if she needed to take Peter in to see an eye doctor or something. The whole night he’d been googly eyes at her like she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

Renea knew that her husband found her attractive but never understood why. With her boring black shoulder length hair, slightly-too sharp nose, cheekbones, and chin paired with a bland girl-next-door look, Renea thought of herself as mildly pretty at the best of times. To hear Peter talk about her, though, it was like they were seeing two different people.

Still appraising her reflection as she spun the paper towel dispenser, Renea wondered what she looked like through Peter’s eyes. The dispenser was empty and Renea’s lips curled into a frown as she attempted to flick as much water from her hands as she could before wiping them on the hem of her little black dress. Before leaving the bathroom, Renea mentally prepared herself to deal with anywhere from one to thirty vastly more attractive women than herself coming onto her husband.

The roar of the speakers and bump-bump-bump of the subwoofers came back in full force as soon as she opened the bathroom door. Renea got on her toes, neck craning as she scanned the club in search of Peter. Before she located her husband, Renea’s eyes landed on a young Asian man with his hair cropped short on one side. In his left hand she noticed a silver disk with little yellow LEDs sparking on at seemingly random intervals.

A find disk. It almost had to be.

Glancing back to the man frequently, Renea’s search for Peter intensified. As she had predicted, Renea found her far-too-attractive husband surrounded by women. Not wanting to lose sight of the man with the disk she waved her arms in a frantic attempt to catch Peter’s attention. He looked over and saw her. The blush that had been creeping its way onto her cheeks all night returned when her husband visibly brightened before pushing his way out of the horde of little bitches in their little floozy dresses, not even bothering to excuse himself from a conversation they looked to have been having.

“Look,” she said, indicating a direction with a subtle nod.

Peter looked, scanning the general area for a moment before his eyes widened. He looked back to her, a mix of excitement and fear on his face.

“That’s Andy Reinke,” Peter said, confusion covering his excitement. “I met him this afternoon. Greg said something derogatory about fairies and he got all offended then took off.”

“Remember when I asked you, ‘what we do if we find the guy?’” Renea asked. “And you didn’t answer? Let me ask again. What do we do now, Peter? Call Greg?”

Peter considered it for a moment, his head tilting back and forth. It was clear to Renea, who had observed this beautiful, erratic man’s body language for over a decade, that he was warring within himself. Part of him wanted to call Greg and let him deal with it. Another part wanted to take care of it himself, not wanting to always rely on the big strong monster hunter. She saw the exact moment when Peter came to a conclusion. His brows lowered, lips pressed together. There would be no calling for backup.

“We can handle this,” Peter said. He took his eyes away from this Andy Reinke to look at Renea with an intense expression. “I need you to go outside. See if you can get a taxi or something. I’m going to get Andy and myself kicked out.”

Renea did not know what to say. Her eyes darted quickly and aimlessly as her mind raced, trying to think of a better solution. But what else could they do? They weren’t the law. They couldn’t just apprehend the suspect. There was almost no chance they’d be able to talk him into going somewhere more private so they could ask him some pointed questions and make some even more pointed accusations.

Peter was looking at her with a questioning look in his eyes. He wouldn’t do it this way if she asked him not to, but Renea couldn’t think of any other way. She nodded seriously.

Renea held Peter’s hand, trailing behind him as he approached the young Asian man. She felt him squeeze her hand gently before releasing the grip as they neared their mark, Peter continuing on while Renea cut to the left toward the door. Watching over her shoulder, Renea’s eyes widened in shock. To her profound surprise, Peter just walked right up and punched the man directly in the nose without a single word.

Not only was Peter a generally non-confrontational person, he avidly opposed violence in nearly every situation - apart from spiders and now, apparently, when Greg Van Helsing was the one committing the violence. She’d seen him play that boxing game with the VR headset and therefore knew he could move with speed and precision, but the power of his punch was much more than she would have ever guessed her sweet, gentle husband to be capable of.

Andy Reinke dropped like a sack of potatoes, hitting the floor with blood already geysering from his nostrils. His find disk shattered against the concrete flooring. The last thing Renea saw before exiting the club was Andy springing to his feet and launching himself at Peter. Torn between going back in to back up her husband and trying to secure them a way the hell out of here if necessary, Renea froze for a single heartbeat. And then waved down a taxi trolling the area for drunk people to drive home.