“Hey,” Brianna greets me as I near her. She’s standing by the red double doors that are securely locked.

I pass under the middle of three Gothic arches to join her in the portico, eyeing the metal bars set in front of the main doors. “Are we breaking in?” I ask.

“Well, yeah, I told you it’s closed. But not through the front, c’mon,” she replies, leading me away from the main entrance and down a stone pathway that circles the building. “How you getting on with the boss?” she asks as we make our way to the back of the museum.

“Well enough,” I admit. “I hardly see him.”

“I’m not surprised,” she says. “He’s been keeping busy. Keeping us busy too.”

“But you’re doing well?”

“Well enough,” she repeats me with a smile. "I can’t believe you don’t know how to get to the Market. How long have you been a vampire? A day?”

“Nearly three years,” I reply, although I know the question was rhetorical. “And I haven’t had much guidance from my own kind.”

“That’s because you didn’t bother joining one of the covens,” Brianna points out. “Smart call, they’re a bunch of superior-than-thou assholes.”

“If you say so. But it does leave my knowledge lacking, as you have clearly noticed.”

“It’s endearing though,” Brianna laughs. “Don’t sweat it…wait, do vampires even sweat?”

“No.”

“Weird.”

“Probably as weird as turning into an animal once a month.”

“Yeah well, most people act more like animals than we ever do. And on the daily too.”

I cannot argue with her about this point, keeping up with the news is a daily torment lately. We reach the back of the museum, to an industrial strength dock door where deliveries must come in. Brianna removes her colorful patterned jacket and holds it out to me. I take her cue and retrieve it from her, hoping the chill of the night won’t affect her too badly as she stands in front of the dock door in a tank top. She rubs her palms together, rolls her shoulders, then stretches her neck from side to side before she squats down, hooks her fingers under the lip of the door and wrenches it up. It groans horribly, squealing like an injured animal while Brianna looks as if she’s barely struggling. She straightens slowly, until she is upright again and lifts the door over her head.

“Hurry up,” she snips at me as I watch her in awe. I snap out of my reverie and quickly duck under the door and into the museum. I’m about to take over for her, but she maneuvers herself to the interior of the door and lets it down slowly.

“I could have done that,” I say.

“I’m sure you could,” she replies. “But I handled it, obviously. Let’s go.”

I follow her through the back end of the building. We are not heading towards the museum proper, but instead to a door marked for staff only. It opens to a set of sturdy stairs leading to a finished basement hosting a break room with a refrigerator, microwave, comfortable looking chairs and a television. Brianna heads to the corner of the breakroom, however, and stops at the very solid-looking brick wall. Her fingers coast along it until they reach a rather large line of mortar. I notice there is a gap here, and her fingers slip into it before she tugs, revealing a concealed door that surely no human would have the strength to open even if it were discovered.

It opens to a dank passageway. Brianna steps back and holds out her hand again, nodding towards the jacket I’m still holding, which I return to her. “Keep going down the passage, you’ll come out by the troll bridge.”

“You’re not coming?” I ask.

“Boy, I got work to do,” she laughs. “I told you the boss was keeping us all busy. I’ll close the door after you.”

“Thank you for bringing me this far.”

“Sure.”

I do not wish to keep her longer than I have, so I depart. The darkness that encompasses me as soon as she shuts the door is no hindrance, my vampiric eyes see everything clearly – albeit in shades of white and gray. Color will return when light does.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It feels like I walk quite a distance before I see light. My footsteps quicken and I emerge from the unlit corridor. To the left of me is a set of stairs molded into the rock face. They lead to one side of the troll bridge Brianna mentioned, which connects one sector of the Market to another. Baleful eyes look at me from the shadow cast by the bridge, and I realize where it gets its name as a few trolls observe me before they return to their game, some variant of chess from the looks of it, using stones instead of figures. Watching a moment longer, I decide it is chess mixed with jacks and find a sudden yearning to learn more about these secret societies I never dreamed existed until I joined it so suddenly.

Tonight, however, I have a set goal and I climb the steep stairs to take in my surroundings and get my bearings. Across the bridge, I see a large wooden sign with a crudely painted wolf head on it. No need to guess as to what hangs around that part of the Market, and a good warning for me to stay clear. For the most part, werewolves are very defensive around vampires. Scanning the area, I see the spire of the Archives in the distance and make my way in that direction. I didn’t join Riley when he went there almost a year ago now, but I do remember the main street should be nearby and thus get on the right track to the vampire bar.

