The car taking us to the club was a Royal. A luxurious ride, shiny as a candy and long as a fanatic’s prayer. One trip cost me a small fortune, but our arrival at the Golden Tear didn’t go unnoticed. The sour expression on my face, born of today's expenses, passed for aristocratic arrogance, while the lacquered shine of Finella’s hair in the electric lights and her dress made entirely of glitter drew all attention away from me. We were let in without questions – didn’t even have to flash the ring. I’d slipped it on with the monogram turned inward, just in case. The bouncers at the door even managed something resembling a bow.

The club welcomed us with the gentle clink of glassware, the thunder of a jazz orchestra, and the sultry voice of a dark-skinned singer crooning that her love wasn’t for sale. My concealment-revealing amulet went haywire, and I regretted bringing it along.

Couples swayed on the dance floor in slow rhythm, champagne sparkled at the tables below, and those who preferred watching sat perched on the balcony. I unbuttoned a few buttons of my jacket, slipped my hand into the pocket where my dagger rested, and let Finella lead the way. She flagged down a waiter and demanded a table for two. The only one available was on the balcony, right by the edge. That suited me just fine, though Finella looked disappointed – despite my earlier warning that dancing with me might cost her some toes.

She ordered a glass of champagne for herself and a gin and tonic for me. We’d taken a drop of anti-alcohol antidote in advance.

“You won’t get out of dancing,” the redhead promised.

“We’ll see,” I replied, sipping my drink, my hand once again brushing the dagger. My gaze wandered over the bar with its cluster of men, skimmed the floor below, and settled on a glittering gaggle of girls by the counter across the room. The dagger flared with anger just as I scanned the dance floor.

Who the hell are you?

“What are you doing?” Finella asked, referring to my hand under the fold of my jacket.

“Can I skip explaining?”

“Mister Loxlin, Lady Flower,” came a voice. August Fairburn greeted us. The wizard appeared so suddenly that both Fin and I startled, bracing ourselves for a fight. I almost drew my dagger, while she extended her right hand, ready to unleash something fiery.

“Sir Fairburn,” I greeted the dandy, decked out in a lilac cravat, white leather gloves, and, of course, a cane.

August snapped his fingers, and a waiter produced a third chair. Fairburn plopped himself down without so much as a “by your leave.”

“It seems we had an agreement, Magnus,” he said.

Magnus… I don’t recall giving anyone permission to call me that.

“For you, dear August,” I spat his name like venom, “it’s Lord… Magnus.” Names paired with titles are rarely used, and I nearly said “Loxlin” instead. I caught myself just in time. Now he could puzzle over whether the title matched the surname or not. To eliminate any doubt about my claim, I raised my left hand, spun the ring with my thumb to display the seal on the outer side, then turned it back inward. “I don’t recall inviting you to my table.”

Fairburn looked momentarily taken aback but quickly regained his composure.

“Would you allow me the honor of learning your full name, my lord?” he asked.

“No,” I snapped.

“We had an agreement, my lord.”

"I've fulfilled it. Harry met me in front of the house. Your gift absolutely delighted him," I smiled. "He promised to repay you as soon as he figures out how."

August's cheek twitched nervously.

"It’s time for you to leave," I said.

August's cheek twitched a second time.

"I heard Patrick Lindemann disappeared recently," he said.

Lindemann – the surname of one of the vampire patriarchs. I hoped I didn't flinch. I replied as calmly as possible.

"Should that concern me?"

"How should I know? His brother is looking for three young people: a very insolent dark-haired guy, a red-haired fire sorcerer girl, and a brunette shifter… Good day to you, Lord... Magnus." August rose with dignity, tossed his cane into the air, caught it, and pointed it downward. "And there he is, by the way, along with his sisters."

Finella and I simultaneously looked down to see a young, broad-shouldered man in a gray suit and two brunettes in tight black dresses. When we raised our heads, August was already turning his back.

Finella downed her champagne in one gulp.

"He..."

"Is talking nonsense!" I said, putting on a stern face. Then I touched my earlobe. Finella understood and fell silent; wizards have many ways to eavesdrop. I once again touched the hilt of my dagger and looked down. The Ferrish bloodsuckers didn't interest it.

Damn it.

I sighed in annoyance and relaxed my hand, but then it burned. Who? Where!?

The singer? No way! Although, come to think of it, after the brothel, the dagger reacted precisely to the woman in the cab. I hadn't noticed the color of her skin, just a silly hat and long hair.

"She sings well," I approved. "Do you know who she is?"

The singer was just crooning about the night after a day when her lover worked like a dog, and only her embrace brought him peace. Quite a famous song, but I'd never heard it performed like this.

"You don't follow social life at all, do you? Jariz Sardu. All the newspapers wrote about her grand tour in Duthigh."

"And she's..."

"A vampire," Finella confirmed. "From Lusonia."

"How interesting."

"Uh... Magnus, look."

I followed Finella's gaze and once again landed on the bloodsuckers from the Lindemann nest. This time, the trio was staring right at us, with August standing beside them, waving cheerfully.

What a slippery bastard!

"We need to go," Finella said.

"No way! Let's dance."

"Have you lost your mind?"

Fleeing could easily trigger the vampires' hunting instinct. We might still be under surveillance, and I wasn't about to voice my real motives, but I could try to scare the opponent.

"Are you afraid of bloodsuckers? Fin, if anything happens to us, my family will burn their nest to the ground."

"Aren’t you very self…" Fin noticed me rubbing my earlobe and continued in a different tone. "Well, James wouldn't stand aside either."

"Agreed, your brother is a terrifying man. He even tried to intimidate me, by the way."

"That sounds like him."

"So, will you teach me to dance?"

I was bending the truth a little when I said I couldn't dance. My grandfather had insisted I master the basics of classical dance, but close embraces mixed with leg throwing and spinning your partner were far from either waltz or folk dances. Finella picked a few basic moves and tried to teach me. I wouldn’t say they were particularly difficult, but jazz was far too unpredictable. It didn’t have the steady rhythm of a waltz, and every time I prepared one move in advance, the music shifted into something entirely unexpected.

The redhead, on the other hand, moved flawlessly to the music, performing seductive steps. I might have appreciated it more if I weren’t busy keeping an eye on the room through my peripheral vision. The vampire Fairburn had been speaking to put down his glass of whiskey and headed straight toward us. I discreetly slipped my hand under my jacket and unclipped the loop on my pistol holster.

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"Don’t panic," I whispered to Finella just before the brute grabbed her hand and pulled her toward him. I had expected him to shove me aside.

"Care to dance, sweetheart?"

He was so cocky he completely missed the moment I pulled out my pistol. The sound of the hammer cocking was drowned out by the music, but my words cut through loud and clear:

"The lady is occupied, sir," I said, leveling the muzzle of my pistol straight at his eye.

The dancers faltered, and an open space formed around us almost instantly, but the musicians kept playing as if nothing had happened.

"Oh, the little guy's got a big toy. Does it make you feel like a man?" the vampire sneered, the whites of his eyes filling with blood.

I smiled.

"Are you sure you remember what that feels like? I heard your brother’s been having some issues with that."

"Let go before I break your hand," Finella snapped.

"Sweetheart..."

Flames ignited around Spark’s hand, and the vampire recoiled, his hand scorched. Behind him, two black dresses appeared, but before things could spiral out of control, a pair of bouncers in suits emerged from the crowd.

"Put the weapon away, sir," one of them ordered.

"Do you guarantee the safety of me and my companion?"

"Without fail."

I took the risk. What other choice did I have?

With a deliberate show, I uncocked the pistol and slid it back under my arm. The vampire was livid, but before he could take another step, the hands of his sisters landed silently on his shoulders.

"Mr. Lindemann, leave the premises," one of the bouncers said.

"First..." the bloodsucker began, wincing in pain. His sisters tightened their grips and drove their claws through the fabric of his jacket and into his shoulders.

"He’s already leaving, Jeffrey," one of the sisters said.

"Thank you, miss."

I thought they’d kick me out as well, but the bouncer settled for a polite apology and complimentary drinks on the house. Finella and I pretended to be satisfied with that, had a quick gin and tonic, and quietly slipped out in the first cab we could find.

