Archive of Our Own ^beta

I--The Soldier

You cannot become attached to human beings, things, or landscapes without suffering immediately taking up a position at your side.
~Pierre-Albert Jourdan (trans. by John Taylor)

December in the Kiamichi Mountains was cold, especially after sun-down, but Eliot didn’t feel it. The heat was cranked up high in his old Jeep Wagoneer, the vents blowing a steady stream of hot, dusty air across his face. Outside, it was pitch black; the only things visible were the faded road lines and the eyes of the creatures in Eliot’s headlights. None of those creatures was the one he had come here for. The Changer.

The road wound its way left and right up the mountain, higher and higher, without another soul on it. The trees this high grew close together, their new leaves growing in the early spring, closing in on the road the further up Eliot got. It was as if he was riding into a black hole with nothing on the other end but darkness. If it weren’t for his heritage, Eliot would have driven off the mountain and plunged to his death miles ago.

As it was, his eyes had adjusted to the dark well enough for Eliot to see where he was steering his trusty Jeep, and find the gap in the line of trees where he needed to turn off the road and head into the thick woods.

Just like his source had said, there was a very obscure but still visible path going deeper and deeper into the dark forest. It was slow going, and with every tree root or bump Eliot hit, he growled softly and shot up a prayer to whoever was listening to spare him from a breakdown or a flat tire. Not when he was this close to his prey.

Forty long minutes later, the path ended at a small, round clearing. There was an old, dilapidated cabin at the far end, and a soft, yellowish light streaming out through the uncovered windows. Eliot stopped the car about thirty feet from the cabin and killed the engine.

He rolled down the window and leaned his head out slightly to listen. There was nothing. Not one single sound. No birds chirping, no deer rustling in the bushes, no squirrels in the trees, nothing. He was in the right place.

Just as he was about to open the door and step out to investigate, a smell hit his nose. It was hard to identify at first, but when he opened the door it more fully hit him, a smell almost like the sooty smoke of a campfire. A Hound. Which meant there was a Hawke around too. Eliot was not afraid of either, although he had never met a Hound that didn’t want to at least maim him, or a Hawke that didn’t have a few loose screws. He just didn’t like them very much. They were unpredictable and Eliot didn’t like unpredictable. He slipped out of his car as silently as he could and checked his coat for his blades. When he was satisfied they were all there, he swung his crossbow and arrows over his shoulder and closed the door softly.

Eliot made his way back to the clearing until he could get a good look at the cabin and the Hound that was lying on one side of the wooden porch. It was a big one: huge paws, thick fur and jaws that could fit around Eliot’s head. It was asleep, though, or at least, pretending to be asleep, so Eliot dared to approach it slowly. When he got close enough to touch, he stopped and stilled, one hand twitching to reach for his bow the second the Hound attacked.

It didn’t. Nothing happened but one bright white eye opening and glancing at Eliot. Eliot froze and stared back. The eye slipped shut again, and Eliot swore he could see the Hound smirking. Bastard.

Not completely trusting the Hound wouldn’t still attack, he circled the clearing the long way around and stepped onto the cabin’s porch from the other end. From up close, the cabin was even older and in worse shape than Eliot first thought. The porch had holes in it, the paint on the walls flaking like it hadn’t seen a paintbrush for at least a decade or five and the steps were rickety at best. He carefully side-stepped any possible death-traps, one eye still on the Hound on the other side of the porch, and knocked on the old door.

There was a stumbling sound from inside, followed by a, “Coming!” and from the corner of his eye, Eliot saw the Hound lift its head and fix both its freaky, creepy eyes on him. He unconsciously took a step back from the door, away from the Hawke on the other side that the Hound was protecting. The Hound stayed in its place, though, and Eliot dared to take his eyes off it to look at the cabin again.

There was a surprisingly well-kept wooden carving of a Faravahar over the door, the Hawkes’ symbol of the guardian angels, and Eliot was once again reminded of the weird history and beliefs of the Hawkes. The carving seemed to be glowing from the inside somehow, but just as Eliot was about to step closer to study it better, the door opened to reveal an old man with a shiny, black cane.

The man was smiling at Eliot and Eliot was immediately suspicious. A stranger shows up at your remote cabin way past dark and you smile at him like you’ve been expecting him? Yeah, that’s not suspicious at all. The man held out a hand, though, and Eliot didn’t have y other choice but shake it. His momma raised him right, after all.

“I’m Archie. Welcome, Eliot.”

The handshake was firm, but Eliot could feel the brittle bones of Archie’s hand under his fingertips. Archie must have been at least two hundred years old, if not a few decades more.

“Eliot. But you knew that already.”

Archie smiled at Eliot’s slightly threatening, questioning tone, but didn’t explain himself, and gestured for him to come inside. Eliot stepped past him into the cabin and waited for Archie to close the door, lead the way to the sitting area.

Archie gestured for Eliot to sit down on the old, brown plaid couch before shuffling over to the liquor cabinet. It was missing one of its windows, and there were stains littering the top as if to testify to its age, like rings on a tree stump. “Drink?”

“Scotch. Neat.”

Eliot settled on the couch and watched Archie pour their drinks in silence. The old man’s hands were shaking slightly, and he was leaning on his cane heavily. His back was bowed and he had a worn, tired look on his face. Archie was old, too old, and Eliot felt a stab of sympathy for the man. Living far beyond human nature seems like a blessing to so many--history was riddled with iconic figures trying to find the cure for old age and mortality, but when you’ve actually lived it, if you’re the one to bury your family and friends and children one by one while you are stuck roaming the earth, it’s not as much of a blessing as it seems. Eliot could relate.

Archie shuffled over with Eliot’s scotch and then settled in a big, faded armchair with a glass of his own. He rested the cane against the chair before fixing his eyes on Eliot. “So, you’ve come to hunt whatever is in these woods?”

“Yes. I want to catch it tonight.”

Archie nodded enigmatically and glanced outside with a dark look on his face. “Please. People have gone missing lately. I don’t think it’s local, whatever it is, but it is taking good people.”

“I know. I’ve been tracking it from up north, lost the trail about a week ago. Got wind from the press about the disappearances round here. It sounded like a shape changer, so I came. Were-cat maybe, or a wolf.”

Archie looked up at that, a slightly surprised look on his face. “A were? Are you sure it’s not a Shifter?”

Eliot wasn’t sure what to make of that comment. It was practically common knowledge that weres are the dangerous shape changers, the ones made by pure violence and evil by their own hands, even Hawkes knew that. Shifters were born, however, like Eliot, not created, and they almost all have perfect control over their animal side. So why would Archie think it was a Shifter and not a were? Did he know Eliot was a Shifter? Was Archie one of those Hawkes with a grudge against them all, whether they were weres, Shifters, or Walkers.

Eliot leaned forward, rested his elbow on his knees, looked Archie straight in the eye. “No. I don’t hunt my own kind.”

Something flashed through Archie’s eyes, something Eliot couldn’t decipher, and he looked away with a small smile. “Of course.”

It almost sounded like an apology, but not, and Eliot had no idea how to take it. Archie didn’t offer anything else on the subject though, and instead leaned back in his chair with a wistful sigh. “I’m glad you’re here though. I would have gone out to hunt it myself, but, well--”

Eliot nodded. He wouldn’t try and push the subject. The old Hawke was not likely to tell Eliot anything substantial and Eliot had no real need for riddles and games and the subsequent headaches. He needed to get out and hunt the were. “I should be going then.”

Archie nodded and held out his glass with a funny look on his face. Eliot hesitated before clinking his own glass against Archie’s.

“To a successful hunt.”

That, Eliot could drink to. He drained his glass in one gulp and stood up. “Thank you for the drink.”

Archie rose from his seat too, and followed Eliot to the door. The Hound was still in the same spot
on the porch, and it opened one gleaming white eye when Eliot stepped outside. Eliot quickly looked away and made his way off the porch the way he came; away from the Hound.

Archie was laughing softly, scratching the Hound between its ears when Eliot looked back and scowled to himself. “Freaky dogs and their weird Hawke masters.”

Eliot was making his way over to his car to get his camping gear, when a second smell reached his nostrils. It wasn’t canine, but it wasn’t far off. He paused, nostrils flaring, scenting the air. “Definitely were-cat.”

And it was close, too, maybe less than a mile away. Eliot hurriedly grabbed his gear and supplies, following the scent of his prey past Archie’s cabin and deeper into the woods. The scent was odd, a sweet, almost pungent smell, and his heightened senses guided him easily through the thick underbrush of the old forest. The scent was getting stronger and stronger, until it almost flooded Eliot’s senses. He slowed, edging sideways through a tangled patch of greenbrier, quietly retracting an arrow from his quiver. He knew he didn’t have a lot of time until he was on top of the were. He notched his arrow, stepping carefully, boots pushing the greenbrier.

He was close.

Very, very close.

When he got to a small, almost indistinguishable clearing, Eliot crouched down to quickly unwrap the leather cover from the poisoned tip of the arrowhead, all the while keeping a close eye on his surroundings. Small, soft noises had started reaching his ears, and he knew the were was close-by. Without making a sound, Eliot again notched the arrow in his bow and lifted it up and against his shoulder, swinging it in the direction of the sounds.

His eyes were fully adjusted to the dark, but the low-hanging branches were throwing strange shapes and shadows around and he couldn’t get a clear visual on the were-cat. The smell was still strong, but the sounds had stopped. Eliot cursed silently; the were-cat knew he was there. Eliot relaxed his grip, lowered the bow and closed his eyes. His nose and ears immediately sharpened when the sense of sight wasn’t available anymore, but the were was completely silent.

The silence stretched on and on for what seemed like hours. Eliot was frozen, completely focused on the sound and smell of the were, the cold slowly seeping into his limbs and bones. There wasn’t a noise at all, not even a breath or a twig snapping, but the smell stayed strong. Eliot knew the were-cat was probably doing the same thing Eliot was doing: waiting, assessing, preparing.

Like always, when Eliot was extremely focused and calm, he went into an almost dream-like state. Everything narrowed down to just him and his prey, his surroundings sharp and clear, nothing more important than the hunt. And then, suddenly, his fragile focus shattered. There was a cry, a sudden flurry of movement and Eliot was momentarily surrounded by a few dozen Mexican free-tailed bats scattering around his head. Eliot cursed out loud and tried to duck away from the small creatures without hurting them. When they’d all moved on, the smell of the were-cat was almost gone and Eliot knew he’d lost it. The were had upset the bats on purpose.

“Damn it.”

It wasn’t often that a were got the jump on Eliot. No creature, did, for that matter, but he was distracted, not fully focused and he only had himself to blame. There’d been something strange about Archie, different strange rather than just Hawke-strange, and it sat on Eliot’s mind more than he’d like. Something was off about the man, and his Hound, and it wasn’t sitting well with him.

