Although Boily made his way to the building, he didn’t go in. He slowed down in front of the heavy double doors, which had been shut for the night, gave them a gentle push and peered through the gap. After standing there for a few seconds, he opened the doors a little wider and stuck his head inside.

  Clan enforcer coupes rolled up to Martin Boily and lined up neatly behind him. The car doors opened quietly and without fuss, releasing the crew, mostly shifters, but among them were also warlocks: Donald, Bryan, Leslie Bailey…

  A patrol constable, witnessing the scene, ducked into the police booth, snatched up the receiver, and began dialling. No one stopped him, let him make his report. The first few out of the vehicles headed towards Nick, but he pulled his head back from the doorway and gestured for them to hold position. Then he returned and called Archibald Feron over to the bin.

  “See that earring?” the warlock asked, pointing into the bin.

  Archie reached in with his short, thick arm, hooked the dangling thing and brought it to his face. He took a sniff and immediately let out a powerful sneeze. Grimacing, he shook his head and wiped his nose with his free hand.

  “What’s wrong?” Nick asked, concerned. The shifter’s reaction was unusual.

  “Odour-removal potion.”

  “Clever bitch,” Boily muttered, with a grudging note of praise. “All right, spread out.”

  “Wait,” Archibald stopped him. He sniffed the earring again, grimaced once more, but held back the sneeze. “I can manage. She wore it for some time after applying the potion. Her scent has partially returned.” He tossed the trinket back into the bin and gave his nose another fierce rub. “She came through those doors — that’s certain.”

  “Bryan, take a walk with Archie under cover. We’ll be right behind.”

  “How about different faces?” suggested McLilly. “So we can see you.” Nicholas nodded. Bryan clicked his fingers with a flourish and turned into a silver-haired gentleman; Archibald’s trousers melted into the floral skirt of an elderly lady.

  “You’re joking!” the shifter protested.

  “Come now, darling,” Bryan said sweetly, offering his arm.

  Grumbling, Archie took it. The pair set off towards the station under barely suppressed snickers from the others, until someone reminded them, “Luggage.”

  A large suitcase appeared in McLilly’s right hand. Nicholas ordered everyone to quit the giggling and continued assigning roles. For errands, he picked the youngest in the group.

  “Leslie, have a word with the constable. Show him the documents, let him know who we are and what we’re doing. Officially, we’re tracking a stray werewolf. Then head back to Duncan. You’re on guard duty tonight. If he tries to get out of the car, knock him on the head.”

  “Dressed like this?” I scoffed. They’d fetched me straight from the hospital, just as I was — no gear.

  “You fought off rats in a dressing gown, as I recall,” Boily teased.

  “That was a special case.”

  “Well, see to it this one doesn’t turn special.”

  “That’ll be up to you, gentlemen,” I shot back. No, honestly, if they caught Alexandra quickly, there’d be no reason for me to even step in.

  Nicholas gave the McLilly-Feron pair a minute to scout ahead and pick up the trail, waited for Leslie to finish speaking with the constable, and gave the order.

  “Go.”

  The crowd of shifters entered the building quickly but without haste. Nicholas blended in among them. Leslie came over to Martin but didn’t get in the car. He leaned against the rear wing of the roadster on my side, lit a cigarette with a flicker of conjured flame.

  “Eight solo hunts, and they still treat me like a bloody rookie,” he grumbled. “McLilly’s done fewer, and he gets to join the action.”

  “Have you seen his illusions?” I asked.

  “I’ve seen his illusions, sure, but regeneration, only heard about it. You two seem close. Any idea what kind of trophy he brought in to earn such a fat reward?”

  “Nothing less than a master vampire,” I said, made it sound like a guess.

  “I wouldn’t have managed a master,” Leslie admitted, a touch self-critical.

  He was in a fairly friendly mood, so I asked, “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have a notebook and pen on you, would you?”

  Leslie slipped a hand into his inner pocket and pulled out a leather-bound notebook with a silver Parker clipped to the spine.

  “Stylish,” I said, impressed. My own were more basic, though far pricier, considering the treatments the ink and paper had gone through.

  “What for?” the warlock asked.

  “Want to activate a couple of spells.”

  Leslie, who’d already extended the notebook, suddenly withdrew it and blew out a puff of smoke, unimpressed. I had to talk fast before he put the thing away.

  “Look, if life’s taught me anything, it’s that it’s better to be ready. Just in case! I’m feeling a bit underdressed with only a dagger. And if the fight spills out this way, this might just keep me in one piece.”

  Really need to learn to write in the air like Harry, or finally sort out a spatial pocket to carry a spellbook...

  “Don’t muck about,” Leslie muttered. “Don’t ruin my reputation. I’d rather not spend another year running errands for the uncles.”

  “Wasn’t planning to!”

  Ordinary paper and ink wouldn’t hold magic for long, but they were good enough for instant activation. I was about to inscribe an acceleration spell, and realised I was missing the key component.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have a lightning reservoir on you, by any chance?”

