"You have some serious trust issues, young man," Lindemann said.

"Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not watching you," I replied.

"Duncan, with the kind of life you lead, paranoia is actually a useful trait. But your problem is something else. You make strange exceptions. I forgave you for my sons, and my daughter saved your life twice."

"Once!" I interrupted. "James was planning my escape regardless."

"Fine, once," Lucas said, grimacing. "But you still don’t trust me, while you’ve dragged petty criminals into your home and handed them weapons."

"Of course," I said, nodding toward the Sparrow brothers. "Real demons." Then I pointed at him. "And an innocent little lamb."

"You’re overdoing it, Lucas," Harry said with a smirk.

"You’re impossible!" the vampire sighed, pulling a notebook and a gold fountain pen from his inner pocket. For half a minute, he scribbled something with the gold nib, then tore out the page and slammed it onto the table. "Here!" he said, stepping back two paces.

Harry made a small gesture with his finger, and the sheet of paper levitated into his hand. I got up to take a look too. On the paper was a crude, disproportionate pentagonal diagram: the lower corner was elongated, the top edge was short but had two rune chains, while the sharp angle in the lower part had only three symbols, vaguely recognizable as blood runes.

"Is that a summoner's mark at the bottom?" I asked Harry.

"Yep," the wizard replied.

"Blood, blood, aether, fire... I don’t get it," I admitted.

"A blood-based tracking spell," Harry explained. "I’d replace these three edges with an arc," he said, pointing to the short upper edges of the figure. "Add some earth here for stability, and over there..."

"Change whatever you want," Lucas said. "The key is to make Flower use the spell."

"So Valentine didn’t even bother with any protection?" I asked the vampire, but Harry answered instead.

"The search is limited by the angle of the directing edges."

"So we’d need to know the approximate direction first?" I clarified.

Harry nodded.

"And if we also shorten the distance, the impulse might punch through the protection. I think that’s what Lucas is suggesting."

"Exactly!" the vampire exclaimed. "We can break into the building opposite, perform the tracking ritual, and attack!"

Lucas clenched his hand into a fist and slammed it on the table, causing the teacups to rattle. The whites of his eyes turned slightly red, his fangs extended, and despite his beige suit, he looked downright menacing.

"How many masters will be there?" I asked.

"I can’t know that," Lucas said, retracting his fangs and straightening his tie. "Could be three, maybe four. Noah will likely be at the club, usually with a couple of his elder sons. We can attack when he’s there."

"I’m more concerned about something else," I said. "Who’s going to attack? Against fighters of their level, I’m just cannon fodder. Harry won’t leave the manor. That leaves James. Sure, he’s ‘Fire,’ but he can’t do much alone. Finella will be killed before he reaches her. When a fight starts, hostages usually die. Two years ago, a pack of werewolves kidnapped the heir of some viscount…" His name had slipped my mind. "From the south – a millionaire, dealt in construction timber. Ah, whatever. The pack, ten heads strong, had taken a liking to his forests, infected the heir with lycanthropy, and kept him captive until the transformation was complete. They offered us a contract to rescue him, but my grandfather demanded time for reconnaissance, assembling a team, and preparation. The viscount had the money, but not the patience, so he hired four mercenaries. They wiped out the pack, but the alpha escaped after eating the hearts of both the heir and one of the hunters."

"In other words, we need a coordinated team," Lucas said. "I have one. Girls!"

"You mean the same ones Valentine’s men tossed in the trash today?"

"No! Those ones will stay home – punished. Besides, personal strength doesn’t matter in this case. The key is coordination. Duncan, use your imagination! You saw perfectly well how the vicar’s faith affected Jariz."

"You’re suggesting we involve that lunatic?"

"God forbid!" the vampire recoiled. "He might end up blessing my girls, that bloody fanatic. But his faith is strong! Enough for a crate of bullets."