Eliot kept his bow at the ready as he rose from his perch and started following the ever-fainter scent of the were-cat until he was so deep into the woods he wasn’t sure he could actually even smell the were anymore. The moon was high in the sky, and Eliot knew it was time for at least a few hours of shut-eye. The were-cat wouldn’t come back, not when it knew a Shifter had caught his scent and was on its tail. He’d try to get away as fast and far as he could and hope the Shifter never came across his scent again. Shifters never forgot a scent.

He draped a tarp low between a few trees to build a hootchie, hacking far enough into the lower bushes with his machete to create a small space to curl up in to sleep and to create a rough layer of padding. It would be a cold night, but he’d slept outside in worse. His sleeping bag was strapped to his back and he put it down and sat on it as he prepared for the night. He never slept before he cleaned his weapons. He knew how badly poorly kept weapons could disadvantage him.

His knives were first; the two large bowie knives strapped to his thighs, the hunting knife on his ankle, the kukri and survival knife from the lining of his coat, the Muskrat from where it was strapped to his arm and the machete from his hip. He hadn’t used any of them, apart from the machete, since he cleaned them last time--despite having many weapons and knowing how to use them like no other, Eliot hated using them--and the silver of the blades shone in the pale moonlight. He cleaned them anyway, before putting them back and taking his quiver and bow from his back. This was the most arduous task; cleaning the arrows, making sure the poisoned tips were still good and soft, testing the bow and cleaning the moving parts and rubbing the leather to make sure it didn’t crack. He loved taking care of his bow and arrows though; it never failed to calm him down and focus him.

As he softly rubbed the leather of his quiver with a cloth, he could hear the notes of music filtering in through layers of memories and years. No, not music, a voice. He smiled, he knew that voice. It was the sweet voice of his mother singing The Minstrel Boy and Nelly Bly to him as they worked in the garden or the kitchen together. He couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t sung to him as they worked on the chores around the house and even after she died, he still heard her voice whenever he sat down to take care of his tools.

”The minstrel boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death ye will find him;
His father's sword he hath girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him;”

A soft glow of warmth spread from deep inside of Eliot as the words in his mother’s voice grew stronger and stronger.

"Land of Song!" said the warrior bard,
"Tho' all the world betray thee,
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee!"

The Minstrel Boy was his mother’s favorite song when he was a boy. They would stand in the out-kitchen together, washing the vegetables, preparing the meat for smoking, and his mother would sing to him. Eliot loved it when she sang to him; she had a beautiful voice, to match her beautiful smile and her beautiful eyes and he fell in love with her just a tiny bit more with every song. She knew all the verses and she always prodded him to sing along, but he never did. He didn’t want to ruin the spell she wove around them with her voice and he knew his voice wasn’t nearly as captivating.

No matter how dire the situation, even during the war, his mother’s voice singing The Minstrel Boy in his head would make him feel safe.

When the song was over, Eliot had always begged her to sing it again, and again, and again, and she always did. She would smile at Eliot, kiss him on the head and start over, as many times as Eliot wanted.

Nelly Bly was Eliot’s second favorite song. Not because of the words or the melody, but because his mother would sing the song to him every night when she tucked him into bed after a long day of chores and work. She would sit on the edge of his bed and stroke his hair softly as he fell asleep to her sweet voice and soft hands. Her singing would chase him far into dreamland and serve as soundtrack to his best dreams. Flying through the air like a bird, floating down the river in a wooden boat, running through fields of flowers and tall grass; she was always there, cheering him on with the song.

“Nelly Bly shuts her eye when she goes to sleep.
When she wakens up again her eyeballs start to peep.
The way she walks, she lifts her foot,
And then she bumps it down;
And when it lights, there's music there
In that part of the town.”

Eliot could hear her, loud and clear, as he finished cleaning his weapons and put them away safely. The scent of the were was completely gone now and it was time for bed. Two hours of sleep would be enough, but he needed to be sharp enough to catch the were-cat in the morning. And he would catch it; he was too close to let it go now, and it had already gotten away once. It thought it was clever, but Eliot could and would find it and kill it. No matter what it took.

As he lay down on his bed of leaves and moss wrapped in his sleeping bag, he closed his eyes and let himself fall into his memories of his mother’s songs.

“Nelly Bly has a voice like a turtle dove,
I hear it in the meadow and I hear it in the grove.
Nelly Bly has a heart warm as a cup of tea,
And bigger than the sweet potatoes down in Tennessee.”

Flashes of bright blue eyes haunted his dreams, slowly morphing into hazel ones, the voice that was once so sweet and clear, turning slightly hoarse and low. Long, brown hair flowed through his fingers, lips brushed his ear. His mother was long gone, replaced by images of what he once had and lost. Aimee. Her loving smile never failed to brighten up his dark dreams, chasing away the bad memories of wars and deaths and plagues. She was the best defense he had--together with his mother--against the monsters haunting his dreams.

Her soft hands caressed his face and Eliot smiled in his sleep. Had he been awake, he would have stopped his mind from where it was going, but he never did have control over his dreams and he couldn’t stop her hands from closing around his throat and squeezing. She bared her teeth--her fangs--at him and hissed his name, her face twisted with what Damien had done to her, what Eliot hadn’t been able to stop him from doing. Once best friends, now mortal enemies.

Eliot woke with a gasp, a hand flew to his neck where he could still feel the phantom touch of Aimee’s hands around it. His heart was pounding in his chest, flashes of the nightmare--memory--still echoing through his mind. He forced himself to slow his breathing and pushed the memories away; he hadn’t had that dream in a long time and he knew exactly what it meant.

Danger.

He quickly packed up his tarp and sleeping bag and strapped them to his back, along with his quiver. There was no time to waste. He notched one arrow on his bow and held it at the ready while he made his way back to his car and Archie’s cabin slowly and carefully. There was a scent on the air, just a whiff, one that Eliot couldn’t place immediately, and he slowed his pace to almost a shuffle. This wasn’t the were, the smell was unlike any were he’d ever scented, and Eliot wracked his brain to try and identify what it was and if it was dangerous.

As he got closer to the clearing where he had left his car, the smell got stronger. It came from slightly to his left and he circled the source a few times before moving in. The finger on the trigger of his bow tensed as he spotted a lump of fur through the trees and he froze in place. It wasn’t moving, but that was definitely the source of the smell.

Eliot took a few steps forward, waited, and then took a few more. When he cleared the last patch of greenbrier, the air cleared and the smell of the lump hit him full force.

Dog.

There was no sound around him and no other smells indicating immediate danger from anything other than Eliot himself and he lowered his bow. It was just a few more feet to the lump of fur and when he cleared the last row of trees to the small clearing, he recognized it. Archie’s Hound. Only it wasn’t a Hound anymore.

There was a large Solomon’s trap around the carcass and Eliot immediately knew what had happened. Someone had lured the Hound far out into the woods and exorcised it from its mortal remains and killed it. The fur was clotted with black blood and it was roughly ripped in places, bones broken and even shattered. The Hound hadn’t gone easily, but it hadn’t been a match for its murderer. On the heels of that came the realization that who or what had ripped the Hound from its host was smart enough to trick a Hound so far away from its Hawke and had probably also gone after him.

Archie.

Eliot raised his bow again and quickly ran for the cabin. There was nothing he could do for the Hound, but maybe he could save Archie. He paid no mind to the branches slapping him in the face, or the tendrils trying to curl around his ankles and trip him; The nightmare propelled him forward, he knew he had to be quick or he would be too late. The distance from where he found the Hound to the cabin only made the dread in his stomach settle heavier.

As he got closer to the cabin, the feeling of dread got heavier, but he refused to believe he was already too late. When he finally made it to the cabin and took in the state of it, though, he had to admit defeat.

They’d gotten to Archie long before Eliot could have done anything to save him. The porch of the cabin was wrecked, not a single wooden board still attached to the house. The door was ripped off its hinges so roughly, the walls beside it had come with it. All the windows were broken and the Faravahar was broken in half, lying in the middle of the entrance like a message. Whatever had done this had been fast, strong and without mercy.

The scent of blood surrounded Eliot completely like a thick, heavy blanket of darkness. Some of it was the Hound’s, some of it was Archie’s, but the smell that almost knocked Eliot off his feet, was the smell of old, centuries old, blood, which could only mean one thing.

Vampires.

Flashes of his dream came back to him as he stood and took in the wreck of the cabin. Aimee, Damien, fangs sinking into flesh, agonized cries and death. He remembered it all happening like it had happened yesterday. It’d been centuries though, all because of her. He had loved her, would do anything for her, but jealousy and longing ended it before it could really start. Damien couldn’t let her go, Aimee couldn’t handle the change, and Eliot had had to stop her before she hurt others.. It had been horrific and Eliot could still hear her whispers as he pushed the stake through her heart and fulfilled her final wish.

“Eliot, kill me. Please, Eliot...”

“Eliot... Eliot!”

Archie’s cry penetrated his musings and startled Eliot from his past. He was lying in the dirt next to Eliot’s car, halfway towards calling for help with Eliot’s radio. His clothes were torn, blood was covering most of his body and he was shaking like a leaf. He was lying on his back, one bloodied hand reaching for Eliot, his voice weak and wet from blood-filled lungs.

Eliot kneeled down by Archie and Archie grabbed his coat to pull him closer.

“Parker... Find. Parker. Cylinder, Jamshid. Parker.”

Parker. Eliot had heard that name. She was a Hawke, too, one with a reputation. Mostly that she was crazy and didn’t play well with others. He had avoided her so far, but it seemed he would have to seek her out now. He had no idea what Jamshid meant, but he would find out. If it was important enough for Archie to tell Eliot about it as he was dying, Eliot bet it was important enough for the vamps to kill Archie.

Archie coughed wetly before subsiding with one final sigh. Eliot closed Archie’s eyes with his fingers and put his hand on Archie’s forehead for one last blessing to guide the Hawke’s soul. With both Hawke and Hound now gone and the vampires with at least half an hour’s head start, Eliot needed to move out. There was nothing he could do here and he needed to find Parker before the vamps did.

ii--The Hawke

I reject the demons (yatu) and their comrades; I reject any who harm beings. I reject them with my thoughts, words, and deeds. I reject them publicly.

Even as I reject the head (authorities), so too do I reject the hostile followers of the druj.
~Creed from the Gathas (Hymns of Zarathushtra), trans. L. H. Mills

Cookie whined and Parker buried her head deeper in the pillow, "Go 'way."

Cookie whined again.

Parker gave up and rolled over. She scowled at her Hound, pointing at the dirt-smeared window. "It's not sunset, see?"