  “I’ve got two fire tricks,” Leslie said. He showed me a flicker of conjured flame, then made his whole hand ignite. “I have blood, earth, and steel stones.”

  “I’ve got blood,” I said, holding up my half-drained aquamarine. It had seen use recently, when I’d used my dagger as a compass. I’d refilled the reservoirs as soon as we’d found the earring.

  So, no speed spell. I could try to build it on ether, but I wasn’t in the mood for experimentation. Instead, I used the last page of the notebook to draw the precision formula, charged it with blood residue, and activated it immediately. On the next page, I began sketching a rear-view detection glyphs, but didn’t have time to fuel it from my personal ether.

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  A shotgun blast rang out from the station, followed by a woman’s scream. The brave constable in the booth whipped out his baton and bolted toward the sound.

  “No need,” Leslie stopped him. “There are half a dozen shifters in there, and one of the clan’s strongest warlocks. You’ll just get in the way. Better report upstairs.”

  Inside, gunfire crackled, stained glass flared with spelllight, and a pair of well-dressed cityfolk burst out of the station shouting “Cab!” as they ran. The cabbies, however, all turned their engines on and cleared the square. The constable took Leslie’s advice and stayed put. I, just in case, studied the fleeing people: ungifted, no disturbances in the subtle body. After the first pair, three more left the station, among them, a weak shifter.

  Headlights appeared across the square. A convoy of police cars, Austins, approached without sirens or flashing lights, so as not to scare the townsfolk or alert any criminals. Their tyres squealed as they braked near the clan’s Coopers. From the first car jumped the Chief Constable of Bremshire himself — Lord Douglas Rowdy. He pulled a fearsome face, bared the fangs of a shifter beneath his walrus moustache, and fixed his gaze on Leslie, who was calmly smoking.

  “Clanman?” he asked.

  “Leslie Bailey,” the warlock nodded, stubbed his cigarette out in his palm and flicked it into the bin. “Nothing to worry about, my lord. Everything’s under control.”

  Gunfire continued inside the building. Spelllight flashed. The long-suffering stained glass shattered under a pressure wave. Shards of glass rained down on the granite floor.

  “I can see that!” Roody growled and barked an order to his men. “Move in.”

  His squad was well chosen: shifters and sorcerers, likely a PSS squad made up of non-clan townsfolk. Aside from the active energy nodes I spotted in the ether, there were dozens of glowing amulets and battle rods. These boys were kitted out top-class.

  Leslie and I exchanged a glance, shrugged, and got back to it. Bailey pulled out another cigarette, and I resumed sketching the rear-view formula into the notebook. With a force like that going in, I doubted the fight would reach us, I’d be sure to tease Nicholas about it later. But since I’d started the spell, I might as well finish it.

  The constables were clustering at the entrance, when suddenly a body came hurtling through the broken stained glass like a cannonball. It arced through the air, twisted mid-flight, landed on all fours in front of Boily’s roadster. The expensive suit had a good twenty bullet holes, a few slashes, and several scorch marks. The man’s limbs dented the asphalt. He raised his head — blood-red eyes, a snarl, and a catlike hiss.

  Leslie and I had seen vampires before. We didn’t wait. The warlock fired off a flamebolt from his finger, I dropped the notebook and pen, and flung my dagger, fine-tuning its power and trajectory with enchantment.

  The vampire was already on his feet before either of us could react. Where his head had been a moment ago, now was his crotch. Leslie’s firebolt burned a hole straight through his fly, followed by my dagger embedding itself there.

  Admittedly, whatever wobbly treasure he had wasn’t much use, what with no blood pressure. To get anything working, they’d need a jack and a few litres of fresh blood. But pain, they still feel that. Not like real men, more like half, but half was enough. I’d never seen such a pitiful expression on a fanged face before.

  The vampire froze in pain. Something tumbled from his trouser leg, oh God, a charred lump of flesh flopped out.

  Gunfire in the station died down. There was a jam at the doors, the police trying to push in, our lot trying to chase the bloodsucker out. Among the shifters, no one had Chris McLilly’s spring. Back then, a werewolf had hurled him into the station through that stained-glass window, and he’d launched himself back out the same way. The height he cleared... must’ve been the third floor. A couple of other shifters followed the way, though less elegantly, jumping, grabbing the window ledge, hauling themselves up and spilling outside.

  Leslie and I were still slightly in shock. We only snapped out of it when the vampire moved again, yanking the dagger from his groin.

  I redirected it mid-flight, sent it straight into his chin. It crunched through his lower jaw. Leslie lit his hand again and flicked the flame onto the vampire. The fireball struck his white shirt under the bowtie and doubled in size immediately.

  The vampire tried to pull the blade downward, but I held it in place with enchantment. With his strength, the dagger’s reservoirs lasted only a heartbeat, but in that heartbeat the flames spread across his jacket and into his hair. Leslie calmly shot a firebolt into the vampire’s knee, and once the blade left his mouth, it didn’t matter. The creature was now a blazing torch.

