The morning started with a cup of proper black tea. There were also some beans and a couple of fried eggs, but that was beside the point. The tea was excellent. A dash of milk would’ve made it perfect…

“August may be a talented scumbag,” Harry was saying, “but Vincent is far more experienced. In a fair fight, I’d wipe the floor with him, but that bastard would never give me the chance. Against the two of them, I wouldn’t last.”

“August is the son, Vincent is the father. That’s the whole mighty Fairburn family?”

“What? Not even close! If we’re talking wizards, there are about ten relatives of varying degrees of closeness – from Peter, Vincent’s full brother, to distant cousins. And then there are their hired loners. But none of them are fighters. Peter knows a thing or two and passed that on to his daughter, but the rest are mostly craftsmen. Combat magic in the Fairburn family, like the baronial title, is strictly passed from father to eldest son. You can guess why that is.”

“It’s different for us,” I said. “In the clan, everyone is trained equally.”

“Do you really believe that?” Harry said with a raised eyebrow. “Are you telling me old Kinkaid spent as much effort and money on your training as he did on some random boy?”

“Of course not. But that’s not the point. He just had more opportunities to work me harder than the others. We had extra sessions that were free for everyone to attend – everyone except me. I was required to be there. When cousin Logan showed interest, the old man worked him like a draft horse too.”

“Fine, fine,” Harry said, pretending to give in, though his voice dripped with sarcasm. “The Bremor clan is the fairest, strongest clan in the whole wide world. Its people are the most honest and upstanding, its warlocks and shifters the mightiest and most noble…”

“I’ll be sure to pass on your words to Uncle Bryce.”

"Oh, now I’m shitting myself in fear!" he snorted.

“I’ll be sure to pass that on too.”

“Better not,” Harry said quickly, tugging on his beard. “In any case, you have faith in your clan like Wood has faith in God. But it won’t save you. Vincent or August would smear you across the pavement. "Bringing your complaints to the old bastard isn't the best idea."

“You think I should go straight to Valentine?”

Harry gave me a look that screamed, Are you out of your mind?!

“Exactly. I have two paths: Valentine and Fairburn.”

“There are more than two,” Harry argued. “People talk. Your Simon was seen with a bloodsucker, and you’ve got his name. Someone less hostile might know his address.”

“Time!” I countered. “By the time I’ve questioned all these hypothetical ‘might-knows,’ I’ll have been taken out three times over. You understand that Simon isn’t going to run. He’s gathering intel just like I am.”

“Fine, you’ve convinced me. Hand over the ‘brick.’ I’ll adjust it for the Fairburns. You’re not using the submachine, are you?”

“No. Why?”

“Give it to Knuckles. I’ve been experimenting with the bullets. The kid can cover you if it comes to it…”

“I don’t want to drag him into this.”

“Too late,” Harry said with a dismissive wave. “Besides, I’ve worked on the car too. Normal bullets will barely scratch it now. The effect depends on the reserves, but it should hold against about two hundred rounds. You’ll need a driver to get you out of trouble when things get hot, and he needs a sense of responsibility.”

“He’s already responsible for his brother.”

“Not anymore. Cap’s officially my apprentice now. His future is set, and Knuckles is wondering if a wizard even needs an older brother.”

“Ah…”

“And don’t forget that teenage maximalism. Not as intense as yours, but it’s still there…”

“Hey!”

“You, without any extraordinary abilities, have taken it upon yourself to hunt down a warlock-assassin closely tied to vampires.”

I didn’t set out to do that! … Or did I? At first, it seemed like I just wanted to protect the family, but in Harry’s version, I sounded like a spoiled, self-absorbed child. How was that possible? I had carefully considered each step, assessed the risks. Sure, there had been some mistakes recently…

“Oh, so it’s finally sinking in?” Harry asked. “Call your uncle, Duncan. Call Bryce and tell him you’ve seen the bastard. Within a day, a team of experienced hunters will be here to turn Farnell upside down like a flea-ridden blanket.”

“The hunters might scare him off,” I grumbled.

“Do you really believe that, or are you just making excuses? What’s more important to you – catching Simon or proving to your family that you’re worth something?”

I opened my mouth sharply to object but grimaced as I realized just how unpleasant Harry’s last suggestion was. Why? Could he actually be right?

“I’ll send a telegram,” I muttered. “I’ll talk to old Fairburn and send it off.”

For the meeting, I traveled as a proper gentleman should – seated in the back of a car. Not the most presentable car, perhaps, but armored, and more importantly, mine.