Cookie bounded off the bed to the filthy shag carpet. Parker got up reluctantly, rubbing her eyes. She was only half awake, and her sight slipped for a moment into the dream vision of the Hawke. The shabby motel room became a place of shadows and the gray bulk of furniture, where a few blue swirls from the last guest's aura still clung to the doorknob and the carpet. Cookie was her true self, an enormous dog skeleton burning with a flickering white-hot flame.

She yawned, and scratched her Hound behind the ear. Forced her vision to slide back to normal. Which was so, so boring. "Fine. We'll hunt. But I'm hungry."

She changed into a pair of clean boy shorts, wriggled into a pair of jeans, grabbed a T-shirt. She did a quick wash up in the cracked sink, tied her hair back. Then she pulled on a pair of boots. Next came her arsenal, and she dressed carefully, just as Archie had taught her. Her trusty Ka-Bar knife in the left boot sheath, a silver letter opener in the right one. She threaded her belt through the belt loops, buckled it. Kissed the blessed blade of her Janbiya, then slid the dagger into its sheath and holstered both her taser and her Glock.

Her smaller stiletto dagger went into her right arm sheath, and her lock pick kit went into the hidden compartment in the back of her coat. Last, she shoved a flask of holy water in one pocket, and a bag of rice and her tinder kit in the other. Armed, she swept her clothes from last night into her backpack and slipped outside.

It was warm for December, and instead of snow, it’d rained while she was asleep. She snapped a leash on Cookie, headed to the front office, careful to say a prayer of thanks each time she stepped in a puddle. Rain was important, though most people had forgotten. Especially here, in a big city.

City people forgot everything, because cities were places of darkness. Not that darkness was bad--darkness was druj, which was the opposite of asha, or light. She didn't quite understand why, but that's what Archie said, so it must be true.

The clerk behind the counter was heavy-set and balding; he squinted at her as she walked in, "Is that your dog?"

"She's a service dog." Parker placed the key for the motel room on the counter. "My sister's blind."

He pursed his lips, but put a hand on the key she was returning, muttering about the 'fucking Disability Act.'

She ignored him, and stepped back outside. The sun was beginning to set, making the wet asphalt glitter. She crossed the street to the bus station, tied Cookie to the bike rail. It wasn't a real knot, but Cookie whined anyway.

"Hush." She kissed the top of Cookie's head, breathing in her Hound's unique smell of fur and fire. "I'll be right back. No, stay. We need food, remember?"

It took a couple of minutes to stow her backpack in one of the bus station lockers, a few more to lift the wallet of the security guard who was giving directions to an elderly woman. She tossed the wallet in a trash can, pocketed the two twenties and the credit cards. There was a tiny McDonald's just inside the depot's entrance, so she used one of the Visa cards, bought burgers and fries, and a Happy Meal, because there was a toy truck.

She tossed the card, and went outside. Sat down on the low concrete planter, whistled. Cookie pulled loose and came over, leaned into her legs, nuzzling her.

"Nice dog. Is it a St. Bernard?"

Parker looked up, saw a homeless guy smiling, gap-toothed, down at her.

"No." She said exactly what Archie had told her to say. "She's an Anatolian Shepherd. They're a Turkish breed."

"Oh, she's pretty." He stank, but when she let her vision slip, he looked interesting. His aura was all swirly, bits of purple and some angry red. He must like to hurt people--a lot. "What's with her eyes?"

"Birth defect." Parker brushed her coat back, let the handle of her Janbiya show. It worked, he backed away. She watched him walk off, reluctantly looked at the world again through her normal vision.

Cookie looked like a dog--she'd even been a dog, once. She was big, one hundred and ten pounds, with dun colored fur and a black mask. Nobody could tell she was a Hound except for the solid white eyes and the fact she always smelled a little like a campfire.

It was Parker's favorite smell in the world. Cookie had come to her along with a brightly lit angel and things had become safe again. She didn't really remember much else--just screaming and pain and blood. She knew the story though. Archie said her family had died and she had died, too. The angel had made her a Hawke and then Archie had found her, and killed the monster and taken her home with him.

She finished the burger, frowned. She wanted to talk to the angels like Archie did, but he said it took time and practice. How did she practice talking to the angels if the angels never talked to her? It didn't make sense.

She took out another burger, sighed. Eating was boring too, but she was a Hawke and she had to eat enough for her and Cookie. Archie said it was symbiosis, and it worked sort of like that with the angels and Earth, too. The more people polluted Earth, the weaker her angels became. Someday, the last angel would fall and there would only be demons and war. Then the Saoshyant would come and lead the Hawkes and their Hounds into battle.

Pollution was bad stuff.

Cookie sat up suddenly, pricking her ears as a woman got off a city bus. Parker let her vision shift, and the woman's shape turned blurry, transposed over the darker shape of a hyena. Huh. A qora.

The Shifter slowed, keeping a respectable distance from Cookie. She held her hands well away from her pockets and her purse, her smile amused, "Well, and here I was getting mad about my bus being so late. I guess know why now."

Parker stuffed the last bite of burger in her mouth. "The City protects its own. That's its job."

The Shifter's smile widened, "Lord, child, you Hawkes are all the same. Well, since the 'City' insisted we meet, you should try hunting over in the financial district. There's a park just west of the Imperial Valley Bank; that's where my grandson caught its scent night before last."

Parker waited for a couple to stroll past, then asked because Archie would, "May I hunt?"

"Hon, you can have the keys to the city for all I care." The Shifter chuckled, "I got to go to work, the bills ain't going to pay themselves."

Parker watched the Shifter leave, finished the last of the fries. She stuffed her trash in the bag and opened the toy, frowning when she saw there was also a sheet of stickers. She looked at the toy truck, decided it wouldn't be happy without its stickers, so she took a few more minutes to put them on.

That was better--and now there were flames down the sides of the truck. She grinned, stuffed the toy in her pocket, and tossed the trash. She didn't like cabs, but she flagged one down anyway--dogs couldn't go on buses, which was a stupid rule, because dogs had to go places, too.

She opened the door, "You take dogs?"

The cab driver glanced back with a bored expression. "Sure, lady, but I gotta charge you extra."

She let Cookie hop up on the backseat, slid in after her Hound. "There's a park by the Imperial Valley Bank."

"You mean the park with the ugly statue?" The cab driver threw the car in gear, nabbed a hole in traffic, "My two-year-old makes better crap than that."

The taxi cab driver kept complaining, but it wasn't important, so she tuned him out, and watched the city slide by. The streets were lit up for the night, a jumble of bright signs and street lights and car lights. She touched the cool glass, thinking about all the city people out there, walking around in that light, but with darkness inside of them.

She was only looking for one, though. A wendigo. A person became a wendigo by eating people's hearts again and again and again, until there was nothing human left--just a mindless, soulless thing that was always hungry. She ran her fingers slowly down the glass, wondered again what Archie meant by 'eating hearts'. She didn't think he meant the person actually ate hearts---though she wasn't sure how a person could eat hearts any other way.

Didn't matter--wendigos could be killed by electricity and she had her taser.

She loved hunting with a taser.

The taxi stopped and she paid the cab driver, got out. Cookie sniffed, yanked her to the left.

"Stop that!" She yanked back, then reached down and snapped the leash off, "There. Now show me."

Cookie whuffed and bounded off. She sprinted after her Hound, following across the park, through a hedge of bushes, and into a service alley. Cookie weaved around stacks of pallets and dumpsters, then suddenly darted left, barking.

A gray-black shape bolted from the shadows of a doorway, dropping something as it fled down the alleyway. She yanked her taser free, feeling the cold lick of fear up her spine.

It'd been feeding.

All wendigos were dangerous, but one that had food in its belly was worse---much worse.

She chased after it anyway.

The wendigo had nearly lost its human shape. It fled on all fours, nothing but skin-wrapped bones, stretched thin, half again as tall as a human. It moved lightening fast, almost got to the end of the alley, but Cookie was already there, cutting it off, barking wildly.

The monster's giant talons skittered across asphalt as it turned, snarling, its face nothing but two glowing eyes and the ruins of a nose over a wide slit of a mouth filled with needle-sharp teeth.

Parker slowed, dancing in as close as she dared, looking for an opportunity to--

Shit!

She dodged, but not fast enough, yelping as the wendigo vomited, hot acid splattering everywhere. A couple of droplets hit her right hand, and then creature was gone, slithering up a fire escape, crashing through a window above.

Parker swore and slammed her taser into its holster, ignoring the burning sting of her hand. She jumped and grabbed the fire escape, hauled herself up slowly, eyeing the broken window, the dark room beyond.

She let her vision slip.

Nothing.

She took a breath, dived through the window. She hit the floor rolling, and slammed hard into something.

Furniture.

A desk.

She ducked into the knee hole, and pulled out her taser, biting her lip at the pain of moving her hand. She'd grazed her knee on broken glass, too, and it smarted.

Ignore the pain, Parker. Focus.

She bit her lip, listened. Heard the whispered 'snick' of a talon against the floor.

Southeast corner.

Parker inched out of her makeshift cover, relying on the muddy grays of dream vision and her hearing. She paused, back against the side of the desk, listened again. Another snick.

The monster couldn't be more than ten feet away.

She counted silently to three, then lunged around the desk, taser at the ready.

Too late!

The wendigo smashed through the room's door, escaped into the hall. She ran after it, saw the monster slip down a flight of stairs. She raced for the steps--

Damnit! It was gone again.

She inched down the stairs, towards the main landing. There was some kind of display case on the landing, the details hard to make out in dream vision. She crouched low, crept towards it, using it for cover, as she checked the next flight of stairs. Cookie's growl came suddenly, from the first floor, low and menacing.

She moved then, flying down the stairs, taking them two at the time, hit the bottom--and smiled.

The wendigo was trapped between her and her Hound.

It vomited again, but she was ready this time. She dodged, skipping away, pulled her Janbiya out with her left hand.

Whistled.

Cookie lunged, barking and snapping, and the wendigo whirled, talons slashing--

There!

She threw the Jabiya, straight through the creature's neck, pinning it to the wall, and ducked in close, hitting it in the gut with the taser. The wendigo spasmed with a guttural scream, its entire body arcing, then slumped, lifeless.

It took two jumps to pull her dagger free, and she had to twist sideways as the body fell.

She didn't wait for it to hit the floor--she headed for the back of the building, looking for a fire escape. Found one in the northeast corner. It took a long minute to find the wire that tripped the fire alarm, another two minutes to disengage it. Then she opened the door, stepped into the alley.

She stopped short at the jeep parked in the alley.

A Shifter in a leather jacket was leaning against it, gave her a tight smile. "Figured you'd come out this way."

He was a bisclaveret, but with a weird aura, all blacks and deep reds. If it hadn't been for the fact she could see the ghostly silver wolf of his true self, she'd have almost said he was a vampire.

"What do you want?" She edged closer to the dumpster, tensed, ready to dive for cover.