  The half-corpse fell to the tarmac and began to roll, trying to put out the flames. Too late — they’d taken hold. Hair and clothes turned to ash, his eyes burned away, skin blackened and curled.

  Our shifters saw the vampire was no longer a threat and slowed down, glancing around as if debating whether to head back inside. The burning spell began to fade, and Leslie, almost on instinct, lobbed another flame at the body. It flared again, twitching violently.

  “You’d do better to finish him off,” I suggested.

  “Yeah,” agreed the warlock, reaching for the dagger under his coat. “Oh...” he said, startled, as his hand closed around the hilt.

  “Rage, hatred, the will to kill?” I asked. Wouldn’t surprise me if that vampire was from Marduk’s pack.

  Leslie nodded.

  “Never felt anything like it,” he said. “My old man used to say they hand out good rewards for ones like this.”

  “Sometimes you even get to choose,” I confirmed. “Better not wait,” I added, nodding toward the Chief Constable of the county. He’d made up his mind. The doorway was still jammed, and climbing through the stained glass would’ve been undignified, so he began striding towards us with two gifted in tow. Honestly, he looked ready to wave a lawbook in our faces and claim the vampire as his own.

  Leslie saw the situation clearly and fired a scorching spark into the vampire’s head before the top copper could declare him non-threatening and call it off. The body stopped twitching, but just to seal the claim, the warlock stabbed it with his dagger.

  “What the bloody hell was that?!” roared Lord Roody. “He was no longer a threat!”

  “Mercy killing,” I offered, seeing Leslie hesitate over reward selection.

  “Mercy my arse! What do you think I am, blind, boy? Didn’t see him mark the trophy?”

  “Couldn’t let it go to waste,” I said.

  “And who the hell are you?” the Chief Constable barked, jabbing a finger my way.

  “Duncan Kinkaid, Baron of Loxlin.”

  “Bryce’s nephew,” the copper grumbled, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “He in there?”

  “No, my lord,” I shook my head. “Nicholas Boily’s in charge.”

  Blast — Boily’s been head of Security since my uncle’s time, but I’ve no idea what title he holds now. Would’ve been useful here. Two lords are better than one.

  “Nick, is it,” the copper muttered, spun on his heel and marched back toward the doors, still clogged with both police and our lot. But now everyone was coming out. Battered shifters dragged out a gagged woman, followed by a man in a suit, still alive, though missing his hands and feet.

  Lord Rowdy spotted Boily and immediately let rip.

  “Nick! What the hell! We had a deal after last time, you’d inform us before any operation on Avoc territory!”

  Boily didn’t raise his voice. He replied calmly, quietly, with dignity. Whatever he said, we didn’t hear it. But it clearly irritated Lord Rowdy, who launched into a rant about legal codes, not that it helped. Alexandra and the vampire were bundled into separate Coopers and driven off.

  Boily spent a few minutes soothing the Chief Constable, then walked over to us. The fight had gone well for him, his suit was barely creased. This time, it seemed, surprise and overwhelming force had favoured the Bremor side.

  Nicholas stopped beside the vampire’s corpse, nudged it with the tip of his shoe, picked up my dagger, and gave me a disapproving look.

  “What?” I said. “Didn’t get out of the car.”

  “Confirmed,” Leslie nodded.

  Nicholas glanced at the corpse again, and noticed a not-quite-charred chunk of flesh nearby.

  “Is that his?! Bloody hell, you animals.”

  “Accident,” we both said.

  But for some reason, the warlock focused on me.

  “Everything with you’s an accident. What is it, some kind of misfortune magnet sewn into your arse? No wonder McLilly keeps dodging your protection duty.”

  “So that’s how he got regeneration!” Leslie exclaimed. “If you ever need help again, I’m in. Loved working with Duncan.”

  “Just don’t expect rewards every time,” Boily warned. “But trouble, that’s guaranteed.”

  “Oh, like it’s my fault you lot let the bloodsucker slip out!” I snapped. “That’s on you!”

  “All right,” Leslie tried to keep the peace. “It’s over, yeah? Vampires neutralised, Alexandra caught.”

  Boily sighed, released Leslie with a nod, and got into the car. He waited for the young warlock to step away, then turned to me.

  “She gave herself up,” Nicholas said, which surprised me.

  “Before or after you flattened the vampires?” I asked, raising a brow.

  “Before,” Boily said, surprising me even more. “Soon as she saw us, she surrendered. The bloodsuckers didn’t like that. Tried to take her by force. That’s how the fight started.”

  “I don’t get it. What’s the point?”

  “Alexandra wants to be tried by the Grand Council. Says she’ll air the Kinkaid family’s dirty laundry, that you’re to blame for all of it. I had her gagged, but the boys heard her. Now there’s no keeping it quiet. All that influence Bryce gained from recent events...” Boily thumped the steering wheel in frustration, sighed again, and started the engine. He shook his head. “I don’t know... I need sleep. And so do you.”