Tyler Bondar hated the city. The entirety of it reminded him distinctly of the grade school in Missoula he'd gone to until grade 7. Loud, cramped, riddled with artificial light. You could go months in a city and never have your feet touch anything but concrete or stone. He'd done it at his last posting, directly out of training camp, and had vowed never to be posted in the city again. He didn't know how people voluntarily lived in these hellholes. The streets were so narrow, the sky distant. The air was foul with the stench of too much life squeezed into too small a space. Even in 'quiet' areas his ears were assaulted by distant gasoline engines. You couldn't hear someone sneaking up behind you, nor listen to the wind, nor remain in tune with your own body.

But Father Emil had been called into Chicago to act on behalf of the Brotherhood of Saint Cypria because of his experience with vampires. A murder at the academy of one of the heathen mage organizations and the Brotherhood had been contracted to solve it. Apparently they would be trapped in the place for four months, unable to leave, once they entered. The idea made Tyler shudder. But God would not look favourably upon one of His children letting personal hatred get in the way of their duty, so he touched the small cross hanging around his neck, the tip just grazing the top of his kevlar, and made a quick and silent prayer asking for forgiveness. One of his father's earliest and most repeated lessons had been that personal emotions were tools to be used in moments that called for extra strength, not unchecked powers over your mind. As Father Emil's Enforcer his duty was to protect the Father from threats. Cities made his job more difficult. It was that simple. There was no longer any personal emotion involved.

He had been surprised that the Brotherhood of Saint Cypria did not engage in emotional training of its Enforcers. It was why many of his Brothers were weak-minded, prone to impulsion. They lay their strength too deeply in His hands, not realizing that He had made them in His image so they could be strong and willful in their own bodies and minds. He had shared this with some of the Brothers in his class and had almost been banished for it. A naïve mistake. He had not made it again. The Brotherhood, being part of the Catholic denomination of Christianity, would not share his views on God and Christ and the Scripture, and his differing views would be seen as insulting. "God has blessed us with his word in the Bible, yet it is up to each Man to interpret it and forge his own relationship with Him. This malleability is Christianity's greatest strength, but it is also its greatest weakness." His Father's words. He had been open to the Brotherhood's interpretation and had assumed the opposite would be the same.

It had not.

They arrived on the heathen mage organization's grounds. Tyler kept this silent from Father Emil, but he was curious to see it up close. Especially this specific organization, which bafflingly used magic to battle magic's influence in their world. Illogical. Saint Cypria—blessing and peace be upon him—had given up the corruption of magic so that he could work to cleanse the world of its poison, and the Brotherhood carried his divine goals.

The car left them in front of an old stone building in a shaded glen. Tyler shifted his hands on the grip of his CQBR and surveyed the old, dark windows of the academy as Father Emil heaved himself out of the back of the car. Emil had told him they would be working in the cramped confines of school buildings. Lots of angles and short corners.

But Tyler was confused. He didn't see how they would be trapped in this building for four months.

Father Emil came around the side of the car slow and steady, his cane clacking on the asphalt. Tyler knew Father Emil exaggerated his infirmity. Beneath his loose white robes, his body was lean and weathered as an old steel cord.

They entered the building, Tyler first, in a stance. The building seemed to be empty. Eerily so. He whipped up his CQBR and held it loose against his shoulder. He had a bad feeling about this.

"Relax, would you?" Father Emil tapped him on the lower leg with his cane as if scolding a child. "We're not even in the academy yet."

Tyler straightened and followed Father Emil down into the basement of the empty place. The large space they entered had a portal on one wall.

They were subject to a process similar to the one at international airports. A woman instructed Father Emil and him to remove all their weapons, gear, talismans, enchanted or mundane. Tyler looked expectantly at Father Emil.

Father Emil waved his hand impatiently. "Yes, yes. Just do as she says."

Tyler placed his Benelli M4 shotgun on the tray first, as he was the least attached to it, then the enchanted combat knife strapped across his chest, then the normal one in his boot, then the Glock-19 he'd picked up on the way into Chicago since the custom Sig Sauer he'd had for four years had been melted down to slag by a powerful fire sprite Emil and he had been called in to destroy in Des Moines last week and the replacement hadn't arrived. He placed his defensive ward talisman on the tray but kept his other two talismans, hidden beneath his kevlar, on. He reluctantly placed the CQBR on the tray. The security lady was ogling his gear like a kid at a candy store, even though it was all fairly standard stuff except for the talisman. You didn't want things to be too customized because if they got destroyed or lost, like his Sig, you had to adjust to a different gun until you received the replacement.

The security lady glanced at him. "The vest too."

"The vest stays on." Tyler dug his heels in.

She bit her lip, "Fine," and gestured to the other two security guards. "Scan him thoroughly."

Father Emil watched all this with a twinkle in his eyes. "Having fun yet, Tyler?"

Tyler bared his clenched teeth in a grin. "Fun is my middle name, Father."

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Father Emil chuckled. He clasped his hands behind his back and nodded over to the portal.

"Do you recognize what that is?"

Tyler glanced at the silver spiral turning widdershins on the wall. "I do, but I don't like it."

"Come now, a young lad like you should have an open mind." Father Emil grinned.

"And an old man like you shouldn't take dangerous jobs." Tyler shot back. He did enjoy their banter. Some Fathers were so dry.