"Nice job with the wendigo, by the way." He took a breath, shoved both hands in his jean pockets to show he wasn't a threat. "My name's Eliot Spencer, and I need to talk to you. Archie sent me."

She froze. Spencer. She'd heard of him; he was another Hunter. But Archie didn't trust anyone--except the angels. Archie would never have sent somebody else. Never.

Unless...

She didn't know what to do, so she wiped her Janbiya on her coat sleeve, the wendigo's blood thick and tar-like. "Where--where is he?"

"Dead." His whole demeanor changed and he held her eyes, his voice soft, "Vampires. Three days ago. I'm sorry, I didn't know you two were close."

Cookie pressed against her, and she slowly slipped her dagger into its sheath, dropped a hand on her Hound's head. Archie was dead. She took a breath and something harder, colder than anger filled her. "Where's their nest?"

"It wasn't a nest." He pushed off the jeep, "Get in."

She hesitated, then opened the back door for Cookie, before climbing in the front passenger seat.

Spencer got in on the driver's side, started the engine. He glanced over at her. "They tracked him to his cabin. I know this isn't a good time, but the vampires took some kind of seal--do you know what it was?"

The smell of sandalwood from the box. The cylinder was smooth and surprisingly heavy. Not clay, but stone, with an odd, almost oily feel to the surface. The chiseled writing was nothing but undecipherable marks.

"This was given to me many years ago for safekeeping, Parker. If anything should happen, you must guard it, guard it with your very life. Do you understand?"

She swallowed, found her voice. "It's a Sumerian cylinder, kind of like a tablet. It's very old, the Hawkes have been guarding it for centuries." She caught Cookie's scent in the backseat, turned her head so she could breath in the slight scent of wood smoke. "Do you know which vampires did it?"

"Yeah, I caught their scent." He threw the Jeep into drive, "You have any idea why they wanted the seal?"

You must guard it, guard it with your very life. Do you understand?"

"No." She swallowed again, anger and rage thick in her throat. "But I‘ve gotta get it back."

iii--The Medjay

Ultimately, an ordinary situation. But don't question ordinariness too much. You risk running up against a terrifying enigma.
~Pierre-Albert Jourdan (trans. by John Taylor)

“Naw man, just cash, no cards. We don’t like ‘em much, them credit cards.”

Hardison was pretty sure he didn’t want to know why, and that the motel clerk was gonna tell him anyway, so he dropped his heavy bag to the floor in preparation for the no doubt insane story he was going to hear.

“You know how them gover’ment spies are. Trackin’ your phones and cards and whatnot so they know ‘xactly who you are and what you do. Lyin’ in wait till they can hook you on som’thin’ an’ ship you off to one of them secret underground bunkers.”

Not just insane, this was bordering on straight-jacket-the-aliens-have-landed crapola. He hated small towns in the middle of nowhere.

“And we all know what they do with you in them bunkers, man!” The clerk leaned over the counter, widened his eyes and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tests, man. They perform all kinds of weird-ass tests on you.”

The clerk sat back on his chair--thankfully, because the smell of weeks of dirt on him had been bringing tears to Hardison’s eyes--and jerked his chin at the display of pamphlets on the counter. “Area 51, man, that’s what I’m sayin’.”

Hardison sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly before digging into his wallet and pulling out four ten dollar bills. Freaking hillbillies with their fear of anything technical.

“Two nights. Quiet room, no cleaning.”

The key--an actual key, not a card--had a big, wooden hanger on it, and it took Hardison some jiggling and cursing before he got it to turn in the lock and open the door. When he finally did pry it open--nearly falling flat on his face when the door suddenly decided to work with him--he wondered if he had somehow managed to hack time somewhere between standing at the desk listening to alien conspiracies and walking to the far end of the motel where his room was. He’d traveled back to the 1960s.

Or more like the sixties had thrown up in his room.

“What. The. Hell. Is that--? Velvet?”

Sure enough, when he ran his hand over the nearest wall, it was completely covered in velvet. Bright orange velvet. The floors had the same color, carpeted in ankle-high polyester shag carpet.

He was almost afraid to walk further into the room, for fear of getting infected with the interior, or maybe eaten up by it. He loved his orange soda and all, but this was a little too much for his liking.

Instead, he dropped his bags at his feet where he stood and observed from a safe distance. The curtains were yellow, with big psychedelic green and white circles on them. The furniture was all wooden, the chairs were green with yellow leaves and the sunken couch was fluffy, brown and looked like it could eat people in one gulp. There was a big mural on the dividing wall between his room and the one next door, a print of orange, yellow and green star bursts, with silver and gold sparkles all over them. To top it all off, every single picture frame on the walls was a different color, with mismatched patterns and 3d images in them.

“So this is what it’s like to do acid.” He quickly backed out of the room and pulled the door shut behind him to make sure the decor didn’t follow him, like an evil spirit attached to a good person. “Food. I most definitely need food.”

Anything to get out of that hippie room and into a place where he could subtly question the locals about what was going on in their town.

The only diner in town wasn’t far from the motel and jam-packed with locals when he walked in. All conversation stopped and everyone stared at him as he entered, the bell on the door chiming merrily. It was one of those movie-moments you never want to be caught in. Hardison couldn’t help but sigh; they acted like they’d never seen a black guy before.

There was one empty stool at the counter and he quickly took it.

The waitress smiled at him and took out her pad. “What can I get you, sugar?”

Christmas was next week, and there was a bedraggled ‘Happy Holidays’ hanging over the cash register. He wondered if they ever took it down or just left it up year-round. “Waffles and an orange soda.”

She smiled again and scribbled down his order. “Sure thing, hon.”

There was a foul smell coming from his left side and when he turned his head to see what it was. An old man was grinning at him, toothless and wide-eyed. His face was dirt-smeared and his eyes were bloodshot. Hardison nodded at him, but before he could turn back, the man spat out a big chunk of tobacco and clapped a grimy hand on his shoulder.

“You lost or huntin’?”

For a second, Hardison hesitated; maybe appearances were deceiving and he had found the only sane person in town? But then--“Hunting?”

“Yeah, the aliens! I seen ‘em, west side of town.”

Appearance completely accurate to mental state, it turned out. Hardison sighed and shook his head. “Not hunting, no.”

He hoped that would be the last of it, but the man didn’t let go of his shoulder and Hardison’s Nana had raised him right, so he didn’t pull away. “Where you stayin’, son?”

“The Star Burst Motel.”

The man smiled big and shook his shoulder in what Hardison supposed was meant as a good natured gesture. “Ah, good boy! Best place in town, I tell ya!”

As far as Hardison knew, it was the only motel in town, but he refrained from saying that to the man. Instead, he caught the waitress’ eye to get her attention. “Can I get that orange soda now, please? I’m really thirsty.”

She smiled sweetly and immediately went about to get him his drink, but more importantly, the toothless man took his hand off Hardison’s shoulder and turned back to his toast and jam.

When the waitress put the tall glass of orange soda in front of him, he gulped it down in one big go. He gestured for one more and the drink came together with his waffles. It was the best thing he’d smelt since he rolled into this back-hole of a town. They tasted just as good and he scarfed it down like a man starved. Dare he say it, they were almost as good as Nana’s.

Plate empty, he ordered a cup of coffee and casually sidled up to the girl fiddling with the jukebox. She looked about twenty and he felt cautiously optimistic about getting some real info from her.

“I’d love some Elvis, if you have any.”

The girls startled at his voice, and she swirled to face him. She had a pretty face and Hardison turned on the charm and smiled at her. She didn’t smile back though, a small frown line appearing between her eyes. She didn’t say anything, but took a step back and looked him up and down intently before pinching his arm in a quick, surprising move.

“Ouch! What’d you do that for?” Hardison rubbed the spot on his arm and glared at the girl. Not as normal as she looked. He was starting to get the feeling there were no normal people in this town, at all.

The girl relaxed a little at his yelp and gave him a slight smile. “Just checkin’. But you’re okay.”

He was afraid to ask, but did anyway. “Checking for what?”

“If you could feel pain. Them aliens don’t feel pain like humans do, you know. Not that you look like an alien or anything, but still. My cousin Suzie seen one a few months ago and she said it was all green and big eyed and hairy and all, but I don’t believe her. She’s an addict and her husband is in jail, so it’s just her and her five kids so she’s always tired and you can’t really trust what she sees, you know? Bein’ all tired all the time, your eyes playin’ tricks on you. Aliens are smart and they probably look just like you and me. But you’re okay. You feel pain.”

Hardison wasn’t sure what to do with that rant, but stare at her as if she’d gone mad. Which she probably already was. “Right.”

“She’s single, you know.”

“Who?”

“My cousin Suzie. She loves big, strong men like yourself.”

The girl leered at him and he unconsciously took a step back from her. “Didn’t you just say her husband was in jail?”

“Yeah. So, she’s single. She’s twenty-one, and if you don’t mind takin’ care of the kids, she’s a catch.”

Hardison faltered and he frantically shook his head, backing away from the girl and towards the door. “No. No, I’m, ah--I’m taken. Yeah, girlfriend. Back home. Taken.”

The girl shrugged, “Your loss, dude.”

It was obvious he wasn’t getting anything from the people in this diner--in the whole town probably--so Hardison quickly paid for his meal and headed out. He could feel the eyes of every person in the diner on his back as he made his way out, and he couldn’t help but shiver. He hated Mercury, Nevada already.

Lucille was blessedly cool inside--thank you, air conditioning and extra car battery--and already waiting for him to start work. Without any information from the locals, he’d have to figure out what was roaming the desert and its small towns, scaring the people out of their minds, himself. It hadn’t hit Mercury yet, but Hardison had something resembling a trail and it led right to here. It was only a matter of time.

The internet proved to be much more useful than the people of Mercury. The town had actually been a nuclear test site for the US government until about 1992 when testing ceased and the town was all but closed. Apparently some people had been left behind and the current population was what was left of their children and grandchildren. He put a mental check mark next to the nuclear option, but he needed more than just an internet connection to figure out if he was right on his second hunch.

He fired up a few of Lucille’s other computers, raising the air sensor from the roof and mechanically unfolding the soil drill from the bottom. Not ten minutes later, he had air and ground water samples and a pile of news articles about a local company that’d started fracking activities in the area around the town.

Apparently Mercury used to be named Jackass Fields--which Hardison found extremely fitting--and recent research had turned up that the ground wasn’t radioactive anymore and there was a lot of coal seam gas beneath the surface. The fracking started three months earlier; right around the time the first “aliens” were seen.

The air sample confirmed what he already suspected; nuclear particles in the air so high he wondered if he should start wearing protective gear to prevent himself from becoming a glowing, radio-active zombie. Combined with the air pollution from the fracking, he swore he could already feel the transformation starting.

He eyed Lucille’s walls and patted the closest one gently. “You’ll protect me, right, baby? You won’t let them turn me into a zombie?”