The "Fairburn House" was in the City, near New High, where the wealthy lived. Despite the pompous name, it was just a floor in a new twenty-story skyscraper. The Fairburns owned only a small portion of it, but among the co-owners were a duke and a couple of other influential names. It was the perfect spot for their headquarters.

The other Fairburn properties were scattered across the city, catering to various clientele. They had a mansion with a place of fire power in Sungarden and an amulet workshop in Battersea. But it was here, in the City, where the wealthy were welcomed. If the wealth came with a title, or exceeded ‘respectable’ limits, the client would be personally handled by Lord Fairburn. This was where he spent most of his time, so I knew where to go.

Knuckles stayed in the car with the submachine gun on the front seat, while I, with a satchel slung over my shoulder, stepped into the elevator. The satchel didn’t exactly match my expensive suit, but it held the ‘brick,’ bullets, and potions. Under the surprised gaze of the bellhop in a red uniform and silly hat, I downed a potion to sharpen my reflexes.

The doors opened on the seventeenth floor. The black marble floor of the spacious hall gleamed, polished to a mirror shine. Columns glittered, and glass display cases perched atop stands of dark lacquered wood. On the velvet-lined shelves lay an array of trinkets – rings, cufflinks, brooches. There was also weaponry, ranging from simple enchanted blades and pistols to fully magical staves and combat rings.

The most valuable items had special places, like that cane under a glass dome or the suit on a mannequin at the end of the hall. There were fewer visitors than consultants. One of the boys in gray three-piece suits immediately tried to ‘take me in hand.’

I made sure he noticed the ring on my left hand right away.

“What is the young gentleman interested in?”

“Lord Fairburn.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“He’ll see me, or I’ll start loudly discussing what the assassin his son hired told me.”

The consultant didn’t just look surprised; he froze in shock.

“Your governor,” I prompted. “You don’t get to make this call.”

“One moment, my lord. How should I introduce you?”

“Duncan Kinkaid, Baron of Loxlin, of the Bremor clan.”

The consultant bowed and disappeared, while I beckoned another one over with a wave of my finger, directing him toward a cane that had piqued my interest.

A good cane, thick – perfect for carving out spell forms with broad, sweeping gestures. The headpiece was massive; I’d bet my left hand there was a large reservoir hidden inside.

Twelve hundred?! What, does it grant wishes or something?

“My lord,” the consultant bowed as he approached.

“‘Dragon’s Combat Cane,’” I read aloud. “‘Unleashes a roaring stream of flame over ten meters.’ … That’s it?” I asked.

“The spell can melt metal,” the consultant offered eagerly.

I raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“The Fairburn House guarantees it!” he assured me. I had to explain.

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

“A rather dubious feature – more useful in a forge or factory than in combat. Not to mention, it’s probably an energy hog.”

Behind me, footsteps were rapidly approaching – several people. A pity. So much for a peaceful conversation.

“A cane for dandies,” I said loudly to those who stopped behind me.

"So, the young gentleman fancies himself a fighter?"a voice responded with a faint hint of sarcasm.

“Not at all. I just picked up a few tricks from my family,” I replied, turning to face them. “And whom do I have the honor of addressing?”

I immediately recognized the consultant, Martin Belor, and one of the thugs I’d seen outside the brothel. The man who had spoken, however, was unfamiliar to me. He looked older than cousin Evan, closer to fifty, and bore a faint resemblance to August – both in his clean-shaven face and in his style of dress.

A fine black suit, red cufflinks, and a matching pin with the same gemstone on his tie. Clearly not simple accessories. Rings adorned his fingers – his left ring finger was bare, so he wasn’t Vincent Fairburn. But the ring on his right hand marked him as a member of the family.

“Peter Fairburn, Esquire.”

“Duncan Kinkaid, Baron of Loxlin.”

“Will you leave on your own, Baron? Or would you prefer to be carried out?”

I sighed and raised my voice for the benefit of the other visitors.

“You seriously think I’ll just leave after August hired an assassin to take me out?”

“Is that the best slander Smith could come up with?” Peter declared loudly.

“Pardon?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? That half-trained fool Harry hired you for his dirty work. Any educated warlock knows it’s impossible to establish a place of power alone. But Harry – our resident alternative genius – has only just figured that out. So now he’s spreading rumors that the Fairburns are sabotaging him.”

“Hired? Me?” I repeated. “Sir Peter, are you seriously suggesting that the nephew of the Earl of Bremor is so desperate for cash that he’d stoop to dirty work?”

