After they found the body, Pullman had quickly sent Jack home. Something about ‘crime scene procedure’ or other such nonsense.

That night, he dreamed. He did most nights, though he rarely remembered them—a blessing in disguise, he thought.

This one, though, was vivid. Visceral. He stood atop a broken plain, in a barren desert with no sun. The sky was empty and black. Somehow he could see in front of him: endless cold sands, stretching to the horizon.

These shifted beneath his feet as he walked. Something lay beyond that horizon, something basic and primal. Salvation. He was sure of it.

Wind whistled, and it smelled dusty. Cold penetrated his bones. A weight tugged at his back, insistent; he spared a glance to his shoulder.

Hannah’s head slumped across it.

He kept walking.

It had to be better than standing still. Besides, there was something just over the lip of the horizon. If they could reach it, there was hope.

“Hang on, kid,” he said, breathless. “I won’t let it end like this.”

Chuckling. He halted, rubbernecking as he searched for inconsistency. There was none. The sound came from next to his ear, his gaze creeping round in horror.

Her greyness was wrong, a sickly pallor rather than her usual colour—it seemed as though the skin hung from her cheeks like soggy leather. Where her eyes should have been, there were pits of fire.

That chuckling rose to harsh laughter, the Hannah-thing staring at his soul. “You’ve never had a say in the ending, you idiot.”

His strength left him, and he pitched forward, the body on his back crumbling. It tumbled away, now indistinguishable from the sand.

“No!” he yelled, his lungs flexing and gasping. He barely had the strength to breathe.

Clawing at the ground, he tried to drag himself forward. His muscles wouldn’t respond. Before him, a gust blew sand into the shape of a person, where it solidified into a tiny woman sneering at him.

Lydia said nothing, just harrumphing and turning away. The wind came again, returning her to dust, and he bunched his fists. It was all pointless.

He screamed.

The ground gave way, and he was falling into nothingness. It was dark, so dark, falling and flailing and grasping at the shadows, wisps of people he once knew.

Never-ending.

His fall refused to end, and a chasm widened in his gut. He couldn’t do a damn thing. Closing his eyes, he resigned himself.

And could have sworn he felt a pair of arms wrap around his shoulders. “It’s just a dream.”

His eyes snapped open, sweat pouring from his brow. He could feel where it had soaked into the pillow. Panting, he threw the covers back, noting the orange light filtering into the dim room.

Why bother? Everything he touched crumbled to dust—his life was meaningless, just an endless trek toward an empty horizon. Even with this job, he’d done nothing. He could only hang on.

“Don’t let it rule you.”

He ignored her, yanking the duvet back onto himself and curling up. Failure was inevitable. So why try?

Knocking echoed through his flat.

He groaned, rolling over.

The knock came again, harder.

With a bitter curse, he crawled out of bed, throwing on the nearest clothes on the floor and walking out. A note sat on the table, so he read it, ignoring a third set of knocks:

Jack,

Guess what I got?

…

Did you guess? Anyway, I got a boyfriend! Kind of. I think. His name’s Derren, and he has the best little smile I’ve ever seen.

He snorted. People were infatuated by the tiniest things.

Anyway, I’ll be taking today off. We probably don’t have any work anyway, right? So I’ll see you tomorrow!

xxx

Hannah

For once, she was wrong, and this was a lot more serious than he’d anticipated. More dangerous. He was glad of her misconception, since it would keep her away from van Hellsong. Plus, the note had seemed upbeat, so he decided to perk up.

The knocking sounded again, the door crashing, and he answered with a sigh, leading Pullman upstairs.

“Drugs are in the lab,” said the detective, standing in the doorway, “but it’s nothing we’ve ever seen before.”

“Great,” said Jack. “Magic drugs and a vampire hunter.”

“Maybe he’s targeting vampire dealers. Also, are we going to address your dream?”

No.

“I think some of these ex-New Bloods got caught in something, and that’s what van Hellsong’s targeting.” Pullman ran a hand through his dark hair. “We’d need to ask the man himself.”

“You think it’s something to do with the Firm?”

Pursing his lips, Pullman said, “I don’t see why else they would have killed Lance. Something’s still missing, though. The piece that binds them all together.”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“How do we find it, then?”

“We talk to people. We can check out some linked to the Firm, as well as more of these ‘monster hunters’ that are lying about.”

He knit his brows. “There’s more of them?”

“Full guild,” said Pullman. “‘Course, most of them are just confused gamers.”

“Right.” He wasn’t optimistic.

***

Hannah’s idea of fun involved a book, a sofa, and a blanket, with an optional mug of hot chocolate—though she’d swapped that with blood, these days. The kind of activity where other people were optional. Not that she hated being with others, but it wore her out. Usually, people had multiple faces, which were a pain to sort through. Sometimes it was worth it. Others, not so much.

Derren, she’d decided, would be worth it. Even if it meant wading through the chaos of a theme park.

The Pleasure Beach was a sprawling mess, full of twisting lanes and open-air stalls and enough people to make her head spin. Their chatter mixed with their screeches on rollercoasters, the smell of warm bodies mingling with the aroma of whatever food stall was nearby, and her stomach fluttered the entire time.

But she bore it.

She found it hard to tell the difference between humans and other races in the crowd—aside from vampires, who wore hats and hoods and veils—but it was varied. The long line for human-flavour ice cream was evidence of that.

Nevertheless, she had fun—Derren dragged her excitedly across the park and back again, past fountains and even into a ride that she came out of soaked. She’d worn a straw hat that day, and was thankful the sun was already setting.

Watching him produce that gorgeous smile as he laughed like a child was worth the trouble. She might not have known him well, but she found she wanted to, in ways more intimate than she’d experienced before. A touch on the back while sitting down, or a brush of the arm while walking. Each little advance sent a thrill racing through her.

He was more than obliging himself, even manufacturing a trip that forced him to catch himself on her shoulders; the deep gaze into her eyes, she figured, had been to stop him falling again.

She sighed contentedly as they left, streetlights and stars illuminating the inky sky. The sea wind blew over them, chill and crisp, bringing the fresh ocean smell upon them. Engines rumbled, and a few people chattered as a small group wandered through the gate, blanketed in contentment.

They were at its head. Their arms locked, they stepped toward the promenade, still bustling with traffic and pedestrians.

“Surprisingly,” she said, “that was really fun.”

Cocking a brow, Derren eyed her playfully. “What do you mean, ‘surprisingly’?”

“No, wait, that’s not what I mean!” she said, eyes widening. “Just… I don’t like big crowds, you know?”

He tilted his head, smiling at her. “I understand. It makes sense you wouldn’t recognise a face from one, then.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I don’t blame you. I mean, at first I was going to kill you, but then I got to know you—and you’re so wonderful! Nothing at all like the laughing maniac who used a giant turtle to lay waste to my friends.”

Her heart stopped, but her legs kept moving. His grip had turned to iron—ice clutching her veins—and her brain stalled.

“I can only guess the humans got to you,” he continued. “Corrupted you. Made you think you could still be one of them.”

He half-dragged her on, and she swallowed, growing numb. Could she call for help? But who would help a vampire?

Maybe she could call Lydia, but she doubted he’d let her.

“What do you want?” she said, voice quivering.

He looked at her, expression soft. “To protect you. From the human stain, and from what’s coming. I can show you a new world, Hannah.”

“I quite like the one I’m in now,” she said, finding she meant it. Still, her voice was low and squeaky. It felt like she was shrinking inside, but she refused to wilt.

“You’ll see,” he said. “They always show their true colours.”

Like you are? She wanted to say, but bit her lip. He was clearly crazy; provoking him probably wasn’t the best idea. What had she gotten herself into?

A deep voice rumbled from behind them.

“I’ve finally found you, Derren Chan.”

***

The sun falling below the horizon, Pullman shook his head. “Nothing. This has been pointless.”

“I could have told you that at the start,” said Jack, leaning back on his arms atop Choo-chooin. They were along the promenade road—level with the Tower’s original site—lights flickering off every building as people milled around, the smell of the ocean mixing with sweat.

They’d spent the day running around, asking petty criminals and shady businessmen questions that made them sweat. They got no answers. Jack’s contacts had been similarly clueless—though he’d expected that much.

One monster hunter promised them the secret to immortality for the low price of £49.99, though on closer inspection the ‘miracle elixir’ was just banana amoxicillin. The nuclear yellow convinced people, he assumed.

Pullman rubbed his head with a deep sigh, and his phone buzzed. Reaching into his blazer, he took it out, unlocking it and staring with a furrowed brow.

“What is it?” said Jack.

“Intel,” said Pullman. “A man owed me a favour, and it turns out we have an undercover with the Firm. And guess what showed up on their doorstep a couple of weeks ago as a ‘gift’ from some allies?”

“Vampires?”

“A specific vampire.” Pullman pressed the screen, sliding off the disc. “Called Derren. Apparently he’s the one who murdered Lance, which makes me think he’s definitely at the centre of this.”

Time stood still. His heart skipped as he replayed the previous sentence in his mind. Derren. Murdered Lance. At the centre.

“Where did you say this vampire would be again?” he said, breaths shaky.

Distracted, Pullman stood with his back to him, phone to his ear. “I didn’t. They’re based at the docks, but I’d need a warrant before—”

In the time it took the detective to speak, Jack had input the address and set the turtle rocketing down the street.

“Wait!” cried Pullman.

Surely it was a coincidence, right? There were plenty of people called Derren in the world, and Hannah hadn’t specified her new boyfriend was a vampire. His gut chewed itself. He hadn’t seen Lydia all day, either—another coincidence, he was sure.

Then again, what if it wasn’t?

No time to waste.

***

Edwin van Hellsong stared at the backs of his enemies. They were next to a strip mall, just a couple of minutes from the Pleasure Beach—across the road was the promenade, bustling and noisy.

A corner shop and a chip shop stood out the most, especially with the severe woman staring out the chip shop window from behind the counter. No matter.

He pulled out his Desert Eagle, and levelled it on Derren’s head.

Around him, people started screaming and ducking for cover, panic seeming to smother the area in warning. Even the chip shop lady had ducked behind her counter.

Derren started turning, letting go of the girl at his side.

Van Hellsong fired.

He missed.

Derren had twisted away, ducking low and menacing him. He circled van Hellsong, testing and retreating, before another deafening shot forced him to flee into an alley.

Turning the gun on the girl, his stomach dropped. That was an expression he’d seen many times; usually on a victim about to become a vampire’s supper. Desperation. Fear.

Surely a monster couldn’t feel these things.

He steeled himself.

She tried to run away.

The gun roared.

Blood spurted from her leg as she tumbled with a yelp, and he advanced toward her.

Only to be blindsided by a freight train.

Leaving his feet, he flew into the road, cars beeping and screaming their frustration. His side exploded in pain. Broken ribs, almost certainly, from the burning in his chest whenever he breathed. Like someone was driving a hammer down on him.

When he hauled himself to his feet—ignoring the cries of angry motorists—he spotted Derren in the distance with the girl on his shoulder, sprinting away at inhuman speed.