Faith is a perishable commodity, dangerous and unstable, like a crate of dynamite at the feet of a fire elemental in the rain. Faith moves mountains and destroys cities, but it can only be wielded by a person. All the crosses, stars, crescents, and pentagrams are empty symbols, powerless without someone to believe in them. It is only human faith that grants them strength.

The bullets we enchanted in the clan were never truly consecrated. We had our own equivalent, a blend of symbols from nearly every religion, something anyone could believe in: metal of life and the magic that kills it. A death stone encased in silver – that’s what Bremorians had been using for generations. Separately, they weren’t particularly harmful to vampires; together, they barely outmatched fire apples. Odd, considering ‘fire’ is the magic from which ‘death’ was born, but vampires had a special relationship with the latter.

Obtaining fire stones was easier. The nearest place of power was Fire Rock in Elvshire, a few kilometers from the county border. That’s why fire-based ammunition was most often used in vampire hunts. A true blessing could provide much more power but faded from bullets much faster. And Wood’s faith was truly strong.

Lucas continued to whisper like a serpent tempting Eve.

"I’ll provide a team of six fighters, protective amulets, Bremor acceleration potions, automatics, and armor-piercing bullets. But the vicar won’t talk to me."

"So we’ll just barge in and shoot everyone?"

"We? No, no, no! You’re not barging in anywhere. Your job is to get the magazines blessed and keep quiet. Valentine mustn’t know me or you are involved."

"You seriously think you can keep this secret?"

"Why not? We’re friends, aren’t we? And friends don’t betray deadly secrets." Lucas bared his teeth in a slow grin and repeated ominously, "Deadly… Besides, if the story comes out a few months from now, it won’t hurt me as much."

"Or maybe even the opposite," I said, "strengthening the reputation of a brilliant schemer."

"Brilliant? Unlikely. If I only provided the spell and the information, and you carried out the raid yourselves..."

I could have argued, resisted, but oddly enough, Lindemann was offering a way forward, and I couldn’t see any alternatives. That cunning vampire was sure to gain far more from this than he let on. Weakening his rivals is the first thing that comes to mind, but I still can’t figure out how he plans to deal with the fallout. Valentine will want to know who screwed him over so badly, for sure. Then again, I’ll probably be at the top of his list. And does it even matter, if the Bremorians decide to hunt him down?

Is that Lucas’s plan all along? Kate was with me when I called for backup, and Lucas knows it. By stepping in now, he earns a credit of trust with the clan, indebts me, James, Finella, and even Harry through the Sparrow brothers, who owe Spark. On top of that, he cuts down Valentine’s combat strength, weakens him, and provokes him. When the Bremorians arrive, there will be no peaceful negotiations. Valentine’s nest and Valentine himself will be destroyed… by Bremorian hands.

What difference does it make to me?

"Nothing. Our goals align."

I glanced at Harry. The wizard shrugged uncertainly.

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"Take off the collar," I said.

Harry snapped his fingers. The collar flew off Kate’s neck and levitated into his hand.

"So, I take it that’s a yes?" Lucas asked for confirmation.

"Yes," I confirmed, then turned to Harry. "Can I take Clint? I don’t think Wood will be too thrilled if I show up with one of them."

"Just be careful," Harry advised.

"We’re heading out for the ammo," I said.

"There’s a crate in my trunk. You can even take the car," Lucas offered.

"We’ll stick to our own."

What was left of the stable wasn’t much – just a few thick beams. The wooden walls had burned down or been blown apart, but my Cooper didn’t have so much as a scratch or a speck of dust on it. Even the floor around it hadn’t scorched.

We transferred the crate, containing a dozen large drum magazines like the one Lucas’s son had used, along with ten pistol magazines, into our trunk. Twenty minutes later, we parked in front of Wood’s house.

Knuckles dropped his submachine’s drum into the crate, covered it with a jacket, and followed me inside.