Just in case, he cleaned his hands with sanitizer--twice.

Lucille’s tracking system beeped back--purely coincidental, but sometimes Hardison liked to imagine Lucille talked back to him--signaling new movement in the area, related to his parameters. It still pointed squarely at Mercury as the next town to be hit with deaths by whatever these “aliens” were and now the little blip on screen said he was right.

A 911 call from a house at the edge of town--the part closest to the fracking site and where the “aliens” had been seen lately--from a woman who claimed her husband had just been eaten by a monster with five eyes and a hump. While it did make for an amusing mental image--he loved bad horror movies--Hardison knew it was time to pack up the research and get on the hunt.

Lucille’s navigation system directed him to the house the emergency call had come from and Hardison did a quick sweep of the surrounding area. No zombies to be seen and the house was dark. No one home. A quick scan of the air with his portable radiation meter gave him a faint path from the back of the house, across the yard and out into the woods behind the home. He climbed the fence and followed the trail through the thick woods and bushes until he was stopped by a rusty, sagging iron fence with a crooked sign that said “Restricted area, no access. Cuadrilla Ltd.”

“You might want to upgrade your fence then, if you want the people to stay out and the zombies to stay in.”

Sure enough, there was a hole the size of a person a few feet down and Hardison’s radiation meter went nuts.

“Bingo. Zombie-central.”

The trees went on for a few more yards behind the fence, but it opened up to--

“Of fucking course. A graveyard.”

He pocketed the radiation gage and unsheathed the machete from his belt instead. He grumbled his way across the seemingly empty graveyard, muttering about how a hacker extraordinaire shouldn’t have to carry a machete or kill zombies at all--freaking radioactive, nuclear, fracking zombies--and how he could be sitting on a big pile of money in a safe, spacious apartment on a tropical island right now, sipping a cool glass of orange soda if he had only stuck with paying jobs.

He didn’t mean it of course, not after his Nana got killed during a hunt. She’d adopted him to raise him as a Medjay, so much more than just a simple hacker. She was a powerful Medjay herself, and she’d taught him everything she knew. Then, she let him loose on the world and he’d taught himself the rest. He’d toyed with the idea of going corporate--he certainly got enough offers to be able to retire in five years--but he couldn’t. His Nana meant everything to him and disappointing her was not an option. And after she’d been killed, he knew he had to carry on her work, keep her legacy alive and pass on the knowledge some day.

So here he was, wielding a machete, trying to find radioactive zombies that ate people. Joy.

He found the zombies--all twelve of them--in a crypt on the far side of the graveyard. They were munching on what he guessed were the last remains of the husband and from what he could make out, a cat or two. It was disgusting, bloody and nothing short of nasty, but it did mean they were docile, and he knew he could kill them easily. Feeding monsters weren’t usually very alert, and these zombies weren’t even smart enough to put a guy on the lookout.

Hardison took a deep breath, centered himself like his Nana had taught him--and charged. He decapitated the first four easily, his machete slicing clean through their necks. He spun around, took off the heads of drooling dead numbers five and six--“Whoa!”

He did a quick side-step as zombie seven spat out its dinner and snapped at him. He whirled, brought the machete down fast. Not-so-lucky-seven’s head rolled. Hardison spun again, removed the heads of the undead twins, eight and nine, with a satisfying snick.

Maggot-food-number-ten got a clue then, raised its eyes, but Hardison was already there, machete cleaving down through the neck. Maggot-food’s head hit a crypt wall hard, cracked open. That’s when thriller-rejects number eleven and twelve both dropped their dinner and attacked him.

Or at least, they attempted to.

“OK, really? Is that the best you can do?” He took a step back, waiting for his opportunity, “You’re barely shuffling. Real zombies have moves. Haven’t you ever heard of Michael Jackson?” He brought his machete down, the blade catching eleven, severing the head neatly, “MTV? No?” He decapitated the last one, and shook his head, “I am seriously disappointed in you. Seriously.”

He stepped over the bodies and the heads, climbed out of the crypt and took out a pack of matches. “And now? Comes the fun part.”

The zombies’ clothes caught fire fast, and within five minutes the whole crypt was ablaze. Hardison quickly did a sweep of the graveyard, and when he didn’t run into any more zombies or other monsters, he made his way back to Lucille. It didn’t take more than a quick re-route of an airplane full of pesticides and to the coordinates to dump the contents for the next day to put his plan into motion to burn down the graveyard and alert the authorities to the situation. Cuadrilla would be caught and the fracking would stop, hopefully stopping the spawning of zombies. He set up an online news crawler, just in case, to keep an eye on things for a few weeks.

He torched the graveyard on his way out of Hicksville the next day and merrily waved the town goodbye. “Good riddance and until never, Jackass Fields!”

He turned up the volume on his self-mixed music and settled in for the ride home. He was already dreaming of a nice clean bed, relatively intelligent people, and his full fridge of orange soda.

And then his past called. He picked up his phone, saw the phone number and bit back a groan as he answered, “Hardison here.”

“Hardison! It’s Spencer. Remember that favor you owe me?”

iv--The Shadowless

The world but seems to be
yet is nothing more
than a line drawn
between light and shadow.
~ Fakhruddin Iraqi, trans. William Chittick and Peter Lamborn Wilson

They had discovered last night that the hotel's elevators had mirrors, so Sophie and Tara took the stairs down to the lobby instead. It was one of those minor, every day annoyances of living life without either a reflection or shadow.

Sophie trudged down each step, bone-weary. They both hoped tonight would be the end of the hunt, if Tara's hunch was more than a hunch...

The hunt had started eight months ago. Bloody body parts began showing up in dumpsters in Montreal. Six victims, a random mix of old and young, men and women. The police were baffled. They thought they had a serial killer on their hands.

The police were wrong.

It was a nest of vampires, playing the game. The vampires were using their knowledge of forensics and criminal investigations to hide their kills, shuffle the blame to the modern day boogeyman--the serial killer. The red flag that it was a vampire kill was the dismembered bodies. Vampires didn't kill like they did in the movies; they did drink blood--but they preferred marrow and brains first.

Tara had been bounced the case by another hunter. Most hunters didn't want to touch a nest, were more than happy to let the Shadowless handle it instead. Vampires were hard to hunt; they got smarter, faster, better with each feeding. Only spawning weakened them--and their need to spawn was nearly as strong as their need to feed.

The nest in Montreal were easy kills, the young spawn of a bigger nest in Ottawa. Tara had called in Sophie to help in Ottawa. Ottawa led them to Winnipeg, Winnipeg to Grand Rapids, Grand Rapids to St. Paul's, where they'd finally found and killed the alpha vampire. That was three months ago, and they were still doing mop up.

Hopefully, the spawn in Austin would be the last. If they found Kadjic as well.

Tara passed Sophie the keys to the rental car as they approached the lobby's side doors, "Here. You'd better drive."

Sophie took the keys with a slight frown, "It’s not like I'm any more awake."

"Trust me." Tara shot Sophie an amused smile and put a little more roll into her walk as they passed the doorman who was openly ogling them. Although the Shadowless did not live nearly as long as Hawkes, Tara was twice as old as she looked. "You've had way more sleep than me."

Sophie slowed, "Tara, you didn't." Tara's smile turned predatory and Sophie raised her eyebrows, "The bartender? Really?"

"Both bartenders actually. I couldn't decide if I was in the mood for short hair or long hair, so..." Tara's smile turned into a shameless grin.

The valet pulled in then with their current car--a black Escalade they'd 'appropriated' from one of the vampires they'd killed in St. Paul.

"Wake me when we get there." With that, Tara slipped on a pair of sunglasses, opened the passenger side door, and slid in.

"Unbelievable," Sophie muttered under her breath.

"Something wrong, ma'am?" The valet squeaked, freezing in the middle of handing her the keys.

"No, I’m sorry; I wasn't talking to you." She over-tipped him, got into the driver seat.

To be honest, she wasn't all that surprised about Tara's late night activities. Tara might claim to have been a naive sixteen when she burned her shadow, but it was obvious she'd buried that girl under 50 years of fast living--and hunting. Tara was one of the best hunters that Sophie had ever met.

Admittedly, she hadn't met many hunters. Sophie had only become one of the Shadowless seven years ago. The memory was a vague haze--the wine she'd drunk had contained drugs to dull the pain. It seemed almost like another woman had gone through the ritual, letting her new sisters pound silver nails into her shadow, then cut it off with an ancient pair of scissors. What she remembered most was the sudden burst of agony when she fed her own shadow into the dancing flames, and how her shadow had screamed as it burned--

She gave herself a mental shake as she pulled away from the curb. You’re here for the hunt, Sophie.

She turned her attention resolutely to the bloody awful traffic. She and Tara had checked into a downtown hotel, because that was where the last body had shown up. Yesterday, though, they'd finally tracked the nest to southeast Austin, a seedy area just off Interstate 183. She'd thought it would be an easy drive, but just getting to the interstate was a nightmare.

The streets were all one way and there was a bus idling for no good reason on nearly every corner. She wound up on Congress Bridge twice, without any clue how she got there. The second time, she punched off the stupid GPS, and through sheer dumb luck, wound up on Mo-Pac--which was apparently also an interstate.

She took a chance, switched back on the GPS, and received another illogical set of directions which eventually funneled her onto one of those ridiculously high flyovers Texans seemed to be in love with and then finally onto Interstate 183. She said a few choice words, and edged into more traffic--and this time it was bumper to bumper. After a few minutes of crawling along at a snail's pace, her mind wandered back to Matt.

Even after all these years, his death still hurt.

He was supposed to be just another mark, her ticket to his family's vault--and the second David. Then she'd gone and broken the first rule of grifting--she’d fallen in love with him. For a few short months, she'd been truly, blissfully happy--until Matt had been murdered during his morning run. He'd been the victim of a brutal and savage mugging, one of several in the area. At least that's what the police had said.

Then Tara had shown up--

"Are we there yet?" Tara took off the sunglasses and stretched, cat-like. She glanced over at Sophie, and her eyes became concerned, "Anything you want to talk about?"

"No, not really." She spotted her exit, took it.

Tara eyed her for a moment, "OK. Anything you need to talk about?"

"No." She found the street she was looking for, then gave Tara a smile, "But thank you."

Tara nodded, and turned her attention toward the neighborhood they were driving into. Raised an eyebrow, "Are you sure we're still in Austin?"

The contrast of this neighborhood from the modern hipness of downtown was startling--the street they were on was a long row of rundown houses with rotting porches and buckling roofs, and weeds and dirt where there should've been grass.

"I think it sort of sad." She took the next right, turning onto a street lined with sagging apartment complexes that looked as if they should be condemned. "This must've been a nice neighborhood--once."

