It was warm and cozy. If only not for the mumbling...

I tried to make out the words and only after a moment realized it was a prayer.

“…verba mea despicere; sed audi propitia et exaudi. Amen.”

At the final word, a wave of warmth washed over me, from head to toe, and, unexpectedly even to myself, I opened my eyes. The feeling of comfort disappeared immediately, replaced by the sharp stench of stale alcohol and cheap cigarettes.

“Mist–r–r,” I croaked, and was immediately wracked by a brutal fit of coughing. It felt like my lungs were clawing their way out of my chest. My eyes and nose burned again, and as the coughing tore through me, I spat up clumps of phlegm. Sitting up in the bed, I aimed for the floor, trying to keep it from landing on the sheets.

Someone grabbed my hand and shoved a glass into it. I drained it in one gulp, feeling only slightly better, enough to rasp: “More!”

The second glass I dumped over my eyes. “More!” The third, I poured straight into my nose and immediately hacked it back onto the floor. The pain didn’t disappear, but at least it dulled to something bearable. Through the bloody haze in my vision, I managed to make out the figures around me.

“Mister Wood, Sir Sunset,” I croaked a bit more clearly. “To whom do I owe my life?”

“To the bloodsucker,” the Vicar replied. “She poured the elixir down your throat.”

“A bloodsucker? You mean a vampire? Why would a vampire want to save me?”

“I think,” Sunset said, “she’s from Lindemann’s nest.”

My head throbbed. Hell, not just my head – my entire body felt like it had been dragged through gravel. Forming complex thoughts seemed impossible, so I decided to leave it for later and collapsed back onto the bed.

“Forgive me, gentlemen. I’m not exactly in shape for polite conversation.”

“We hadn’t noticed,” the Vicar chuckled.

“Lord Loxlin,” Sunset asked. The Vicar’s eyes widened at the mention of my title, though he quickly collected himself. “Do you know who attacked you?”

I paused, carefully weighing my response. The gears in my head were grinding to a halt, and for once, I didn’t even have to pretend that the question was giving me a migraine.

“A hitman hired by Fairburn,” I finally said.

Sunset exhaled sharply, cursed under his breath, and asked with obvious sarcasm:

“He introduced himself, did he?”

“Oddly enough, yes.”

“What?”

“I’m telling you, he actually introduced himself as a hitman working for August!”

“Rubbish,” Sunset scoffed. “I’m more inclined to believe this is part of some elaborate vampire scheme. One tries to kill you, and another saves you.”

I wanted to snap back at Sunset for his ridiculous idea, but truthfully, it wasn’t as far-fetched as it sounded. Damn, it was entirely plausible. Still, Simon wouldn’t have spared me, even if the job had only been to scare me.

“Inspector, you’re the policeman. Figure it out. I saw him – I can give you a description.”

“An artist will be here in about fifteen minutes,” Sunset replied. “In the meantime, tell me how it happened. Mister Wood, would you be so kind as to inform the sergeant that we’ll need cleanup here, and wait outside?”

Sunset conducted a short but intense interrogation while a young constable mopped up the water and phlegm-soaked floor. Every question felt like a jab into my aching skull. I squinted against the migraine, struggling to process the questions and remember my answers. Sometimes I lied, sometimes I left things unsaid, and sometimes I had to repeat myself when Sunset rephrased the same question.

I’m sure he noticed my efforts to dodge around the truth, but for some reason, he didn’t press me on my inconsistencies. Instead, he simply kept at it until the artist arrived.

When the artist showed up, I didn’t hold anything back. I described Simon as precisely as I could. The resulting sketch was good – damn good. Hopefully, it would make Simon’s life a lot harder.

I even asked for a copy, slipping the artist a quarter to "motivate" him.

It seemed my hunch was wrong – or once, things went smoothly. I was released from the station without any unnecessary questions, my satchel and weapons returned to me, and I was even allowed to call for a cab.

Just as I shut my door, however, the opposite door opened, and the Vicar climbed into the cab, puffing on a cigarette.

“No smoking in here, Father!” the driver barked.

The Vicar scowled, plucked the stub from his mouth, and flicked it onto the pavement with a snap of his fingers. He shut the door and exhaled a cloud of rank smoke, which immediately sent me into a coughing fit.

The Vicar gave me two firm pats on the back – his hand as hard as stone.

“Apologies, my lord. Shall we talk?”

“Give the address first,” the cabman interjected.

“Rapsy, Longhead Road, number seventeen,” I said. Hamish could get out if he didn’t like it. But no, the cab started moving, and the Vicar stayed, waiting for my response.

