There were three official vampire nests in Farnell, each home to about a dozen bloodsuckers. Most of them were women. Their numbers leaned female due to the physiological limitations that vampirism imposed on male vampires. Their regular blood flow ceased entirely, and certain pleasurable aspects of mortal life only became accessible after a proper feast. Sure, blood could be bought at most butcher shops and slaughterhouses, but overindulgence could send even the most disciplined vampire spiraling into dangerous mental instability.

Even so, two of the city’s three 'parents' were men, all of them wealthy bastards. Accumulating a fortune wasn’t exactly hard when you lived for three centuries, two of them spent in a prosperous city. Rumor had it that this system had been designed by a certain illustrious ancestor of the current Duke of Farnell. He personally selected three mature vampires from rival princes and permitted them to lead the city’s blood-drinking community during Farnell’s most explosive period of development. Before this, vampires had caused endless problems, but the newly anointed ‘patriarchs’ quickly divided the city into territories, drove out other bloodsuckers, and established their nests.

Various lords and governors had tried to overturn the system, but it proved surprisingly resilient, satisfying both aristocrats and state officials. Predators took on the roles of businessmen, patrons of the arts, and connoisseurs, but they didn’t fundamentally change their nature. Blood still flowed in the darkness of the night, and when it became too frequent, the holy brothers could ‘confess’ a vampire or two. About a century and a half ago, this led to one of the patriarchs being replaced. Only a miracle, along with the Duke’s support, allowed his successor to hold onto their position.

“How many of these brothers are there in the city?” I asked the girls. Honestly, I’d kind of overlooked the combat orders of the clergy. In my defense, my family wasn’t exactly pious. Though I think Father Martin was a member of… what was it again? “The Coulier Order?”

“There are plenty of Hospitaliers, and a few operatives of the Righteous Hand,” Ellie said.

“Vicar Max Coulier, if I’m not mistaken,” Spark added. “He borrowed some empty fire stones for exorcisms from my brother about a year ago.”

“Was someone possessed by a fire spirit?” I asked.

“A year ago, there were fires breaking out all over Rapsey. Then, just like that, they stopped,” Ellie said.

“The timing matches,” Spark confirmed.

“Where does he live?” I asked.

The girls shrugged in unison, but Spark went a step further. “He serves at St. Paul’s Cathedral, right on the border between Rapsey and the Old City. You might want to ask him about the bloodsuckers. The Church definitely keeps an eye on them. Plus, he probably has connections with the Hands of Righteousness.”

“Fine. That settles this question. What’s the deal with Harry Smith and the Fairburns?”

“Who’s Smith?” Ellie asked, looking puzzled.

“Sledgehammer Harry,” Spark clarified.

“Oh, him… There hasn’t been any news about him for a year now.”

“That’s because few people know the truth. I heard it from my brother. Turns out, the guy’s a genius.”

“Not surprising, considering he restored James’s sight,” Ellie added. “Though you wouldn’t guess it from his reputation.”

“What reputation?” I couldn’t resist asking.

“Well, he’s knocked out a lot of teeth. Literally.”

“About seven years ago, when Harry first settled in Farnell, he didn’t leave much of an impression,” Spark began. “Kind of like you, actually… no offense. Maybe worse. He didn’t have a clue about manners. An older, penniless rural wizard without a title or connections, willing to work for whatever he could get. But a mage is a mage, and there’s always work for one. He churned out basic enchanted artifacts, summoned spirits, banished spirits, set up protective barriers on houses, brewed potions, and dabbled in healing. At first, no one took him seriously. But when wealthy clients started seeking him out, his competitors tried to squeeze him out. And that’s when the teeth started flying. Did I mention his lack of manners?”

"So, the conflict with the Fairburns..."

"No! The Fairburns are a whole other league. Their clients are exclusively the wealthy – the elite. Do you want the backstory first, or should I jump straight to the conflict?"

"Start with the backstory." I was curious to know more about the man whose house I’d stayed in. Sure, Harry had given me quite the terrifying welcome, but later he turned out to be intelligent and surprisingly sociable.

Spark leaned back in her chair, clearly enjoying the chance to recount some drama. "After the competitors came the criminals, offering him 'protection.' I can’t say for sure if any vampires got involved, but after a couple of heated clashes, Harry wound up in the lockup. That’s where he caught the attention of de Camp’s people."

"And de Camp is…?"

"His Worship, Mayor de Camp. He asked Harry to track down the Butcher of Smuggler’s Bay. There’s always some sort of madness happening there, but this particular werewolf had really gone off the rails."

I just nodded. My family had often taken contracts to hunt werewolves. Lycanthropy was a terrifying affliction that corrupted the spiritual heart, reshaped both the physical and subtle bodies, and twisted the mind of the host. Vampires were a similar case, but the root of their transformation lay in the elemental source. They gained power much more slowly, which might explain why they lost their minds less often. Vampires typically reached mastery at around three hundred years of age, but a werewolf, if fortunate enough to feed on strong hearts, could match them in as little as a decade.