The direct route home ran through the City, but I instructed the cabman to take a long detour through New High, Castle Rock, the train station district, and enter Old City via Pubset.

"Do you think we’re being followed?" Fin whispered.

"No idea. But caution never hurts."

For a while, we fell silent, each lost in our own thoughts. I found myself leaning more and more toward the conclusion that the situation was spiraling out of control. I couldn’t handle it on my own, and, like in childhood, I’d have to call for the help of the grown-ups. It was a disgusting feeling.

Finella’s thoughts were far more rational. As we entered Pubset, she asked, "How are you planning to sleep tonight? The Wilcox house doesn’t have protective wards, and vampires are masters at creeping in under cover of darkness."

"I’ll go back to Harry. There’s no point in maintaining good relations with the Fairburns after this stunt."

"What was that agreement about?"

"He tried to use me to deliver an artifact that could’ve disrupted Harry’s ritual – and killed me in the process."

"What a bastard!"

"I completely agree with you. You’ll tell your brother everything. About tonight, and about the slums."

I wasn’t going to call my uncle. For now, the girls’ relatives could protect them. That would buy me at least a few days.

"Why?!" Finella asked, alarmed.

"Because the games are over. That bloodsucker meant business. Either you and Ellie tell him yourselves, or I will."

"James will kill you."

"Depends on how I frame it. I could say that you dragged me into this..."

"What?!" The redhead caught my smirk. "Not funny!"

"Do it, Fin. Spin it however you like, but make sure Ellie does the same."

A red roadster with the top down roared past us on the left, forcing the cabman to swerve sharply and mutter an unprintable comment about the high morals of the speedster’s mother. The convertible sped ahead by about ten meters, screeched its tires, and skidded to a halt, blocking the road. The cabman slammed on the brakes, sending Finella and me hurtling against the glass partition. The impact stunned our amulets, but I managed to brace my hands against the glass. My nose touched it but remained intact.

"Son of a...!" the driver cursed. "You two all right back there?" He turned to check on us just as a man in a gray coat jumped out of the convertible and aimed a submachine gun with a massive drum magazine straight at us.

"Get down!" I barked, shoving Fin to the floor and dropping on top of her.

The cab shuddered as the thunder of bullets filled the cabin, accompanied by a rain of shattered glass. Judging by the massive drum magazine, it was a hundred-rounder. Damn hundred cursed rounds that could chew through my shield in a matter of seconds, so I didn’t even try to fire back. The one saving grace was that the Cooper’s frame was sturdy enough to stop the heavy, blunt-nosed bullets. I would’ve preferred a BAR fitted with high-caliber rifle rounds with armor-piercing cores. Fewer bullets – only twenty – but far better penetration.

The shooter was a lousy marksman, firing in long, wasteful bursts instead of controlled shots. That alone might’ve worked to our advantage, if not for the etheric deflection charm on my cufflinks, which redirected the bullets away from us.

The driver let out a scream as a stray bullet hit him, and a ricochet struck me in the back, draining the earth charge in my cufflinks by less than a quarter. The etheric charge ran out completely, and the bullets began flying straight again.

I grabbed the door handle, hesitated, and froze. The driver was still moaning, but the gun had gone silent. Had the bloodsucker emptied his drum, or had he simply stopped shooting?

I shoved the door open and rolled onto the road, immediately diving to the side. In a flash, I was on my feet, a shield spell ready and my pistol drawn.

The vampire hurled the detached drum magazine at me, forcing me to duck to avoid the heavy chunk of metal smashing into my face. The bloodsucker grabbed a smaller drum from the seat, and I pulled the trigger. The enchanted armor-piercing bullet tore through the bastard’s gut and the car door behind him. The drum flew from his hands.

Pain twisted the vampire’s features for a moment, freezing him in place, and I sent another bullet straight at his head. My aim was as true as ever, but instead of brains splattering onto the asphalt, golden sparks of protective magic burst forth. The vampire dropped the submachine gun and, with a single leap, vaulted over his Martin.

I charged after him, but just as I rounded the car, a hand holding a revolver appeared above the door and fired blindly. Three shots rang out in quick succession. Two of them hit my shield, deflected at an angle just as Harry had taught me. I dropped to the ground and fired at his legs – or rather, at the shadow visible beneath the roadster’s undercarriage.