“I know how clans operate,” Peter said with a smirk. “Any uncouth yokel can end up a ba-ron,” he said, dragging out the word syllable by syllable.

“Your knowledge seems rather lacking,” I said coldly. “Because right now, you’re not insulting a single ba-ron, you’re insulting an entire clan.”

“Oh, forgive me!” Peter said with mock sincerity. “Martin, Gregory, escort the lord. With the utmost respect, of course.”

The brutes grinned. Peter Fairburn stepped back, and the two moved forward.

“Are you planning to use force, gentlemen?” I asked, raising my voice for the benefit of the onlookers. “One more step, and I’ll be forced to consider that confirmation of aggressive intent.”

“Not at all, my lord,” Martin said with a smirk. “We’ll carry you out gently, on our shoulders.”

His tone was far too confident. Potions? Spells? Stone Skin and Strength Enhancement – at the very least. Exactly what I expected.

I kicked Martin square in the knee. A loud crack echoed as his leg bent unnaturally backward. The brute lunged at me, but thanks to the potions I’d taken, I managed to sidestep in time, guiding his head straight into the glass dome covering the cane. Martin slammed into the display, bringing the entire stand down with him and collapsing on top of it. The dome hit the floor with a sharp clang but didn’t shatter or fly off.

Then Belor screamed.

The wooden pedestal in his hands cracked and splintered under the force of his inhuman strength. The dome flew off, and the cane rolled across the floor. I grabbed it near the reinforced end and swung it like a club, smashing the massive headpiece into the second thug’s jaw. Blood and teeth erupted in a spray as his jaw twisted grotesquely to the side. He didn’t even scream – just let out a low, guttural roar, his eyes wide with pain, one hand hovering a mere inch from his ruined face, too scared to touch it.

“Well, would you look at that,” I said, flipping the cane into a proper grip. “Didn’t break. At least it’s good for beating people with.”

As I spoke, I felt along the cane for its control circuit. It would be foolish not to use a weapon that had fallen right into my hands. But Peter wasn’t going to wait. He raised his hands, forming the shape of an open maw. A spark ignited within, and then a stream of roaring flames surged toward me.

I sidestepped left, and the fire followed me. I dashed toward a column, losing my hat along the way, pushed off it, ducked under the flame, and slid across the floor toward a large display of bracelets.

Unfortunately, relying on momentum was a mistake. The stream caught up with me, but the ‘brick’ I’d upgraded that morning saved my skin. The fire collided with an invisible barrier, spreading across it like flames licking the bottom of a frying pan. Just for a moment, though, before I tumbled behind the display and took cover among the exhibits.

My hunch had been correct – the bracelets were enchanted for defense. Shields of various shapes and configurations activated one by one, overloading each other and effectively detonating the display. Shards, molten glass, splinters, embers, and fragments of the overworked bracelets scattered across the hall. The chain reaction triggered countless other enchantments.

A nearby reinforced glass case shattered. A staff flared with a thin beam of light, slicing a stand in half. Elsewhere, a shock ring activated, zapping its neighbors and sending an entire display flying through a window as if launched by a cannon.

Over by the exit, a necklace enveloped itself in an orange cocoon. Closer to me, a rack of blades suddenly snapped and collapsed under their weight. Fire and sparks rolled through the hall in waves. Customers raised their personal shields. A lady in blue opened a fan just in time, shielding the consultant in front of her. The fan disintegrated into ash, but his face remained untouched.

I stood up and brushed myself off.

“Your safety protocols are a disaster,” I said casually before raising my voice. “I demand to see Baron Fairburn! Now!”

I aimed the cane at Peter, then lifted it higher and activated it. A roaring jet of fire burst into the ceiling above him, leaving behind only a charred blackened patch as I quickly deactivated the weapon. Peter was unharmed; frankly, even a direct hit likely wouldn’t have hurt him. But why take the risk? The police already weren’t particularly fond of me.

“Your handiwork?” I asked, noting the identical effect between the cane and Peter’s spell.

Peter didn’t reply. Instead, he thrust his hand forward…

“Enough!” barked a commanding voice.

I turned to see another man, about five years older than Peter, with more gray streaking his temples.

“You wanted to talk?” the man said. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

Vincent Fairburn spun sharply on his heel and strode back toward the door he had just come through.

“Excuse me,” I called after him. “Your family has already tried to kill me multiple times, and now you’re inviting me into a room with no witnesses, where God knows who might be waiting? Even an uncouth yokel has enough brains not to do that. We’ll talk here.”