Without Riley or Billy with me, I don’t garner much attention at all from the others in the Market. It’s not unusual for vampires to come here, this is one of the few places in Boston that not one creature needs to hide. I like it for this reason, and for the level of civility that encompasses the entire Market. Mundanes could learn a thing or two from those they would otherwise deem as monsters.

I follow the narrow street from the troll bridge, looking at the teetering shops piled one on top of another. I pass by a candy shop that makes me envy the days of my humanity for the treats on display; glittering cupcakes, floating puffs of spun sugar, decadent candy apples…I can smell its sweetness above the other smells of spices, smoke, and perfumes that waft in the underground. Beyond the shop is an inn, one of the few buildings that is multiple stories instead of various shops built into a single structure. The sign out front boldly announces that it caters to all, and I take note of its location in case I need to leave Castillo’s.

The road splits in three directions after the inn and I’m not sure which one to follow to reach the main street. Seeing a nearby form, I do a double-take when I realize I’m looking at the elusive Bigfoot. The bipedal ape-like creature towers over me, and while its form is intimidating, the expression on its face is calm as it scrolls through an exceptionally large cell phone. “Excuse me?”

Dark eyes look up from the illuminated screen. It doesn’t speak, but it gestures with a hand for me to continue. “I’m looking for main street, could you help me, please?”

The large creature smiles and points at the middle road, then gestures to take a right after holding up its hand, five fingers outstretched, twice.

“After ten feet?” I ask.

A shake of the head has me guess again. “Ten minutes?” and now I get a confirming nod. “Thank you,” I say genuinely. The sasquatch returns to its scrolling and I walk down the correct street, doing my best not to look over my shoulder to stare.

The road curves as I walk along it, banked on either side by copious buildings and tiny alleyways. I hear voices in unrecognizable tongues, hawking their wares or calling out in greeting. Images of legend walk past me, my certainty of what’s real and what’s fiction quickly being amended as I continue along. All the while, I stay focused on how long I walk this road, although I needn’t have been so keen to. It’s very obvious where main street is when I see it, not only for the giant sign, but for how wide it is compared to the smaller avenues I trekked since arriving.

I follow that bustling road until I return to the entrance of Sanguine Sweet. I would rather avoid the place, it’s not to my liking…but I’ve resigned myself to discomfort in order to maintain my, and my loved ones’, safety. I approach the Gothic building and pull open the heavy door that leads into the bar, assaulted at once with the smell of blood heavy in the air, swirling headily with various perfumes. There are mundanes here, although I doubt they would ever find the place on their own power. These people stay at the side of a specific vampire, and I must surmise they are thralls of some kind. Or, as I watch a fellow vampire bite down on a young woman’s wrist, they act for these vampires as the blood bags act for me – readily available food.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

The colors of Sanguine Sweet are disappointedly predictable; dark reds and oppressive blacks. The paneled walls are ornate and ancient, of a style that can’t be found nowadays. Chandeliers hang from the ceilings, encased in black and red shades over the crystalline bulbs. The bar stretches across the entire back wall, showcasing an assortment of drinks I could never learn all the names of. I do know from my last visit that most of them are blood, mixed with a variety of ingredients to cater to the bar’s most prominent clientele. There is something for everyone, however, though I get the impression that not many others from the Market deign to come here.

While the interior looks as though it belongs in Victorian London, the music and the fashion is entirely modern. Loud, electronic trap music blasts over the speakers, and I move cautiously around pairs clad in leather that gyrate and sensually grind against one another throughout the bar. The space is mostly open in the center, for this very reason, with booths set in the corners and several tables near the entrance. There’s a staircase near the bar leading to a second level, but the last time I went close to it the smell of sex was so noticeable that I gathered what sort of activities went on up there.

I do go up to the bar, and I take a seat on one of the cushy stools. To my left is another vampire, relishing a cocktail with an inky black liquid within the glass. To my right is a thrall, gazing sightlessly at the many bottles stacked neatly on shelves. The bartender tonight is not the vampire I saw when I came here on Riley’s request, in fact, this isn’t a vampire at all. There’s a sweet smell to this creature that makes me feel suddenly impulsive and bold. I shake my head slowly, and the gesture must be noticed, because the bartender flashes me a knowing smile and leans across the glossy bar top.

“It’s not you, it’s me.”

“Excuse me?” I ask.