There was an empty lot between two apartment complexes and she nudged the Escalade up and over the curb, parked on the weed-choked lot. It was a brand new SUV, but it was doubtful anybody would touch it. The Escalade had tricked out rims and a fancy grill and practically screamed 'drug dealer'--which probably wasn't too far off, considering what they had found in the nest in St. Paul.

Sophie pushed the keys into her jeans pocket, got out, and glanced at the horizon. They were running late; the sun would set soon. The evening was already turning chilly, though after hunting in Canada, the cold of a Texas winter night was almost laughable.

"We have twenty minutes, which is plenty of time." Tara pulled the shadows from nearby trees around the Escalade as she popped the trunk. The shadows obscured what they were doing and also muffled her voice, "This Kadjic made a mistake; he's been creating new nests too quickly. I don't think he can have many experienced vampires left--he sent them all to other cities."

"I think you're right." Sophie reached for her bag, unzipped it. Pulled out her matching daggers, with their razor sharp blades and handles carved in the likeness of Mafdet, the lioness-headed goddess. "St. Paul was crazy. Their alpha must have left all the spawn here, with Kadjic."

Even after all these years, there was a moment at the beginning of every hunt where she was a bundle of nerves. She'd burned her shadow, chosen a new name and a new life, but a part of her still clung to the grifter she'd once been. She dealt with it like she always did, by breathing in the fragrance of frankincense and myrrh while reminding herself that the woman she'd been was dead--she was Sophie Devereaux now.

She ran a cloth soaked in frankincense and myrrh over the blades of both daggers, slipped them into her arm sheaths, tugged her jacket sleeves down. Her trusty Sig went into her waist holster, and she raised the cuff of her jeans, slid the Glock into her ankle holster. Both guns were loaded with 'Jessica specials' - one of the Shadowless made hollow points filled with colloidal silver, frankincense, and myrrh.

Hollywood had gotten that wrong, too. Garlic and salt were great to cook with, but they had no magical properties. Holy water worked--but only if it'd been blessed in a sacred place and stored correctly. Blood, as well as the wood of yew and migumu could be used for wards, iron and silver were effective against most of the undead, and rice grown in blessed water was effective against most ghosts.

Unfortunately, as a vampire grew more and more powerful, they became more and more immune to everything but silver, frankincense, and myrrh. Well, there was also ground unicorn horn--but the European unicorn had been hunted to extinction centuries ago and the few Asian qilin left were kept closely guarded in temples.

Tara armed herself, as well. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, put a hand on Sophie's shoulder, "Ready, sister?"

She turned and ran towards the back of the apartments. There was a long chain link fence behind the complexes, and beyond the fence were the backyards of a row of ramshackle old houses. Over the years people had worn a makeshift alley through the trash and weeds. Tara was a Shadowless and so she never slowed. She sprinted through along the path at a speed no human could ever manage, jumping over obstacles, pulling the shadows around her as she went, making it impossible for anybody to see her.

Sophie followed, doing the same. It'd taken her a couple of years to master the trick of manipulating the shadows, a few more to hone and perfect it. Nowadays, it felt as effortless as breathing--or maybe more like sex. The shadows clung to her, caressing her skin, toying with her hair and her jacket. It made her wonder, again, why only women could become the Shadowless.

Not that anybody knew--the reason had been lost centuries ago. The Shadowless were the oldest of the hunters, existing even before the Hawkes. There were Egyptian carvings of Mafdet, their goddess, that dated to 4000 B.C. Depictions of Hawkes, with their symbolic wings, didn't show up on the temples of the Middle East until almost a thousand years later--

Her mind was pulled back to the hunt when Tara placed a hand on the chain link fence, vaulted over it without even pausing. Sophie did the same, landing in a muddy yard that smelled foul--urine and dried blood, mixed with the sickly sweet smell of rotting flesh. She made a face, but the stench told her what she needed to know. Newly turned vampires had to be taught how to feed, and it was a messy business.

They picked their way toward the back porch. The porch had been half-covered by tarps and Sophie almost wished she didn't have perfect vision in the dark. The concrete was black and sticky, and she could see several ice chests and a fire pit. She gagged at the rancid stench--she really, really hated hunting new spawn.

Tara pulled one of her blades, crept sideways to the door, reached for the doorknob--

The door crashed open, and a woman charged her. The woman had to be an experienced vampire; she moved in a blur, popping her retracted claws and slashing down.

Sophie ducked behind the fire pit, hiding, while Tara spun around just as quickly, pulled her other blade, swiped at the monster's arm.

The vampire dodged with a low growl, her entire face below her eyes splitting open into a gaping maw of fangs and serrated teeth, "I will kill you, Shadowless!"

"Try it, monster." Tara feinted, then came in low with her second dagger.

The vampire danced back, but Tara was too fast. She swept her first blade down, and the vampire growled again as Tara's blade bit deep into her side. "Foolish human!” The monster's claws caught Tara's jacket, ripping it, "You're nothing but meat!"

Sophie saw her chance and lunged. Her blade hit, but the vampire whirled out of the way--

And straight into Tara's waiting blade. The blade sliced through the monster's neck, and the vampire's head bounced, rolled--and then the body and the head both crumpled to ash.

Tara shot her a grin at the teamwork, swung her gaze back to the back door. They waited for a long second, but no other vampires came out. Maybe the rest were newly turned, too weak to wake up before sunset.

If so, then where was Kadjic?

Sophie edged cautiously towards the door, glanced at Tara. Tara nodded, and Sophie pushed the door open cautiously.

The house was pitch-black. She sidled sideways into a small kitchen, which smelled almost as bad as the porch. The room had been turned into a storage dump, full of what had to be stolen electronics and several piles of purses and wallets. She looked to her left, saw a living room through an arched doorway. Two vampires lay sprawled together on the fold out couch, another slept on the floor.

Sophie's stomach turned. Just how many people had Kadjic turned?

Tara motioned for Sophie to take the living room, gestured she would go through the door on the other side of the kitchen. It took only a few minutes for Sophie to behead the vampires. They never knew, each one turning into ash without ever waking.

She found two more spawn down the hall, sleeping on a filthy mattress in a tiny bedroom and beheaded them as well. She stepped back into the hall, choking back the lump in her throat, as she said a silent prayer to Mafdet for all five. They'd all been so young, no older than sixteen or seventeen. Probably runaways, like they'd found in other cities.

Kadjic was going to pay.

But where was he?

Tara stepped out of a back bedroom with a small laptop in her hand, her voice quiet, "That's all of them. I found three, you?"

"Five."

"Shit. Plenty of stolen goods and drugs, but no Kadjic." She handed the laptop to Sophie, "Here, maybe you can find something."

"I'm not a Medjay, Tara." She rolled her eyes, took it anyway. They did one more quick check through the house, found six cell phones, and a second laptop in a backpack in the Toyota Rav4 parked under the carport.

They made their way back to the Escalade silently. After eight long months of hunting, they'd destroyed all the nests, but they might've lost the last vampire--and he was experienced enough to be able to start a new nest if they didn’t stop him.

When they got to the SUV, Sophie tossed Tara the keys. "You drive, I'll check out the laptops."

Tara caught the keys, popped the trunk. They packed their weapons away, stripped off their cheap tennis shoes. Tara handed Sophie a pair of boots, grabbed another pair for herself.

Sophie pulled the boots on, watching Tara toss their ruined shoes into the trash piled along the base of the trees. "You know, I used to own hundreds of pairs of shoes. Hundreds." Tara turned and Sophie sighed, "I know, but still, I liked having nice clothes. I'm not a jeans and T-shirt person, Tara."

She knew her protest was futile; they were hunters, and their clothes needed to be cheap and sturdy. She didn't have to like it, though.

She settled into the passenger seat, opened the first laptop. She expected it to be password-protected, but she got right in. She turned on the hotspot on her phone, checked the internet. "Good news, they saved their password--"

Tara held up a finger as her own phone chirped.

Sophie half-listened to the conversation as she opened the email account. The phone call was from Lauren--she was a Shadowless in Louisiana who'd only been hunting for a couple of years. It sounded like she had run into some trouble--

Sophie stopped scrolling, opened an email with the subject, When will you be back?. She read through the email, shaking her head. This was almost too easy.

Tara hung up, "Sophie, I think we're going to have to change our plans--"

"Kadjic is in Boston." She closed the laptop, "You help Lauren; I'll go to Boston." She saw Tara's frown, added, "Tara, it’s one vampire and I can always contact Elisa or Yuni in New York--"

"Or Nate Ford." Tara was giving her a look now.

"I might." She raised a hand, "Yes, I realize he's not a Medjay or a Hawke, but he's helped the Shadowless before."

“OK, but be careful.” Tara frowned, "And call me if you need me."

Sophie gave her a reassuring smile, “Absolutely.”

v. There are Wolves

There are wolves in the next room waiting
With heads bent low, thrust out, breathing
At nothing in the dark; between them and me…
~Allen Tate

A loud shriek exploded from the little boy’s chest and echoed around the room, before the air lifted and Nate sighed with relief. Whatever had been possessing the boy had left. Nate quickly checked if the boy was still breathing and when it seemed he was, he blessed the boy and hastily made his way out of the room and into the hallway where the worried parents were staring at him with wide, scared eyes. Nate couldn’t muster up the energy or sympathy to console them much though.

“It is done. He’ll be fine.”

The demon had been exorcised, but it hadn’t given Nate any of the answers that he had been looking for. Four months of tracking this thing down, and now nothing. The demon had just laughed at him, even when Nate had used physical force. Just another reason to make a hasty retreat; Nate wasn’t sure if he could explain away the welts and bruises to the parents who had just wanted their little boy back.

His hands were shaking so badly, Nate had trouble getting the keys out of his pocket and opening his car door, and as soon as he got in, he fumbled for his father’s flask. The first gulp of scotch burned through him like acid, the second, third and fourth stopped the shaking, but no amount of alcohol could ever ease the guilt. Neither tonight’s guilt, nor his life’s guilt.

Though he could try.

Nate started up the car, flask still in hand, and drove down the dark streets of Boston aimlessly until the sun came up. The flask was empty by then, the scotch a steady thrum under his skin, but not enough for what lay ahead today, he knew. Not when he was facing the very thing that set him out on his hunt for the truth, for a solution, on the day he wanted instead to spend at the bottom of a bottle of anything alcoholic.

Sam’s birthday. The day Nate lost his wife and received evil.

The party didn’t start until later that afternoon, so Nate spent the hours leading up to it getting steadily drunker, in a desperate attempt to pass out or be sick when Suzie called to chew him out for missing his son’s birthday.

He wasn’t so lucky.