“Don’t push your luck, Lord Loxlin! My patience is not infinite.”

“Then don’t force me to test it,” I shot back. “Can you imagine what will happen to this little shop of yours if I show up here with my family? Two dozen lads my age, half of whom are warlocks or shifters.”

“Are you threatening me, boy?”

“Should’ve just hired a better assassin the first time, shouldn’t you?” I sneered. “Forgive me, my lord. These city games are still a bit difficult for my country brain to grasp.” Then I let the sneer drop and hardened my tone. “I need everything you have on that particular assassin – everything! Where and how August hired him, how he even learned about him, and so on. You can write it all down and send it with Martin.” I gestured toward the man still writhing on the floor. “I’m sure you can spare a few healing amulets. You’ve got until midnight. Only then will I leave your family in peace.”

I tossed the cane onto the marble floor, picked up my hat, dusted it off, and paused briefly before putting it on.

“Good day, Lord Fairburn. Give my best regards to August.”

Turning on my heel, I made for the exit.

“Stop!” roared Fairburn.

“Or what?” I asked without turning around. “You’ll stab me in the back again? I’ve said all I needed to say.”

“Bloody upstart brat!” Vincent shouted after me.

Let him fume. I really had said all I needed to, and now he had to figure out how to spin this incident in front of the other patrons and salvage whatever scraps of his reputation he could. By tomorrow, rumors would no doubt be spreading about how a provincial baron marched into the Fairburns’ domain to make demands, only for them to thrash him soundly and send him running with his tail between his legs.

Let them talk. I couldn’t care less.

What mattered was this: I had miscalculated the risks again. Peter could’ve flattened me if not for the “brick.” And this Vincent, who Harry had described as “knows a thing or two,” had me scrambling. I was only saved by the location and the Fairburns’ reluctance to kill me in front of witnesses. Well, at least I got that part right.

Still… It stung to admit, but I wasn’t handling this. I had to call my uncle.

I left the building calmly and made my way to the car. As I approached, I noticed a woman stepping out of a long car parked further down the street. She wore a red dress, a wide-brimmed hat, and large sunglasses.

The vampire from the club – the one who had been holding back her now-deceased brother.

She waved at me with a gloved hand, then closed the car door with a smile and began walking toward me.

I paused, signaling Knuckles to stay quiet.

“My lady,” I said, tipping my hat slightly as she approached. When she was just a few steps away, she stopped.

“My Lord…”

“How can I help you?”

“My father would like to speak with you. You are invited to the Lindemann Nest.”

“When?”

“Now.”

I hadn’t wanted to be alone with Fairburn earlier, and now walking into a vampire’s lair seemed even more dangerous.

“I’m afraid I must decline. I have other matters to attend to.”

“I’m afraid,” the vampire said with a light smile, “you don’t have a choice. I swear, neither your life nor your servant’s is in any danger.”

“Yesterday your father offered me his friendship…”

“Believe me, he acts purely with the best intentions. You caused quite a stir with Jariz yesterday. Many of our kind are displeased. My father feels compelled to invite you, solely to ensure your safety.”

“What about a meeting at Sir Harry’s?” I asked.

The vampire shook her head, and I offered another option.

“Neutral territory? Like that café near the police station?”

“The one where you were almost killed? And where you would’ve been, if I hadn’t helped you with that elixir.”

It was her? I’d like to know what lay behind that act of kindness.

“Thank you. It was very timely,” I said cautiously.

“You owe me,” she said, “and it’s not a small debt.”

I smiled but didn’t reply. I wasn’t about to even indirectly confirm her claim. The last thing I needed was to owe a debt to a vampire. I could only imagine what they might want in return… Or rather, I could have imagined – until she surprised me.

“Speak with my father, and we’ll call it even.”

“Apologies, but I’m busy.”

“Young man, Partick was a fresh meat, Conor was a fighter, and I am a master.”

Damn it! Even Bremor hunters wouldn’t tackle masters without a team. She was definitely out of my league.

“Is that a threat?” I asked, buying time.

“It’s a necessity. My father worries that he might be blamed for your death and wants to avoid it at all costs. I swear on my blood, your life is not in danger, and no one will detain you. Just one conversation, and then you’ll be free to go home. It will be unpleasant, but one way or another, it’s going to happen!”

“You have quite the talent for persuasion,” I said.

“Then you agree.”

I nodded reluctantly.

“Knuckles, head home. I’ll go with her – using her car.”