“You vampires can’t help yourselves around the Fae,” the bartender replies.

“This seems a counterintuitive choice of employment on your part then, sir…”

The bartender holds up a finger and wags it in a disapproving manner. “None of that sir business, if you please. Much too formal, don’t you agree?”

Judging by the rather hungry expression in his golden eyes, I decide formal probably isn’t a bad thing. Regardless, I don’t want to close this window of opportunity if he does know something. “Sorry,” I say.

He winks and flashes a smile before gesturing to the impressive selection of drinks. “What can I get you, sweetie?”

“Uh, I’m not actually here for that,” I begin.

The Fae’s smile turns suddenly lascivious. “Oho, heading upstairs, are we?”

“No!” I blurt out. “No,” I repeat more levelly. “I’m here for information.”

“Pity,” I hear murmured under the other’s breath. I’m sure he knows I can hear him, despite the whisper. “Hmm…but still curious. Tell you what, my shift ends in thirty minutes. Why don’t you stake a claim on that corner booth and I’ll join you and see if I can help.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you to offer.”

“You’re welcome, doll. I’ll see you soon.”

My smile feels uncertain, but I’m hopeful the Fae will be able to help me. I don’t know much about my own kind, but I got the impression vampires can be quite secretive, so I’m not sure how much someone outside the covens may know. Still, as a bartender, he would have access to a lot of different vampires, and perhaps being here loosened a tongue or two. I retreat from the bar, my place quickly taken by another vampire, and once again plot my careful way across the bar to avoid getting swept up by the dancers. I manage to make it to the booth the Fae indicated, and slide onto the velvety red seat.

Thirty minutes should not feel overly long, but it does here. It’s the music, I think. Or rather, the constant avoidance of gazes that are looking for the sort of company I won’t provide. Or a combination of those things which makes me want to leave the bar until the Fae’s shift is over. I keep looking that way, and let out a sigh of relief when I see a woman going behind the bar. My would-be informant steps away, stretches, blows a kiss to someone I can’t see and then seeks me out in the dim lighting. Seeing I am still waiting, he makes his way towards the booth – only he stops to dance with those in his path. His body is very willowy, moving with a grace that surpasses even the vampires that are swaying to the music. There is control and artistry to every movement, so that I don’t feel impatient waiting for him to get to me.

“Hello again,” he sings as he slips into the booth, sitting next to me.

“Hello,” I reply. “My name is Henry, by the way. Henry Stone.”

“Very Bond of you, Mr. Stone,” the Fae snickers. “You may call me Muir. Now then, what is it you’re looking for? You’re not like most of the vampires who come here. Oohh, that’s a double entendre isn’t it?”

I stare at him, and he adopts an innocent expression before withdrawing what appears to be a purple cigarette from his breast pocket. “Hit of Papavari?” he asks as he lights it. I shake my head and he tsks, blowing a floral smelling smoke in my direction. “What do you need?” he asks, sounding bored now instead of playful.

“I need to speak with Charlemagne, do you know him?”

Muir laughs. “Honey, everyone knows Charlemagne. Looking to win some favor? I didn’t expect you to be the sort to chase clout.”

“That’s not the reason I seek him,” I argue. “He acted as host to…unorthodox guests. I wish to know why, and if said guests are there currently.”

“Nosing about in his business? Mmm, and here I was thinking you were utterly straightlaced. It’s dangerous, you know. What you’re doing.”

“As are the people he’s associating with.”

Muir leans in close again, giving me the impression he’s not one who respects personal space. I would ignore it as best as I could normally, but the scent of his blood is intoxicating and though I’ve fed recently enough, I find that dark hunger stirring within me. “What would a good boy like you want with dangerous people then?” the Fae whispers.

“That’s…personal.”

He brings the purple cigarette to his lips, and as he inhales the embers light up those odd golden eyes and catch the honey-gold highlights in his light hair. His expression is smug as he breathes the smoke out from his nostrils. “Charlemagne doesn’t come here,” he says after a beat. “Nor do many from the Moliere Coven.”

“Oh that’s…disappointing.” I’m having trouble concentrating, there’s something very hypnotic about the other’s eyes.

“Mm, I bet,” Muir purrs. “But, there may be something I can do for you, although I’ll tell you now it won’t be for free.”

My head tilts slightly in question and he smirks. Did he lean in even closer? His lips are awfully close. “If I get you the information you’re looking for, then you—”

“Muir!”