It was a little past two when Nate parked his car in front of the cozy looking house with the white picket fence. Deceitfully charming, but Nate knew what lay behind that front door. A lone balloon floated over the top of the house and excited children’s voices followed it from where the party was already in full swing. It was almost enough to make him start the car back up and drive away without going in. He couldn’t, he knew he couldn’t, but oh, how he wanted to just drive off and never come back. He had made a promise, though, and Nate was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a liar. He kept his promises, always, which was exactly why he didn’t make many of them. Too many expectations he couldn’t live up to.

So instead of driving away, he took out his father’s flask of scotch and swallowed a few gulps. He screwed the cap back on, sat in the car for a few more moments and then unscrewed the flask again for one more big swallow. If he was gonna do this and do it in a civilized fashion, he was gonna need the numbing.

It took Nate three tries to get the door open and he almost fell flat on his face when he swung his feet out of the car and lurched forward to get out. The world spun around him slowly, blurring his vision and making his stomach cramp with too little food and too much alcohol.

He was ready.

The porch seemed to be miles away, but when he stumbled up the three steps, he wished it hadn’t been so close. The front door was already open and his sister-in-law’s disapproving face greeted him sooner than Nate would have liked.

“Hello, Nate.”

Somehow, she packed all of the past seven years into those two words, but Nate forced himself not to react. Instead, he smiled at her as sweetly and sarcastically as he could and opened his arms wide.

“It’s my favorite sister-in-law, Suzie!”

Suzie merely sighed deeply.

“God, Nate, you’re wasted again, aren’t you?”

Nate held up a hand to stop her; he wasn’t in the mood for one of her speeches.

“Don’t, Suzie, not today. I just wanted to drop off Sam’s gift and get going again. I’ve got something to do, somewhere to be. Work.”

To Nate’s consternation, Suzie crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head.

“No. No, you don’t. You are going to go out there and give your son his present and wish him a happy birthday.”

Nate had known Suzie long enough to know this was her do-not-fuck-with-me voice, but he couldn’t help but try and reason with her so he could leave. Now.

“Look, Suze, I love you for taking care of Sam, I do. But you know as well as I do-”

“No! No, Nate, I am not falling for this again! You are going to go out there and you are going to celebrate your son’s birthday with him!”

Suzie stared him down and Nate knew he’d be better off giving in now, when the scotch was still coursing through his body and numbing him, instead of trying to win their little stand-off and sobering up. The outcome would inevitably be the same: he would have to go see Sam, one way or another and he’d rather do it drunk than sober.

He sighed, “Fine,” before pushing past her and around the house to the backyard. It was a bright and clear winter day, and the yard was filled with running, laughing children, music blaring from a pair of speakers, and groups of parents standing around the grill and the beer tap. As soon as Nate stepped out into the yard, every single parent fell silent and turned to stare at him. He could see disgust, pity, anger and confusion across all of their faces and if he hadn’t been drunk, he probably wouldn’t have grinned the way he did and yelled, “Welcome, all!”. There were a lot of things he wouldn’t have done if he were sober. He didn’t really care much about it.

But then his eyes fell on his son. Sam was standing at the edge of the yard, almost right up against the fence, just staring at the other children. His memory flashed back to the possessed little boy of the night before, the same flat, eerie stare, the same calmness, and the same creepy grin around his lips.

Evil.

As if sensing he was there, Sam slowly turned his gaze away from the playing children--his friends?--and met Nate’s eyes. Something about those eyes always unnerved Nate and he had to fight not to cringe and look away. Instead, he forced a smile to his face and gestured at Sam to come to him. With every step his son took closer to him, Nate wanted to take one back. Not even the alcohol took away the fear he had of his own flesh and blood.

“Hello, Father.”

Nate swallowed a few times before he could make his voice work.

“Hello, Sam. Happy birthday.”

It sounded exactly as forced as it was and Sam narrowed his eyes. A cold shiver went through Nate at the look, but then Sam’s eyes slid to the left and suddenly he smiled wide and warm and threw his arms around Nate’s waist to hug him.

“I’m so happy you’re here, Daddy! Thank you!”

Nate gasped at the sudden contact, not prepared for the shockwave of heat shooting up and down his spine where Sam’s hands were clasped together. Suzie stepped into his vision and sighed at Nate’s frozen stance.

“Hug your son, Nate, he’s not toxic, you know.”

Just evil incarnate.

Nate reluctantly wrapped his arms around Sam’s shoulders, applying as little pressure as he could. He had experienced Sam’s extremes before and he knew that the heat currently muddling his mind and blurring his vision was just a tiny indication of what Sam could do.

As soon as Suzie turned her back to them to talk to some guests, Sam let go of Nate and the buzz in his ears and mist in front of his eyes cleared. No one was staring at them anymore, the children were still playing and laughing and Nate took a few deep breaths to try and calm himself from the paranoia coursing through his body. Sam’s eyes were trained on him, assessing him, like always, and like always, Nate didn’t know how to deal with the intensity of it and he avoided his son’s stare.

“I, uh--I brought you something.”

He saw Sam cock his head from the corner of his eye. Where normal children would have been excited and curious, Sam merely watched with emotionless attention, assessing, reading, watching, his dark eyes staring Nate down. Nate fumbled with the small package in his pocket, his fingers numb with nervousness. Without looking at his son, Nate handed the paper wrapped trinket to Sam.

When Sam’s fingers briefly touched his as he took the gift from Nate, a sharp flash of electricity sizzled up Nate’s arm to his head, causing him to groan softly. He glanced at Sam and shivered at the sinister grin playing around his son’s mouth. It again reminded him of the little boy from the night before, the demon taunting him, toying with him and Nate shot a quick prayer up to whoever was listening that his present had the effect he hoped for.

When the Saint Patroclus pendant fell from its paper wrapping, Sam’s head shot up and black eyes met Nate’s. Sam stepped forward, too close for Nate’s comfort, and chuckled darkly.

“Saint Patroclus, Father? Really? You need to do better than that.”

Nate hadn’t been entirely sure what he expected to happen to begin with, but he strongly believed in the saints of old and he at least hoped for some sort of repellent reaction from his son--maybe it would hurt him or he would be scared by it--any sign that it really was a demon inside of his son. But Sam wrapped his fingers around the pendant and smiled at Nate.

“Thanks, Dad, it’s great!”

Suzie chuckled beside them and Nate forced himself to smile back at his son.

“You’re welcome. Now go play with your friends, I have to--go.”

Suzie sighed with disappointment, but Sam just nodded and turned away to slowly walk back to his spot at the fence to watch the other kids. A throbbing headache settled behind Nate’s eyes almost immediately and he made a hasty retreat through the house before Suzie could start lecturing him again. He could feel Sam’s eyes on the back of his head.

The scotch and the unnerving encounter with his son made him slow and unsteady, and Suzie managed to catch up with him on the porch.

“Nate!”

He considered making a break for it for just a second, his car was only a few yards away, but Suzie had been a track champion in college and still ran daily; he didn’t stand a chance, even if he hadn’t been drinking himself into the grave for the past seven years.

When he turned to face Suzie, she wasn’t frowning like he expected, she was actually looking at him with pity and sadness. He didn’t know which was worse.

“She wouldn’t have wanted this for you, you know.”

So it was going to be that kind of speech.

“Maggie would have wanted you to be happy. With Sam. You know that. I know you blame him for her death, but I know my sister, she would want you to forgive him, forgive yourself and go on.”

He would gladly take a frowning, angry Suzie over this, any time. There was nothing worse than pity.

“Be Sam’s father, raise him, be together. Maggie wouldn’t want this for you, Nate. You’re drinking yourself to death and Sam misses having a dad.”

Nate cringed at the implication, the mere thought of having to live with Sam and raise him was enough to scare him into sobriety. At the end of his rope, he sneered at Suzie.

“Don’t talk about Maggie, Suzie, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Last time you talked to Maggie, you yelled at her for making a mistake, having my baby.”

He didn’t mention that he now knew how right she was.

“Thank you for the party, but right now I have other things to do. Goodbye, Suzie.”

Suzie opened her mouth to reply, no doubt to try and reason with Nate again, but he was off the porch and at his car faster than even he could fathom. Before getting in, he looked back at the house, where Suzie was staring after him, arms crossed over her chest and the pitying look still firmly on her face.

Slightly behind her, to her right, was the figure of Sam;, stock-still, black eyes trained on Nate’s and that sinister smile still around his lips. A whisper floated through Nate’s head, the words familiar and insistent.

You need to do better than that, Father, I’ll be seeing you soon.

VI. Crowded with Wolves

I have brooded on angels and archfiends
But no man has ever sat where the next room's
Crowded with wolves, and for the honor of man.
~Allen Tate

His car almost automatically drove itself to Rory’s; Nate couldn’t tell you when or how he decided to go there. The bar was almost empty and Nate took his regular spot at the far end of the bar. As if having a regular spot wasn’t sad enough, the bartender wordlessly placed a bottle of scotch and an empty glass in front of him.

He was having a lot of trouble silencing his son’s voice in his head. You need to do better than that, Father. It made a cold shiver go through his whole body, memories rising from the depths of his alcoholic coma and no way to stop them. And it wasn’t just Sam’s words, it was Sam himself who made Nate wake up screaming, bathed in sweat. It was Sam who had set Nate on this path of searching, destroying, more questions and evil.

Everything always came back to Sam.

When Maggie’s smile penetrated the veil of terrifying memories, Nate picked up the bottle and poured himself a double shot. He downed it in one swallow and followed it with two more doubles; he needed it. He always needed it when his mind decided to throw Maggie at him again. Her smile never lasted.

Exactly seven years earlier, he had lost Maggie’s smile forever and he’d never gotten over it. Her contractions had started six weeks too early, accompanied by a lot of blood and pain. He could still hear Maggie’s screams of agony ringing in his ears as he frantically tried to help his wife. They had been looking forward to welcoming their son into their lives so much, but that day, everything went to hell.

Or did hell come to them?

Nate had called 911 before trying to stop the bleeding and helping Maggie, but there was nothing he could do. The contractions kept on coming, faster and more intense, and before Nate knew it, his son slipped out and onto the bed almost without any trouble. Maggie collapsed immediately, her face pale, her chest barely rising, and the blood no longer flowing from her body. But before Nate could shift his attention to his newborn son, EMTs broke down the door and rushed to the bedroom to attend to Maggie and Sam. Time stopped then; Maggie’s eyes closed and her chest stopped rising. The EMTs started resuscitation--one, two, three, four, five... twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, breath, breath--but Maggie never opened her eyes again.

Ever.

Somewhere in the ruckus, a paramedic snapped his fingers in front of Nate’s face to get his attention. He was holding Sam, hastily wrapped up in a white towel spotted with blood--Maggie’s blood--holding him out to Nate.

“Your son, sir. Congratulations.”

Nate took Sam from the medic, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from the bed where Maggie still hadn’t taken another breath. Minutes ticked by, feeling like hours, until everyone backed away and someone--Nate didn’t remember who, and didn’t care--pronounced his wife dead.