"I'm hurt." Father Emil mock-winced, then turned serious. "It will be good for you, lad. An opportunity to see the heathen mages up close. This particular organization runs the academy for its young students in an artificial world they have generated with the poison that is magic. The sun barely shines there, their land and flora and fauna are artificially imported, their weather created with the poison. Once we step inside that portal, we will be there for four months, even if we catch this vampire within the next day."

Tyler flicked a glance at the portal. "You speak of Hell."

"Indeed."

Their things were ready. Father Emil waited patiently as Tyler reequipped his gear. They were ushered in through the portal. Tyler closed his eyes and thought of the distant slopes of western Montana. Thankfully, the process was over in moments.

Once on the other side they were greeted by two men in grey coats who introduced themselves as campus security. Tyler hung back, letting Emil do the talking while he surveyed the surroundings and the potential adversaries. The security guards had the usual look, more present in the moment than civilians, but too amped up on their own importance and appearance to be as observant as they should be.

The world they had entered was all wrong, but Tyler forced himself to ignore it and keep an eye on their immediate surroundings. There would be time for idle perusal later.

Father Emil led him through the cramped buildings to the scene of the murder. Tyler kept his eyes on the students and staff milling about. Many of them had the glazed eyes and anxious, shambling gaits of the half-present common to cityfolk too absorbed in the worlds within their minds to be fully aware of themselves and the world around them. Their senses had been poisoned by the world they lived in. He felt pity. You could tell much about someone by their gaze and the way they walked. And these people were only half alive.

Father Emil traded words with some of the organization's staff. They were the same. The buildings had no defences; were not built for defence. The people here were not fighters or warriors. There were no protectors nor protection. No wonder there had been an attack. But that was cityfolk. Most had never seen, let alone lived, danger, and were always appalled to the point of uselessness when danger inevitably reared its head.

Father Emil examined the body in the morgue for some time. His old body bent over the corpse, long, liver-spotted fingers lifting back the hair, examining the wound, scribbling notes.

"We will go see the head of this place now."

Tyler followed the Father to another building and up to the top floor. There was a receptionist. A young woman. Half-there. She cringed back when she glanced at Tyler.

"We must see the President now." Father Emil said.

"He's waiting for you."

They entered a small chamber with large windows and stacks of books on shelves. The furniture was expensive, but the location was poorly chosen. The big windows made anyone in the room an easy target, especially the man sitting behind the large, ornate desk.

He was of mixed Caucasian and African descent. His close cut hair and trimmed beard were silver, his dark face weathered. He stood as they entered and first surveyed Father Emil, then Tyler. He was a small man, but his eyes were dark, sharp, and Tyler observed him catalogue Tyler's weapons, gear, stance, perception and gauge his ability in a split second. This was a dangerous man. A man who had fought. A man who had killed.

"I am Father Emil, of the Brotherhood of Saint Cypria. This is my Enforcer, Brother Bondar."

"President Russell." The President said. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

He did not offer to shake their hands, and neither did they.

"What can you tell me?"

Father Emil paced the office, gesturing as he spoke.

"Most certainly a vampire slaying. I have seen such fang marks and exsanguination before. They are telltale. There was small trauma to the back of the victim's head. They were knocked unconscious before the creature did its foul work."

"Why?"

Father Emil held up a hand. "I will finish my report before questions. The creatures will sometimes knock their victims out before feeding. It makes the feeding easier. Struggle and stress release certain chemicals into the bloodstream. Perhaps they affect the taste. I suspect the creature did its work slowly the night before you found the body, and hid the body until the morning. If it is feeding on young women, it is likely a male. These creatures will usually strike once every few weeks.

"I understand the predicament you have found yourself in, President, but the curse of your campus lockdown may be a blessing in disguise. Vampires do not utilize the magic the same way you and your warlocks do. For them the magic is like another sense. You could say they can smell it. The vampire on your campus will have caught the scent of dozens of students, and most of your staff. If your students and staff were able to go back to their homes, it could trace them and attack them individually."

"How far can it follow their signatures?"

"Dozens of miles? Hundreds of miles? Impossible to put a number to it, but it is like blood in the water for a shark. It is a predator. However, we have no way of tracking it at such distances, and thus emptying your campus would be giving the creature free, helpless feedings across the continent. I will remind you, President, that this is a very rare, very dangerous creature. It is not to be taken lightly. To let it off your campus would be to let it strike again at any time. I feel for the loss of your student and the danger your institution faces, yet it is somewhat of a blessing that the creature has revealed itself to us in such a fashion."

"How long will you need to kill it?"

"A week, perhaps two. With His blessing maybe less."

"You said it kills again in a few weeks."

"Thus the importance for haste."

President Russell drummed his fingers on the back of his chair once. "What do you need?"

"Quarters for Brother Bondar and myself. Utmost silence from your people. I am a visiting researcher. If the creature discovers my presence it may try to dispose of us."

"How strong will it be?"

"They vary, but this one has just fed, so it will be strong. Their poison primarily augments their physical abilities."

"Will you be able to handle it once you find it?"

"I would not be here if I could not handle vampires, President. Brother Bondar would not be an Enforcer if he were not a deadly force in his own right. However, when the time comes I will take what backup you can give me, even if it is... Magic users."

"Thank you, gentlemen. If you need anything you come directly to me or my secretary. She will show you to your quarters. Now, if you'll excuse me."

They were led out of the building and into another one where their rooms were. Objectively, they were nice rooms, far better than the hotels they stayed in when on most contracts. But in reality they were trapped, imprisoned, in this sinful abomination. He could already feel depression stealing over him.

It was going to be a long four months.