“About what?” I asked, curious. “I thought you didn’t care about bloodsuckers.”

“I don’t care about bloodsuckers,” he said dismissively. “But malevolent spirits – that’s something I am very interested in.”

“I don’t follow,” I admitted.

“Your fight stank of rage, pain, and scorch marks – not human ones. There was the scent of a higher ethereal.”

Ferrish? But I hadn’t even used the dagger. Was this fanatic planning to hunt it down? Or was he at war with all wizards?

I must’ve let my guard down after the conversation with Sunset, because Wood clearly picked up on something in my expression.

“Not the medium you’ve got under your jacket,” he said.

“What do you mean, not this?” I asked, pulling out the dagger.

The Vicar leaned forward slightly and noisily sniffed the air.

“Definitely not this one,” he said confidently. “This one barely smells of the forest and a hint of thrill – like the binding thread is almost severed. But the energy I sensed in the air was different – much stronger.”

“Residual magic?” I asked.

“Something like that.”

“Could it have come from a warlock?”

“Absolutely, if the idiot in question made a pact with a spirit that demands payment in blood and pain.”

Simon – a bloody idiot – could very well have done that. But what about the vampires? Why had the dagger reacted to them the same way it had to Simon? Vampire warlocks? Rare creatures, if only because becoming a warlock requires binding a pact in human life. The first death sets them back so far in their development that regaining their former powers can take decades – if not centuries. Time they usually don’t have, thanks to rivals, enemies, or jealous kin.

All my grandfather had managed after his rebirth was summoning the dagger. Simon had told me back then that this was his limit.

Damn it. Simon’s words during the fight sounded like he knew more about this subject than I liked. I didn’t like this one bit.

“You know something,” Wood said pointedly.

“Are there warlocks among the bloodsuckers of Farnell?” I asked in return.

“So he was a vampire?” Wood pressed.

I shook my head and turned to the driver.

“Drop us off at the start of the next block. I think I can manage a short walk.”

The cab pulled up to the curb, and I paid the fare before heading off in the direction of Harry’s manor.

“Well?” Hamish nudged me as we walked. “No one’s listening.”

“He wasn’t a vampire,” I said, “but the dagger reacted to him the same way it does to some bloodsuckers.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t? ‘Step into Shadow’ is a common vampiric ability.”

“And how would you know that, Father?”

“It was a prayer that made my hearing sharper. Thin walls at the station.”

“A prayer?”

“The Almighty hears all prayers, so long as the faith behind them is strong,” the Vicar shrugged.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"Fanatic… I just hoped he wouldn’t suddenly decide that I was sinful in the eyes of God."

“You yourself said the site of the fight reeked of residual magic,” I pointed out. “A simple ‘Step into Shadow’ isn’t good enough to disappear in broad daylight. Besides, no one heard us.”

“Sounds logical. How do you plan to find him?”

“And what’s your interest, dear Vicar?”

“His Providence,” the man replied with absolute seriousness, his boxer’s face framed by the white collar of a priest.

I frowned skeptically and let out a derisive snort.

“And how exactly does it manifest?”

“Less sarcasm, boy!” Hamish growled, waving a finger at me. “The Lord sent you to me with that deadly trinket of yours.”

“And what’s the connection between my visit and…”

“The inspector called me this morning and asked me to stop by. Said he wanted to clarify a few details about our last meeting. Coincidence? My calling is to fight bodiless enemies – it’s my gift and my deserved punishment. I’m the only man in this city who could have sensed the stench of a higher ethereal.”

“Even among shifters?”

“Maybe one or two of them could have, but there weren’t any there. Which means the Lord chose me. Maybe He didn’t, but I’d rather err on the side of action and help you than sit waiting for another sign and risk inviting disaster upon my flock. I’m guessing you already have a plan. You strike me as someone who’s got something up their arse driving them to act!

“Could you be a bit more polite?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re a priest, Mister Wood! Don’t they teach that swearing is a sin?”

“They do… Stop dodging the question, Lord. What’s the plan?”

“The dagger reacted to one vampire woman. I want to talk to her.”

“Just talk?” the Vicar asked, disbelief heavy in his tone.

“Get answers,” I snapped. “If you want to be involved, you’ll follow my lead. Not just follow – you’ll swear to it! I need to be sure you won’t do something stupid just because you think you’ve seen another divine sign.”

“No one,” the Vicar declared proudly, “stands above me except the Lord.”

“Isn’t that a bit of a prideful sin?” I retorted. “Consider this not my condition, but another sign from Providence.”