"Harry tracked him down," Spark continued, "and flattened him. Literally. De Camp pulled some strings and got him a knighthood, and Harry bought that manor himself."

"How was it even up for sale?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "If it’s sitting on a nexus?"

Nexuses were intersections of at least three ley lines, the magical veins of the planet, where new places of power could form. Older, naturally occurring places of power could sit on far more ley lines. The Ancient Stones rested on seven ley lines, while the Royal Source in the capital sat at the junction of thirteen. In Bremor Forest, three out of five of our places of power were natural, while the other two were shaped by my ancestors. Bald Hill, a lightning place of power, was the youngest – only a century and a half old.

"There wasn’t a nexus there before," Spark said with a smirk. "But there were three ley line intersections in nearby neighborhoods, all unsuitable for activation. Harry pulled them into his own property."

"He what?!" I sat up straight. "Is that even possible?"

I knew ley lines weren’t stable. Over time, they could shift, literally redirecting to other places of power. I also knew places of power could be sealed off, but I’d never heard of anyone controlling the process.

"I hadn’t either," Spark admitted. "But somehow, he did it."

"Three intersections," I calculated aloud. "That’s six ley lines, right?"

"Four," Spark corrected. "They overlap each other."

"And the Fairburns?"

"They had their sights on a nexus of their own. The grandfather of the current baron bought the land decades ago, where a third line was slowly converging toward a stable intersection. It would’ve been ready in about five to ten years…"

"Let me guess," I interrupted, "one of the lines Harry redirected was theirs."

"Exactly. And it veered away from their land."

"So why didn’t they kill him?"

I was starting to realize Harry was tougher than he looked, but he was still just one man. And a place of power meant money, influence, and potentially a new title for the family.

"De Camp," Ellie explained. "He’ll get certain benefits if Harry succeeds. Plus, the Fairburns already have one place of power. A second one would make them too influential. And since Harry has no heirs, if he finishes before he dies…"

"The place of power will go to the state," I guessed.

"To the city, to be exact," Ellie clarified. "That’s why the Fairburns aren’t going all-out. Not too much, at least. If they’re not careful, their own place of power might end up reverting to the city under certain conditions."

I needed to get out of Harry’s place, and fast.

“Ladies, my dear friends,” I began, trying to sound polite. “I need a house.”

“To buy?” Ellie asked, her eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hairline.

“To rent!” Buying would be like throwing money into the wind, though I did have enough for that. Three thousand would cover it – maybe even twice or three times if I settled for a shabby house. But settling here wasn’t my goal. “Something modest, maybe just a room, but with landlords who won’t stick their noses into my business. And a quiet neighborhood – someplace without a lot of visible crime.”

“The Wilcox house,” Ellie said immediately. “It’s near us in Old Town. After her husband passed away, old Mrs. Wilcox moved in with her son in New High, but she doesn’t want to sell the place.”

“Perfect. Shall we go see it?” I jumped to my feet, already reaching into my pocket for some cash to cover the tea.

“Hold your horses!” Ellie waved me back down into my chair.

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“Oh, my apologies,” I said, misinterpreting her protest. “Go ahead, finish your tea.”

“It’s not that,” she dismissed with a sigh. “Are those all your questions?”

“Not at all,” I admitted. I didn’t have any more at the moment, but who knew what I’d want to know later?

“Then ask them now.”

“You’ve already satisfied my curiosity for the time being.”

“For the time being?” Spark cut in, her voice sharp. “You planning to keep using us indefinitely?”

“Until I’ve sorted out my situation,” I confessed.

“That wasn’t the deal,” Spark snapped.

I hesitated. She had a point; I was pushing my luck, and it wasn’t exactly honorable or fair.

“You’re right,” I said after a moment. “Help me find a place to stay, and we’ll call it even.”

“Now, that’s more like it,” the girls said, smiling as they drained their cups.

I paid the bill, leaving a few extra coins as a tip, and waited while Ellie made a phone call to Mrs. Wilcox at her son’s apartment from a nearby telephone booth. Once she confirmed the place was available, I flagged down a cab.

Old Town was a patchwork of mismatched styles, each block starkly different from the next. The dense, drab apartment blocks of Pubset with their tiny courtyards stood beside centuries-old mansions, while further down the street were rows of quaint little houses with neat lawns and tidy porches. Yet, for all its eclecticism, the neighborhood exuded charm and order. The streets were clean, flowers spilled from window boxes and planters, and bursts of color adorned the balconies and pavement in decorative pots.