This time, the vicar was in better shape than during our first meeting. His face, battered by life and heavy objects, hadn’t changed, nor had the stench of tobacco mixed with alcohol. But instead of pajamas, the servant of God now wore a cheap black suit with a white clerical collar, which gave him an air of decency.

"You reek of vampires," he declared, casting a suspicious glance at Knuckles and the crate.

"That’s exactly why I’m here." Reaching for Clint’s jacket, I lifted the edge to reveal the contents of the crate. "I need them blessed."

"Hmm… Let’s go to the cathedral."

"Let’s drive," I corrected. "We’ve got a car."

In the car, the vicar wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"This place stinks of vampires too. Vampires and smoke… Burned a couple of the beasts?"

"Not yet."

The vicar squinted suspiciously again, and I felt like his trust, already shaky after I stopped him from killing Jariz, was slipping further away.

"Think of this as a confession," I said. "Technically, I was involved in burning one vampire, but someone else did it – I just cut off his head."

"Why do you need the bullets?"

"It’s a godly cause," I assured him.

"Be specific!" Max demanded.

"There will be fewer vampires," I dodged the question.

"You’re holding something back," he shook his head. "Does this have anything to do with that spirit?"

I nodded.

"Bullets won’t do much good. I’m coming with you."

"The vampires have taken a girl hostage. The main goal is to keep her alive, not to destroy the spirit. Besides, there will be plenty of other vampires there. You need a clear head for this, and you tend to lose yours."

"What if I give you my word?"

"Have you forgotten how you were spitting mad last time? I even had to talk you down, and any delay here could cost her life."

Wood leaned closer and sniffed the air.

"You’re not lying… Fine, you’ll get your blessing."

We weren’t allowed into St. Paul’s Cathedral – not even onto the grounds. Knuckles stopped at the wrought-iron gate in the stone fence that led to the back entrance through a small garden.

The vicar took the crate, jacket still covering its contents, and returned twenty minutes later.

"When you enter the church, toss twenty quid into the donation box," Hamish said.

"Isn’t that a bit much?" I protested. "Laborers don’t make that in a month, and all you did was say a prayer."

"Well, then you should’ve gone to the laborers. Let them bless your bullets."

Neither Knuckles nor I noticed any visible changes to the crate. Even the ointment that revealed hidden things didn’t show anything new. But I still tossed the twenty into the box. Afterward, I found the nearest phone booth and called Lindemann.

The vampire had already contacted Flower and suggested meeting to discuss the details at a different location – a warehouse in the docks. By the time we arrived, it was evening.

A watcher opened the gate, and we drove in, parking the car next to Lindemann’s roadsters and a couple of battered trucks with tarpaulin-covered cargo beds. Nearby, there was a large table strewn with maps, diagrams, and a small bowl of almond cookies. A kettle was steaming nearby, along with a pair of empty fine porcelain teacups.

The same type of cups, though filled, were held by James and Lucas. The vampire had already changed into a suit the color of dry grass, while the wizard was still in his morning clothes, complete with a torn pant leg.

Standing nearby were the "girls," dressed in black baggy uniforms, heavy boots, and gloves. If their hoods hadn’t been pulled back, I could have easily mistaken them for a group of short men – they looked that formidable.

They carried submachines without magazines, potions and grenades strapped to tactical vests, pistols holstered on their right thighs, and short swords sheathed on their left. Only one of Lucas’s daughters wore a dark evening gown adorned with a multitude of golden jewelry.

"Duncan," Lindemann greeted me, raising his teacup in a mock salute. "Tea?" The vampire seemed to be in an excellent mood.

"I wouldn’t say no."

Lucas nodded to the daughter in the dress, and she quickly filled a cup, adding milk when I gestured. I made a mental note to take a sip of universal antidote later – just in case.

I pointed Knuckles toward a spot on the table that was free of papers, and he set down the crate before retreating to the car and grabbing his own submachine gun, loading it with a drum magazine.