I said nothing more and headed for Harry’s house. Vicar stayed by my side, scratching his crooked nose with a dark scowl. Clearly, he was busy crafting some divine justification in his head. He’d just finished by the time we reached the gate.

“I swear, in His name, that I’ll listen if you forbid me to do something. But I won’t follow orders to do anything!”

“Perfect. We meet here at eight. In the meantime, try to find out where Jariz Sardu is staying. It must have been mentioned in the society pages. And I forbid you to go to her alone.”

The Vicar was exactly the type to pull a stunt like that just to avoid being stopped by me.

The situation needed to be discussed with Harry, but when I reached the wizard’s house, he was nowhere to be found. Apparently, Sir Harry Smith had developed an unexpected interest in the Cooper parked in his stables likely under Knuckles’ influence.

I’d already written that car off as a lost cause, completely forgetting to visit the taxi garage and sort things out with its owner. So, imagine my surprise when I heard the engine sputtering to life sickly and with intermittent backfires from the exhaust, but alive.

“Well, I’ll be damned. It’s alive!” I said from the doorway. “I thought the valves were seized.”

“We unseized them,” Harry replied cheerfully, waving his grease-stained hands over a spellbook suspended mid-air. “This house is bursting with raw metal power – you could scoop it up by the bucketful. Cap, kill the engine. And get yourself and your brother out of the car. Go hide behind the corner. Duncan, you might want to step back too.”

The wizard made another sweeping motion, as though pulling a spell out of the hovering book, and directed it under the open hood of the car.

I ducked behind the wall but kept watching with one eye. Contrary to my expectations, nothing exploded.

“Cap, start it up!” Harry shouted.

The boy jumped into the driver’s seat, and the car purred to life in a steady rhythm.

“Can you fix the glass too, sir?” Knuckles asked, raising an eyebrow.

The wizard let out a disgruntled hiss.

“I can only straighten out the bullet dents and patch the upholstery on the seats.”

“How about patching me up first?” I interjected.

Harry turned his head sharply, his expression blank as he looked at me.

“August?”

“Hired an assassin,” I confirmed.

“Idiot. Come inside. I’ll give you a proper check-up,” Harry said, shaking his hands. Drops of oil flew to the ground, leaving his hands clean.

“By the way, do you think you’ll be done with the car by eight?” I asked.

“Where am I supposed to get glass and paint?” Harry responded, looking puzzled.

“There’s a garage in Pubset,” Knuckles said. “For an extra couple pounds, they’ll bump you up the line.”

“How do you know that?”

“We used to sell them rear-view mirrors and fancy radiator caps – the ones shaped like figurines.”

Harry didn’t find anything critical during his examination of me. The "last resort" elixir combined with the Vicar’s prayers had done the trick. The wizard cast a couple of restorative spells using ether and water, quickly smoothed out the dents in the car, and we set off for the garage.

Knuckles volunteered to drive, and Harry and I agreed it was for the best – if it came to shooting, I’d have a hard time driving and defending myself. I also brought the submachine gun, while the "brick" would protect us both from long-range attacks.

While the mechanics replaced the windows, radiator, and hastily painted over the bullet scratches, I called the taxi garage that owned my cab and made a deal with the owner – I’d return the car after the repairs, which I’d pay for myself.

Of course, I wasn’t entirely honest. I planned to drive the Cooper for another day or two. It was cheaper and faster than constantly hiring a cab, and I couldn’t afford to splurge on a new car. Especially not after the money I’d already spent and the state the Cooper was in after just one trip with me onboard.

The mechanics were quick – but not too quick. We had time to grab a bite at a nearby café and pick up some proper black tea for home.

Jariz Sardu was staying in the luxury suite at the Bloomsbury, according to the Farnell Daily, because the staff at the Lion House had a bias against ‘colored folk.’ For a pound, the porter told us the exact room number.

The Vicar and I went up to the floor in question, walked straight to the door without hesitation, and knocked.

A servant – one of the singer’s personal staff – opened the door. Without a word, the Vicar blessed the poor soul with a left hook.

I tried to catch the body, but I was too slow. It fell backward into the apartment with a loud thud as it hit the floor.

“Quell bruit, Jerome? ... Jerome?”

The mulatto singer appeared just as I was dragging the servant’s body away from the door. The vampire was dressed in a tight black gown with a high slit on the left side, revealing her smooth chocolate-colored leg. In her left hand, she held a large earring, while her right hand adjusted the one she had already fastened in place.

“My apologies, my lady,” I said. “Jerome fell.”

Behind me, the Vicar clicked the lock on the door.