The Wilcox house caught my eye immediately. It reminded me of my grandfather’s home back in the clan’s enclave in Avoc. A well-kept, two-story house surrounded by a thin strip of lawn and enclosed by a white picket fence no higher than my knee. Across the fence stood the larger Sheridan residence, and a little further down the street was the Flower estate, which Spark shared with her older brother.

The cab dropped us off at the Sheridan house. Ellie quickly ran inside to retrieve the key to the Wilcox house, which Mrs. Wilcox had entrusted to her family, and then led me to the house.

Inside, the place was just as charming as it looked on the outside, and it was clear the previous owner had an eye for comfort. However, the air was thick with the musty smell of age – old carpets and furniture steeped in the scent of bygone years. I figured I could deal with that easily enough. I still had some air stored in an amethyst, and the formula for a cleansing spell would take me no more than an hour to calculate.

What intrigued me more, though, was the subtle signal from the amulet on my chest. It hinted at secrets hidden within the house, stirring my curiosity.

We were standing in the kitchen, and I was about to say yes when I noticed Ellie’s sudden tension. She stood as still as a statue, her head slightly tilted, elongated ears straining to catch a sound. Then it struck me – her ears! They were rolled into a shape like... a horn, a tube. She wasn’t a predator at all. What kind of animal had ears like that? A goat?

Wait a minute... was "Goat" not just a friendly insult, but an actual nickname?

I gestured for Spark to pay attention and drew my pistol. Ellie immediately waved her hands, signaling for me to put it away. I shook my head firmly and mimed hitting with the pistol’s butt instead of shooting. Then I gestured to ask where the sound was coming from.

Reluctantly, Ellie pointed to the door leading to the backyard.

I crept up to the window on tiptoes. Doing this in city shoes wouldn’t have worked nearly as well – and they had the nerve to call my country attire out of place! Carefully, I peeked past the curtain. Aside from a small table beneath an apple tree, nothing else came into view.

I gripped the door handle, threw a glance at Ellie, and yanked the door open. My eyes swept the yard in an instant, but no opponent was in sight. Stepping out, I pivoted sharply, “Freeze!” I barked, leveling my pistol at the figure pressed against the wall under the window.

“Knuckles?” I blurted, lowering the barrel but not holstering the weapon.

“Clint?” Ellie echoed in surprise, her ears returning to their normal form. “What are you doing breaking into houses now?”

“Goat!” Clint began, his voice brimming with emotion as he abruptly stood up. But my raised pistol quickly reminded him to calm down.

“Cap’s been taken,” he said, his words spilling out in a rush.

“What?” Ellie and I said in unison, though our tones couldn’t have been more different.

“He went to Pubset and got caught on his way back. He wandered into Hunchback’s turf, and they grabbed him.”

“They’ll take his money and let him go,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. “Or what, are they demanding ransom now?”

“It’s worse,” Clint growled, his eyes narrowing. “Wait – how do you know about the money?”

“I saw him in Pubset with your loot pouch,” I said flatly. “Now tell me, why worse?”

Ellie jumped in, her voice concerned. “They wouldn’t kill him, would they?”

“They’re gonna offer him up!” Clint hissed. “Damn it, you don’t even know what’s been going on, do you? For the past two months, people have been disappearing in the slums – mostly old folks, cripples, and other outcasts. But here’s the weird part: drunkards and junkies are left alone.”

“Vampires?” I asked instinctively. It fit their pattern.

“Hell if I know,” Clint said, throwing his hands up. “Whoever it is, they only hunt on Friday nights.”

“That’s tonight…” Spark muttered, then voiced the most important question of all: “How does this... offering work?”

“I only know the rumors,” Clint admitted, pacing nervously. “Hunchback dragged out an old pillory cage – one of those medieval ones they used to put criminals on display in so people could throw rotten food at them. At night, they lock the victim inside, slap a padlock on the door, and leave the key nearby. They’ve done this three times already.

“The first time, they threw in some cheap whore – she cursed like a dockworker until something came for her. She screamed, though... like a pig at slaughter."

“Second time, it was an old addict. Nothing touched him, but someone opened the cage. The fool was so overjoyed, he got high on opium and died of an overdose before next morning.

“The third time, it was a homeless guy, a newer face. He kept quiet, but the cage was empty by sunrise.”

“Let me guess,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “No bodies were ever found?”

“Fucking right,” Clint confirmed bitterly.

“Language,” I said instinctively and waved my pistol for emphasis.

Vampires were the most likely culprits, but there were other possibilities: possessed individuals, werewolves, and a whole host of rarer nasties like okami, wraiths, and rougarou. But one thing was clear – this wasn’t the work of a deranged human playing monster. Those types craved attention, often mimicking their supernatural idols to the letter. Whoever this was, they were careful and calculated, leaving no bodies behind to provide clues about their motives – whether it was blood, a specific organ, or death itself.

“I’ll call a cab!” Ellie said, snapping out of her thoughts.