He’s at the edge of the booth suddenly, and the heady sort of warmth that came over us dissipates instantly. I’m aware of the loud music again, the more metallic scent of blood, the sweat of the nonvampires dancing to the beat. I blink, feeling like I emerged from a dream. There’s a vampire standing close by, her arms folded and her pale eyes locked on Muir in disapproval. He doesn’t appear guilty, more annoyed than anything else, with an air of practiced nonchalance.

“What did I tell you?” the vampire asks.

“I know, I know.”

“Get out of here,” she growls.

“Spoil sport,” he sneers at her, but winks at me again. “Ciao.”

He gets up from the table, adjusts his dark, pinstripe vest, and leaves Sanguine Sweet with his head held high.

“Nightmare,” the vampire sighs. “You need to be more careful,” she adds to me.

“I’m…I don’t know what happened,” I admit.

“He’s a bad apple, Muir is,” the vampire says. “Used to be part of the Unseelie Court. He won’t say what position, but rumor is he was important until he got himself exiled. These days, he just likes playing the role of the spider spinning its web. Last vampire he took a shine to ended up batshit crazy and ran out into the sunlight just to get some peace. Poor bugger.”

“Then why does he work here?” I ask, bewildered.

“He doesn’t,” the vampire says stiffly. “I wouldn’t hire him even if he paid me instead. He slinks in here every couple of years, uses the fact his blood is the equivalent of a drug for us to charm his way to whatever spot he fancies for the night.” She looks at me more closely, and there’s the shadow of…something across her face that intrigues me, perhaps more so for how quickly she tries to mask it than its presence in the first place. “I don’t recognize you,” she says, and I believe she is still covering that something. Her words have me realize that the shadow was akin to recognition.

“This is only my second time here,” I offer. “I’m Henry.”

“Good to have you here then. I’m Vivienne, I own the place.”

I’m glad I haven’t voiced any of my complaints about the bar. “Maybe you can help me?”

“What is it?”

“Do you know Charlemagne well? From the Moliere Coven?”

She smiles. “I would say so, I’ve only been sleeping with him for the last century or so.”

“You’re…his lover?”

“Yes.”

“Have you seen him recently?”

She looks suspicious now, regarding me in an assessing manner. “Yes…why do you need to know?”

“It’s not really about him,” I say, hoping that will appease her. “I heard he hosted two people recently, and it is them I seek. Charles and Ines Bishop, do those names mean anything to you?”

“Ha! The would-be warlock and witch,” Vivienne snorts derisively. “I don’t know why Charlemagne bothered to entertain them at all. They were a pair of frauds, and not even remotely convincing either. I’m glad we’re rid of them.”

I feel that clutch of fear in my throat again. Knowing where they are is painful enough, knowing they are close but unsure exactly where is far worse. “They left?” I ask.

“Good riddance too.”

“I really need to find them.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she shrugs. “I don’t know where they went.”

“Does Charlemagne? Could you ask him if he’d be open to a meeting?”

“What’s in it for me?” Vivienne asks.

“Oh…well, my funds are pretty abysmal, but I could…find a way to raise whatever you think is sufficient?”

“I don’t put stock in IOU’s,” she replies. “But I could use another temp employee here.”

I stare at her, and then look around Sanguine Sweet again, to the vampires heeding the demands of clients wishing to feel the sting of their fangs, to the others who dance, and then to the staircase where far more occurs. “This really isn’t my scene,” I point out.

“Obviously,” Vivienne chuckles. “I’m not a monster, I’d keep you behind the bar, nothing…intimate unless you express an interest in that sort of thing later.”

I was just thinking that I needed a job, and one in the Market really is the only sort that seems suitable now. I’m not thrilled about it by any means, but more time here will offer protection as well, and mitigate the threat to Castillo. I know he can handle himself, but I’d feel terrible if he was put in any sort of danger on my behalf. There’s no fighting in the Market, even if my parents figure out I’m here, there will be little they can do to hurt me. I hold to this thought, even if I don’t truly believe it.

“Alright, I’ll take the offer,” I say.

“Good. Give me your contact information and I’ll try to set something up with Charlemagne soon. Oh, and if you see Muir come in here again, just tell him to leave. He’ll have you tripped up and in his debt in a second if you give him one to speak.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

“Sure. Now go get to work, Cassandra can start training you,” she says, gesturing to the woman behind the bar.