The vampire cursed, and the shadow shifted behind a wheel, but his next three shots mirrored my strategy, coming in low. The first bullet struck my ankle, sending a blinding flash of sparks through my vision and dropping me to the ground. Thank God, the other two missed.

A ringing sound echoed at the edge of my awareness. Instincts screamed at me to attack immediately, but I could barely lift my injured leg. It took me a moment to realize the ringing was spent casings hitting the asphalt, ejected by the revolver’s extractor.

I surged forward, but my injured leg buckled, and I collapsed again. Forced to roll aside, I raised my shield just as the vampire reloaded his revolver and, rising above the car, started emptying it in my direction. Bullets whined, harmlessly ricocheting upward off my shield, but the reservoir charge was draining fast, and I was now dangerously exposed, too close to the bloodsucker.

Four shots later, the vampire froze, but he didn’t lower his weapon. We locked eyes through the shimmering veil of the shield, each calculating who would move first when the shield charge ran out. I could have dropped the shield myself, but going head-to-head with a vampire in terms of speed – without a potion – was pure folly.

The vampire jerked left and leaped five meters in a single bound. A tiny fireball slammed into the Martin’s door and erupted in flames. Finella’s entrance into the fight was both dramatic and effective. Her hands were engulfed in fire, the flickering flames playing a beautiful dance across her hair and shimmering dress. The fiery fairy was magnificent in her fury.

The vampire spent his last two bullets on her. I threw my shield in the way, but the distance to the target drained the reservoir almost instantly. I managed to deflect the first bullet, but the second shattered into molten lead only centimeters from Finella’s face.

Unexpectedly, it turned out our fiery warrior didn’t need protection – so much the better. Without my shield, my only option was to attack.

Finella growled like a tigress, spreading her flaming hands wide. She seemed to pluck two massive chunks of fire from the air itself. Crossing her arms, she unleashed two long, thin streams of superheated flame. For a moment, they hovered in the air on either side of the vampire. Then, with a sharp motion, she snapped her arms apart, the blazing streams slicing together like scissor blades.

But the bastard somehow anticipated their movement and leaped into the air. The fiery blades sheared off the hem of his stylish coat, leaving glowing scars on the door and hood of the burning Martin.

I fired two shots at the airborne figure with no apparent success. The vampire landed on the edge of the car door, balancing above the flames, used it as a springboard, and launched himself straight at Finella.

I emptied the last rounds in my pistol, golden sparks erupting from the bastard’s head as the bullets struck his enchanted defenses.

Spark summoned another fireball in her hands, but the bloodsucker flung his empty revolver at it. The sphere detonated on impact, the explosion blasting Finella backward.

The first explosion was followed by a second. The fuel tank of the beleaguered Martin blew. The hood split cleanly along the seam left by the fiery beam. A large chunk of the car’s bodywork flew over my head, while a smaller piece caught up with the vampire, who had just landed, and slammed into his back.

The searing piece of metal caused the bloodsucker far more trouble than my bullets ever had. The vampire arched in agony.

I did the impossible – I was behind him in a flash, without even realizing how I’d switched from my pistol to my dagger. Grabbing the bastard by the face, I wrenched his head back and slashed the blade across his throat.

The enchanted dagger hadn’t lost its edge since the day of its consecration. Seventy years ago, my grandfather had honed it to razor perfection. The steel sliced effortlessly through skin and muscle, tore open the vampire’s throat, and scraped against bone.

The vampire broke free. He was disoriented, his head lolling on his spine and the remaining strands of muscle. But his spinal cord was intact. The bastard lashed out blindly, like a drunkard.

I swept his leg out from under him, and he collapsed onto his back, landing on the jagged shard lodged in his spine. Under the weight of his body, the piece of bodywork drove deeper into his flesh, its tip puncturing through his abdomen and protruding out the front.

The creature's body still fought against its second death.

With a sharp kick, I rolled him onto his stomach and drove the tip of my dagger into the base of his skull.

The crunch of bone and the vampire’s death throes were accompanied by a wave of approval emanating from the dagger.

It had been a good fight. Ferrish was pleased. But not enough to lift the seals.