The vampire girls rushed to the crate, but the first one who touched it hissed and dropped the magazine back inside, baring her teeth and shaking her gloved hand in surprise. Kate stepped forward.

Her hair had grown out enough for her to cut it into a cute short hairstyle, though I’d never been a fan of those. She slowly picked up a magazine and loaded it into her Thompson.

"The vicar’s a miracle worker," she said. "But it’s better not to carry these around – might weaken us. We’ll take them before the fight. Load up and stack everything in the truck."

Hissing in pain, the vampire girls began loading the weapons, and I turned to their father.

"I see you’ve already discussed the plan. Care to repeat it for me?"

Lindemann set down his teacup, rearranged the maps, and pulled out a diagram of the area.

"The Valentines are here," he said, pointing to a building in the middle of the block. "Lord Flower drew up the diagram in the back of a truck. If we park here," he indicated the corner of a neighboring block, "the building we need will fall entirely within the search zone. The lord will perform the ritual and break down the door with some loud technique. That’ll be the signal to attack."

"And if," I interrupted, "Finella isn’t in the house?"

"Your 'friend' will still be there," Lucas hinted. It seemed that now, with the bullets in hands, he wasn’t about to back out of the assault.

"If Fin isn’t there, I’ll roast you," James promised.

"That’s yet another reason for me not to go in with you," Lindemann said, immediately turning back to James. "I’m almost certain your sister is there! That’s what the watchers say, but there are thousands of ways to quietly remove a body."

James clenched his jaw and fists.

"No, no, no," Lindemann soothed. "A body doesn’t mean a corpse. She could just be sedated."

"Pray she’s alive," Flower said, then left our group and headed toward the truck. Once he was far enough away, Lucas leaned in and whispered.

"If she’s dead, you’d better stay far away."

"Couldn’t agree more," I nodded. "What’s the plan for the assault?"

"The building has four floors. Your guy is being held on the third floor, and the girl is most likely in the basement. Flower will go in through the main entrance and fight his way down. The girls will attack from the neighboring rooftops. Two will breach the fourth floor, two will hit the third – there are balconies, easy to jump down from and break in. The last pair will back up Flower downstairs. After that, it’s a full sweep. We find the girl, grab your Davie-Simon... Does he absolutely have to be alive? We’ll try, of course, but…"

I shook my head. A live Simon would benefit Lucas far too much. And he could spill things better left unsaid. The vampire would start digging regardless now.

"If he’s dead, I won’t mourn, but I need to see the body immediately. That’s important."

"I’m not sending you in with the girls."

"I’m not going in myself. Let Kate bring the body to Anvil. Lucas, I need to see it while it’s still warm. That’s crucial."

"Fine," the vampire nodded. "I’ll take care of it."

"Perfect! When are you planning the operation?"

"Why do you care?" Lucas asked with a sly smile.

"Fair point. Clint, let’s go."

Knuckles tossed his Tommy onto the front seat while I climbed into the back. As soon as we pulled away from the warehouse, I applied ointment to my third eye and spent the next few kilometers scanning the rearview mirrors. Once I was sure we weren’t being followed, I wiped my forehead. Knuckles noticed.

"We’re not heading home, are we?" he asked.

"Correct."

"Pubset?"

"Exactly. Did you memorize the address?"

"Nobody said it out loud."

"It was on the map. Pirrie Street, forty-six. Let’s keep a low profile – find the street, then pull back so we don’t leave our ‘smell’ near the building."

"And after that?"

"We find the nearest diner or restaurant. It’s dinner time."

"This is Pubset," Knuckles objected. "At this hour, all the diners turn into pubs. They won’t let me into any decent place, and stepping into the indecent ones is a bad idea. If the goal is just to eat, we’d be better off stopping at that café near the police station."

"Agreed. But afterward, we’ll still need to locate that house and stake it out a couple of blocks away."

"You’ve decided to interfere, haven’t you?"

"What? No, we’re just observing."