“How careless of him,” she said, attaching the other earring. “Are you here to rob me, or is there another reason…?” Her gaze focused on the Vicar’s white collar. “I haven’t broken any rules, clergyman.” The vampire squinted dangerously, shifting from her relaxed stance to a more solid one, her left knee sliding forward in a combat-ready position. The whites of her eyes flushed red.

Wood stepped forward, stopping just a couple of meters from the woman, and noisily inhaled through his nose. A moment later, he turned to me.

“The same stench.”

“Perfect,” I said, debating whether I should bother checking on the servant or just leave him where he was. Ultimately, I decided to let him be. There was something else bothering me – a small detail I couldn’t shake. “Where’s your dagger, my lady?”

“What?”

“Your medium. Your ritual weapon dedicated to your patron spirit.”

“I still don’t understand what you’re talking about,” she said, her tone flat.

“Girl, you reek of a higher ethereal,” Hamish growled.

“So that’s why you’re here?” The vampire’s surprise seemed genuine. She even shifted back into a more relaxed posture.

“In nomine Patris!” Hamish shouted suddenly.

The vampire flinched and took a cautious step back as the priest pulled a double-barrel sawed-off shotgun from under his coat.

“Et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen!”

Despite her naturally dark skin, the vampire noticeably paled. And all he’d done was utter a few holy words.

Yeah, this guy was definitely a fanatic. No normal person had that much faith. That other bloodsucker Ellie shot? I’d beaten him, shot him, tied him up, and he still wouldn’t talk. Yet this lady sucker was falling apart after just a couple of holy words. Didn’t even need blessed bullets, and here I’d loaded a whole mag.

“There is no dagger!” the vampire hissed. “I have a mask!”

“Show me!” Wood ordered.

The vampire left for the next room, Wood on her heels. I lingered for a moment to pour a few drops of sleeping potion down the servant’s throat – just in case.

The mask was unsettling. Not so much frightening as repulsive. It was carved from a piece of black wood and depicted a long, distorted face with sharp teeth and oversized eyes, with hollow holes drilled into the pupils.

Wood needed the mask for himself.

The moment it ended up in the priest’s hands, the vampire wheezed and collapsed to the floor in some kind of seizure.

“Stop it!” I snapped at Wood. “Your oath, Vicar!” I reminded him.

Wood shot me an angry glare, but the vampire on the floor was already starting to come to her senses.

“What’s its name?” I asked, pointing at the mask.

“Marduk,” the singer rasped.

“Which of his warlocks is in the city right now?”

“Marduk is the patron of vampires, not warlocks.”

I frowned, and Hamish voiced my thoughts.

“He’s a higher ethereal – he can make pacts.”

“Marduk doesn’t like humans,” Jariz protested.

“So, you took his patronage after your death?”

“Of course!”

“And what’s in it for vampires? He can’t grant you boons.”

“Marduk’s vampires can resist the blood call.”

I glanced at Hamish, who shrugged indifferently. I’d heard rumors that some vampires could resist the call, but the reasons had always been unclear. I wasn’t convinced a spirit had anything to do with it.

“One more time,” I said firmly. “Who among yours is in Farnell?”

“How should I know?! All my acquaintances are back home.”

I slid my hand under my coat and touched the hilt of the dagger. This lady was definitely one of those Ferrish despised. Though now I was leaning toward the idea that the spirit hated Marduk rather than his minions.

The dagger burned with Ferrish’s hatred, his promises to lift the seals echoing in my mind. I involuntarily calculated how many witnesses had seen me on the way here, who might have known I was looking into a vampire, and how much trouble it would cause if one bitch with a cursed blood vanished. Would Bryce’s influence be enough to pull me out from behind bars? Or would the Church cover for me?

No, I wasn’t here for her! I’d lived with the seals for five years – I could survive another week. The main thing was getting to Simon.

I reached into another pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. It was the pencil-drawn portrait from earlier.

“Do you know him?”

“Yes,” the singer said, surprised. “I’ve seen him with Valentine. Dave… No, Davie!”

Simon Davie Feron. Damn it!

Was this our clan upbringing at work, or were we more alike than I thought? If things had played out differently, I might’ve been using my middle name too by now.

“I suggest you call in sick today,” I said. “Keep your mouth shut, and the Vicar will leave your mask with you. Deal?”

“I’m not leaving that disgusting thing!”

I turned and met Wood’s gaze, his eyes blazing with fanatical fire. He could see that I wouldn’t back down. If I had to, I’d remind him of his oath again.

“Damn it! That’s the last time I promise you anything!” Hamish growled, clenching his fists. “Mother… Holy… Grrr!”

I turned back to the vampire.

“Deal?”

The singer nodded.