She was dead.

The paramedics said things to him, made him stand in different places and did something to the child in his arms, but all Nate saw was Maggie. His Maggie. Dead. Forever.

When the pain in his heart became too much, Nate let his eyes finally slide from Maggie’s still body to his son in his arms. Sam. He was eerily silent for a newborn baby, and for a second Nate thought something might be wrong with him. But Sam’s eyes were wide open and staring up at him. They were solid black--not brown, but solid, gleaming black--and a cold shiver traveled down Nate’s spine. Maggie’s eyes were blue and so were his, so why did Sam have such dark eyes?

Then, as Nate watched in shock, Sam brought up a small, slightly bloodied hand from between the messy folds of the towel and sucked it into his mouth. When he pulled his tiny hand back, Sam slowly licked his lips clean, eyes still locked with Nate’s, and grinned up at his father with bright red lips. It startled Nate so much, he’d almost dropped Sam in response.

Hello, Father

“Hello, Nate.”

Nate’s thoughts were rudely--blessedly--interrupted by a familiar voice. No matter how glad Nate was to be pulled from that dark place in his mind, he couldn’t say he was happy to have it done by the man standing beside him now.

“Hello, Sterling. Found the gates to hell and clawed your way out, have you?”

Sterling sat down on the barstool next to him and nodded at the bartender for another glass. He took his time pouring a drink and taking a long gulp before replying.“I need your help.”

“No.”

“Now, Nate, you haven’t even heard what I need your help for.”

“I don’t care, the answer is still no.”

Sterling ignored him, though, just like Nate expected--they’d done this dance before, long before they came to be on opposite sides of the law--and slid a brown Interpol folder over the bar to Nate. Nate ignored it in favor of taking another drink, but it’s not like Sterling expected anything else.

“Someone broke into the Boston Museum of Fine Arts and a sarcophagus has gone missing.”

When Nate didn’t respond, Sterling went on.

“Now, I could get my specialist to fly out, but that will take too long and the trail will go cold. I need someone to track down the thieves now, not next month.”

“And that’s where I come in?”

“And that’s where you come in. You know how these thieves work better than anyone. And it’s not like you’ve got much else to do but drown yourself in scotch these days. Still convinced your son is evil, Nathan?”

Nate had never regretted confiding in Sterling more than at this moment. He had thought they were friends, back when they both worked for IYS and life was better, and after Maggie’s death and Sam’s first weeks, he needed someone to confide in. Sam was far from a normal baby--his black eyes lightened to a deep brown, but they were still eerily different, and he just quietly observed everything around him, never a cry or a sound out of him, and that sinister grin always around his lips, except for when there were visitors. Then, Sam was the cutest, sweetest baby in the world, the baby Nate and Maggie had always wanted, but never got. If only they knew, if only all of those visitors knew Sam was actually responsible for Maggie’s death. He couldn’t prove it, but he could try. And he’d thought he could rely on Sterling, his friend, for support. But when it had all gotten too much for Nate, when he couldn’t take the weight of Maggie’s death and Sam anymore, Sterling had chosen to turn his back on Nate and Nate had been left with nothing but a heavy heart and an evil son.

“Fuck you, Sterling.” Nate slammed his empty glass on the bar, grabbed the bottle and stormed out the door to his car, leaving Sterling and the file sitting there. The drive home was a blur of anger and guilt and when he got to his apartment, he slammed the door shut and let himself fall down onto his couch with his bottle and settled in to drink himself into another stupor.

Sterling could go and fuck himself. Nate didn’t owe him anything and with his new position at Interpol, Nate was sure Sterling could get the people he needed. He only came to Nate because he knew Nate would hate working for him and Sterling loved nothing better than to annoy people. Especially Nate. He had sworn a long time ago, he didn’t want to have anything to do with Sterling ever again and he renewed that vow right then and there.

That’s when his eyes caught sight of the folder on his coffee table.

Interpol, CLASSIFIED

Fucking Sterling.

It took another five fingers of scotch to convince himself he could at least take a look at the case. Not for Sterling, but because it might give him leverage, something he could use later. He let himself slide off the couch and onto the floor, until his hand was close enough to the file that he could flip the cover open. It took some concentration to focus, but two words--a name--stood out from the blurry rest immediately.

Sophie Devereaux.

Nate pulled the file towards him and stared at the name for a long time. Sophie Devereaux. That was a whole set of memories he also thought about often, but mostly fondly. One of the few people in his life he actually cared about beyond a passing thought. He no longer had time for friends, finding answers to his questions about Sam taking up most of his time, and he wasn’t really looking forward to being betrayed by people he considered his friends again. But Sophie Devereaux was different. Different enough for Nate to actually read Sterling’s file.

The security cameras hadn’t caught much of the break-in, a glitch in the system causing the cameras’ server to somehow freeze and not start up again until after the sarcophagus was stolen. Nate recognized a few names on Interpol’s list of possible hackers that could have done that, but only one was really of interest to Nate.

Colin Mason, aka Chaos.

Next to the server freezing, the security system had malfunctioned, all the electronically locked doors had come unlocked and both back-up generators had failed to kick in. Chaos was really the only one that could have done a job so big and complex.

Sophie’s name was mentioned in an eyewitness report from a security guard. He had seen her coming into the building not two hours after the break-in, through a fourth floor window, but even though the security cameras had been up and running again by that time, they couldn’t find her on any of the tapes. The guard swore up and down he had seen her climbing in through the window, he had even yelled out at her, but she had slipped away into the shadows and he had lost her.

Nate wasn’t surprised. Sophie was a Shadowless, meaning her image couldn’t be captured by any camera and she could blend with the shadows so well, she would be invisible. It also meant that the thieves were most probably vampires, the monsters Sophie hunted. The last Nate had heard about vampires in Boston was a nest of them was working for a secret society called The Core. The demons hadn’t been able to shed light on what the vampires and The Core wanted, but Nate knew that if Sophie was involved, then so were the vampires, and most likely The Core.

The realization he needed to work with Sterling to get that sarcophagus made him sick to his stomach, but he knew he couldn’t say no. Not to Sophie.

“Nate.” Sterling didn’t even sound surprised when Nate called him.

“I’ll do it.”

“I knew you wouldn’t leave a friend hanging, Nate.”

Nate chose to ignore Sterling’s smug tone. Or his words. “What do you need?”

“Always straight down to business, aren’t you, Nate? Come on, why skip the small talk?”

“Not in the mood, Sterling. Now what do you need?”

“Your contacts. Well, your father’s, I’m sure you don’t have very many contacts of your own left.”

Nate chose to ignore that one too, but his patience was running out fast. “Why?”

“Your father knew every single crook, scrounger and swindler in the city. I need to know who he thinks could steal the sarcophagus and get rid of it. Who they would work with, and through which channels.”

Nate knew Sterling was right, but he didn’t want to get his father’s contacts involved. He wanted to keep the information about Sophie between the smallest number of people as possible, and the only way to do that was to convince Sterling to actually hire her, too.

“You arrested my father so many times, I doubt any of his contacts will want to have anything to do with me for fear of you being right on my tail.”

“Which I am.”

Nate bit his tongue and continued laying out his plan to Sterling. “And even if they did help, you need more than just some old retired cops and Irish hustlers. The hacker that disabled the security systems at the museum is smart. You need a Medjay to counter that.”

Sterling made a choking kind of sound on the other side of the phone and Nate notched one point in his favor. He knew Sterling hated working with what he called “hippies”, but he also knew Sterling would agree to hiring a Medjay, if it meant Nate would work with him. He wouldn’t have come to Nate if he didn’t actually need him.

It wasn’t the Medjay that would be the one Sterling would balk over though.

“And Sophie Devereaux .”

Sterling didn’t know about Sophie being a Shadowless--and Nate wasn’t about to clue him in on that--but his hatred for Sophie was personal. He’d never bested her, not once, in all of the twenty odd years he had worked for IYS, the FBI or Interpol. To a man like Sterling, that was failure and Sterling didn’t do failure.

“No. Over my dead body. That woman is a criminal, a thief, a filthy grifter with a heart of stone. No, I won’t agree to that.”

“Then I am out too. Goodbye, Sterling.” Nate hung up the phone, but kept it close.

This was all part of his plan. He knew Sterling would capitulate eventually, because he needed Nate. He needed Nate so he could cover up if things went south later on, or if he needed a scapegoat, and he needed Nate’s mind. Whatever had happened between them, Sterling knew Nate was the best out there, although he’d never admit it out loud.

As expected, Sterling called back ten minutes later. He sounded pained when he accepted Nate’s plan. “All right, Sophie’s in, and the Medjay is in. But that’s it. No more outsiders.”

Nate smiled; he knew he had won. “You know I don’t work that way, Sterling. I’ll bring in whoever I think is necessary. We do this my way or you do it alone. Your choice.”

Silence. Nate knew it was Sterling’s way of trying to unnerve Nate into giving in, but Nate was used to this dance they did. He just waited patiently until Sterling sighed deeply and gave in for the second time.

“Fine. But just so you know, I don’t like this.”

“I wouldn’t have expected anything else from you, Sterling. Nice doing business with you.” He hung up and threw his phone somewhere to his left. He heard it thud to the floor and nodded to himself. He would find it there tomorrow, after he had passed out from finishing the bottle.

Now where was that bottle?

He was still hungover when his phone rang the next morning--afternoon, according to the clock on his kitchen wall--and Sterling announced he was standing below Nate’s window. Nate struggled up from the couch, only to be greeted by the smell of coffee coming from his kitchen.

“Hello, Nate.”

“Sophie.”

Sophie Devereaux was sitting at his kitchen table as if she belonged there. His fuzzy brain didn’t have an appropriate response ready, so he just took the mug she held out to him and took a few long gulps to clear his head and get the blood flowing.

“Next time you drunk dial me, it better be for something other than James Sterling.”

“Uh--”

Sophie raised an eyebrow at the phone still clutched in his hand, but there was a small smile playing around her lips too. “Don’t keep him waiting, Nate, let’s get this over with.”

He stared at her for a few more seconds before her words sank in.

“Right. Right. Sterling.”

He buzzed the downstairs door open for Sterling and waited at the apartment door for him. He was afraid to look back at Sophie, gorgeous as ever, for fear of saying the wrong thing and making her disappear again, so instead he stared at the elevator until Sterling walked out.

“Hello Nate, you look rotten, as always.” Sterling pushed past him into the apartment and Nate followed and closed the door. Sterling was standing in the middle of his living room, smirking at Sophie. “Miss Devereaux . You look dashing, as ever.”

Sophie glared back at him. “Sterling.”

“It’s been too long since we got to spend some time together, Miss Devereaux .”

Sophie's tone was frosty, “Not long enough, