“Okay,” Greg grunted with a mouth full of jerky. “So we know the girl that went missing was a succubus. We know she isn’t the only non-human that frequents Club de Tac. And clearly someone else knows it too. A succubus wasn’t kidnapped by accident. There’s no way.”

Peter fastened his seatbelt and then pulled Omacatl from his jacket’s side pocket, increased her size to that of a typical house cat, and set her down on his lap. “But who? Could it be another monster hunter?”

“It could,” Greg stated speculatively. He pulled out of the parking lot heading back toward the Mayhew residence. “I can’t think of who, though. I’ll make some calls. Ask around.”

Peter was interested in hearing about these other monster hunters that had come to Portland around the same time that Greg had. The big man hadn’t said almost anything about them, how many there were, if they were all Witch Hunters, or even if he knew them personally. Peter’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket as Greg put his own phone up to his ear.

Everything in the whole world: I talked to Bobby. He did actually have something interesting to pass on. Apparently a series of young people have been coming into his walk-in clinic with the same issues over the last month or so. They’ve been coming in with signs of having been slipped rohypnol and all of them had dangerously low levels of iron in their blood. One or the other of those things wouldn’t have been THAT irregular, but multiple people, roughly the same age, all with BOTH low iron and post-rohypnol symptoms. I guess this has been going on for about a month, but stopped suddenly this week.

Rohypnol… Peter searched his memory until finally recalling that it was the name of one of the date rape drugs. Someone was drugging kids at the club, probably also non-humans though he couldn’t be sure, and then…

“Greg!” Peter said, putting one and one together.

“Hang on,” Greg said into his phone, covering the microphone with his hand as he looked to Peter. “Can it wait?”

Sheepish, Peter nodded apologetically. He was so excited by this new piece of information that he’d forgotten Greg was on the phone at all. He hastily replied to Renea.

Peter: Low on iron. Am I off the mark in thinking the implication here is that they lost a lot of blood?

Everything in the whole world: That was my deduction as well. Bobby concurs.

Peter: Drugged. Drained. Vampires? Why would vampires need to drug their victims?

Everything in the whole world: Solid guess. But then the kids would be dead, or turned. Right? Not walking into an urgent care clinic the next day. What does Greg think?

Peter: Idk. He’s calling other monster hunters to see if they know anything. Will let you know. Love you.

Everything in the whole world: Love you.

“You can stick that sorry right up your hairy ass, Jewel,” Greg was saying into his phone. “I didn’t call you to fight about the past. I just need to know if you’re still in Portland.”

Peter watched the big man curiously. Jewel is an interesting name for a hairy-assed monster hunter, he thought to himself.

“Alright. Thanks. You know if Heath is out of here, too?” Greg slowed to normal freeway speeds just in time to avoid getting pulled over by a state patrol vehicle parked to the side. His lips pressed together and brows rose high on his forehead as he looked at Peter guiltily, as if to say ‘close one’. Peter rolled his eyes. “Alright. Take care of yourself, Jewel.”

He hung up the phone. Before Peter could say a word, he dialed another contact and put the phone to his ear. Peter stroked the god cat in his lap fondly, smiling down at her as she began to pur.

“Blackheart, it’s Greg. You still in the Portland area?” Greg took the exit and turned toward the Mayhew’s neighborhood. “Yeah. I thought the same thing. I almost left too, but it’s probably good I didn’t. There’s something weird going on here.” Another long pause. “I wouldn’t hate having you around but I get it. Stay safe, love.”

“Love?” Peter asked thirstily when Greg hung up. He was pretty sure Greg and Roma were kind of a thing, but they really hadn’t given him any indication that they were anything more than friends with benefits.

“Don’t read into it,” Greg said, pulling into the driveway and putting the car in park. “Blackheart’s a good kid. Lost her parents to a crypt mistress at an archeological dig site while I was in Cairo. She was down there with them. Watched the monster rip her parent’s skin clean off. I got there in time to kill the crypt mistress before she got to the kid. After that she wouldn’t leave my side. I basically raised her until she was old enough to strike out on her own. Followed in my footsteps and now she’s a hunter as good as any I’ve met.”

Peter blinked rapidly at the place Greg had been sitting before closing the driver door behind him. Peter opened his own door and got out, looking at Greg with wide eyes. “Greg. You’re a dad?”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Greg raised an eyebrow as he opened the back door, disappearing from view for a moment as he reached in to grab his black travel bag. “No. What? I just told you she lost her parents.”

“How old was she?” Peter asked, taking his keys back from Greg and unlocking the front door. “When you found her, I mean.”

“Small,” Greg said, holding his hand out at about waist height. “About like that. I suck at guessing kid’s ages. Probably less than ten, but more than five.”

Flapjack lifted his head when the door opened, but didn’t get up. Omacatl scurried between Greg and Peter’s legs and into the house. She jumped up onto the side of the couch where she could keep an eye on the dog before curling up into an adorable little ball of cat god.

“I hate to break it to you, big guy. But if you raised a kid from ‘small’ to ‘strike out on their own’, you’re their dad. Wait.” Peter took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack, following Greg as he crossed the front room and into the kitchen. “Blackheart. The name. I assume she didn’t come that way. Did you name her Blackheart?”

Greg laughed a booming laugh. “No. No, that’s her monster hunter name. A lot of modern hunters go with made up names like they’re superheroes or something. She picked that name on her own after she completed her first contract. And, yeah. I guess you’re right. I’m the closest thing she’s got to family. Same goes for me now that Gabe’s gone. Never thought of myself as her dad, though. Anyway, she came to Portland a little before I did. Had a look around. Took a contract or two. Felt like the reports we all got were exaggerated, and took off back to Iceland.”

There was a lot to unpack in everything Greg had just said. Peter first tried to imagine some email list of monster hunters all over the world and wondered who had that list, and who put reports together to send them. And then there was the fact that Blackheart was a monster hunter.

“Blackheart, is she a Witch Hunter like you?” Peter asked.

“No. She’s a normy like you. Remember that time in Veracruz when you wanted to learn to jump like I do?” Greg asked. Peter nodded. He’d forgotten about that, but his interest was quickly renewed - and with a burning passion. “And I told you there are a handful of ways for humans to gain super strength and other abilities?” Peter nodded again. “Blackheart’s got them all. I made sure of it when she told me she wanted to be a hunter. She’ll only live as long as any other human, but there’s not a normy - enhanced or otherwise - that could stand up long in a fight with Blackheart. Mrs. Mayhew actually reminds me of her a little bit. It’s the attitude.”

Something about that explanation got Peter’s mind turning. Without knowing exactly where he was going with the line of questioning, Peter just went with his instincts. “These various ways to gain strength and abilities. Any of them involve the blood of non-humans?”

Greg stopped halfway through making his protein shake. He looked sharply at Peter with furrowed brows. “What are you suggesting? That I killed monsters to power up that scared, helpless little girl? I would do that, Peter. But no. Her enhancements mostly came from monster core elixirs.”

“What?” Peter asked, baffled at the sudden change in his big friend. “No. That’s not why I was asking at all.” And then realization dawned on him. He could see now why Greg might have thought that. He was missing context. “I’ve been chatting with Renea. A friend of hers runs a walk-in clinic in the Pearl District. It’s pretty close to Club de Tac, actually. She asked if he’d noticed anything unusual lately and…” Peter briefly recounted what he’d learned from Renea and their subsequent deductions.

Greg listened with interest, pouring too much chocolate whey powder into his shaker cup. He twisted the lid and began shaking. “There might be a way to use monster blood in elixirs but, if there is, I don’t know it. All the enhancement recipes I know involve monster cores and various distillates.” He set down his protein shake and scratched at his stubbled chin for a moment. “The short answer is I don’t know. But I might know who to ask.”

Greg pulled out his phone, scrolling through his contacts before dialing and putting it on speaker. The call was accepted and Old Lady Romanov’s sultry voice came through the speakerphone. “Morning, Greg.”

“Hey Roma, me and Peter here. Got you on speakerphone. Wanted to ask you about something if you have a second?”

“Hi Peter,” Roma purred. “Miss me?”

Greg gave Peter a pleading look. Peter rolled his eyes and humored the sexy vampire lady. “You know I do, Roma. How are things?”

There was a pause. “Why do you always ask me that? How are things? What things? How is anyone supposed to reply to that? Things are fine, Peter. Except that a young lady is missing and probably enduring horrendous treatment. What did you need, Greg?” she asked, her tone suddenly cold. Peter wondered if he’d said something wrong.

“You know any way of making enhancement elixirs or other methods of powering up that involve monster blood? For humans, vamps, anything?”

“Well you know vampires gain power from powerful blood. Apart from that…” there was a long pause. “Hmmm. Nothing comes to mind, but I have some ideas that could work if you wanted to try them. What’s this about? Are you wanting to power up your new pet, Peter?”

“We think somebody or something,” Peter replied, ignoring her pet jab, “might be date raping and bleeding out some young people in the Pearl District. They might be targeting non-humans. I don’t think it’s a vampire, though. Because the victims weren’t killed or turned. They just woke up dangerously low on iron.”

“Not a vampire,” Roma agreed. “Probably not a vampire,” she amended. “I’ve met a few over the years that tried using similar methods. Knock them out, drain the blood into a container with medical equipment instead of their fangs, then leave them in a gutter somewhere. The ones that try that kind of thing don’t last long. Blood is best enjoyed at 98 degrees exactly.”

“Tell me about these ideas you’ve got,” Greg prompted.

“It’s pretty technical stuff. To put it in terms that wouldn’t go over your heads…” Roma paused, choosing her words. “Vampires have a unique digestive system. It hasn’t really been studied, but I’ve dabbled and collaborated with other scientific minds in the community. It was years ago, they may have continued the research without me. Regardless, we deduced that the key is a vampire stomach’s ability to break down and separate nutrients and DNA. The DNA is usually discarded. Unless, that is, the blood came from a powerful host. In that case, it’s processed through the vigula - a vampiric organ located where a human’s kidney would be. The result: power absorption.

“As we’ve already agreed, your guy probably isn’t a vampire. What I was thinking is that, perhaps there’s a way to simulate the vigula’s process outside of the body. An artificial organ, if you will. If you could do that, the elixirs you could make would be… I couldn’t even begin to imagine. There are so many factors. Maybe lethal. Maybe legendary.”

All three were quiet for a few seconds, considering the matter.

“You said ideas, plural. What else?” Greg asked.

“I may have said that prematurely,” Roma admitted. “Idea.”

“Alright. Well thanks, Roma. Mind calling me if you think of anything else?”

Roma agreed, and they said their quick goodbyes. Greg followed Peter back into the front room and sank into the loveseat with his shaker bottle in hand. Peter sat on the couch, eyes glazed over, one hand reaching unconsciously to pet the cat.

Peter’s puzzle-solving mind was racing. So many new tidbits of information. Each thing he’d learned today could be a vital clue or an irrelevant speculation. If Bobby was willing to give out his patient’s names, which Peter knew he was not, they could interview the young adults that were drugged and bled. Since that was off the table, Peter pulled out his phone and dialed the only other person that might be able to provide some names: Sarah back at Club de Tac.