“Freeze,” I ordered, instinctively raising my pistol toward her. Realizing what I’d done, I immediately lowered it. “Sorry. But think this through – If you take Cap back, someone from Hunchback’s gang will have to die.”

“Let them all die!” Clint barked, his face red with anger.

“That’s one way,” I said, nodding. “Otherwise, they won’t forgive you. Sooner or later, they’ll come for you and your brother.”

“Fuck them!” Clint snarled, but his bravado rang hollow.

I pointed at Clint with the barrel of my pistol. "One more outburst, and I’ll knock you out!" Then I turned to the girls, adding, "Your friend here isn’t thinking straight. Maybe you two have a clearer head? Take Cap away from that cage, and the blood of the next victim will be on your hands."

"And if we don’t, it will be Cap’s blood!" Ellie shot back, her voice sharp with emotion.

Spark placed a calming hand on her friend’s shoulder. "Do you have a better idea?"

I nodded. "Catch the bastard. That cage is the perfect bait – whatever monster’s behind this, it’s trained to see it as a free meal. It won’t expect an ambush. I’ve pulled off something like this before.”

"Oh yeah? And how many monsters have you killed?" Clint sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. He didn’t care about my motives or anyone else’s life – he only wanted to save his brother.

It was the kind of question you couldn’t avoid answering, and the timing didn’t help. The girls were hesitant, and I was pitching a risky plan, unsure myself why I felt so compelled to help. Sure, I might’ve played a minor role in Cap wandering into enemy territory, but what was driving me to hunt? I’d always been cautious, overly so, according to my grandfather.

Maybe that was the point. Back in the woods, I’d always known someone was watching over me, ready to step in if things went south. But here…

Who knows? It didn’t matter now. I needed to answer, and more importantly, I needed backup.

"Vampires," I sighed. "I’ve had excellent training on the subject, joined a dozen hunts for dangerous forest creatures – but there, I had experienced hunters covering my back. I’m still adjusting to city life, and if we’re talking urban monsters, I’ve only taken down one fledgling vampire."

A vampire who had once been my grandfather. But I wasn’t about to say that out loud.

"That’s…" Spark started, hesitating before finishing, "One more vampire than us."

A heavy silence hung in the air for a moment.

"Fine," Clint finally said, his voice sharp with challenge. "Let’s hear it, mighty hunter. What’s the plan?"

"First, let’s talk payment," I said coolly. "What are you willing to offer in exchange for your brother’s life?"

"We could just go grab him ourselves!" Clint snapped, his anger flaring as he took a threatening step forward – though not close enough to take a swing.

"They," I said, motioning to the girls, "could do that. But you? You’re in no position to do anything but beg for help."

"We’ll help!" Ellie scoffed, glaring at me as if I’d turned into a greedy villain.

"You’ve already helped once today," I reminded her. "And that landed you in a police station. Your friend over here nearly started a war. Now you’ve taken on someone else’s debts, and the person who should’ve paid them doesn’t even know about your little act of charity. From his perspective, it was all for nothing. And now he’s dragging you even deeper into trouble. Sure, go ahead – rescue Cap. Maybe in a week or two, some vagrant will stab you in the street with a rusty, poisoned knife. There are plenty of cheap but effective ways to get even in this city."

"What debts?" Clint asked, visibly taken aback.

"You didn’t repay me for the little ‘incident’ the other day," I said dryly. "The girls covered your debt."

"He’s right," Spark chimed in unexpectedly, crossing her arms. "You’re always dragging Ellie into your messes. If you want to save your brother, then quit your life of crime. That’s the price."

"Spark!" Ellie exclaimed, outraged.

"Goat, it’s only fair," Spark insisted.

"And what are we supposed to live on? Want us to go back to the orphanage?" Clint snarled.

"Find honest work. Dockhands start at thirteen."

"And drop dead by forty."

"In the slums, you won’t live to see thirty!" Spark snapped back.

"Fine! I’ll quit," Clint growled through gritted teeth. "Happy now?"

"I’m serious, Clint," Spark warned, her voice firm. "You don’t get to walk back on this promise. I’ll make sure you stick to it."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Clint muttered before turning to me with a scowl. "And you, son of a bitch hunter, what the hell do you want for your help?"

I stepped closer and drove my fist into his gut. Clint doubled over, collapsing onto the ground, gasping for air.

"My mother," I said coldly, "was a wonderful woman. Remember, you’re the one asking for a favor. Arrogance and insults have no place here."

"I… understand… sir," Clint wheezed, clutching his stomach. "What do you want?"

"A favor in return," I said. "Equal to the one I’m giving you. And I promise I’ll take your skills and abilities into account."

"I don’t… understand," Clint admitted, blinking up at me in confusion.

"This might not be my last hunt in Farnell."

"No!" the girls protested in unison, their voices sharp and firm.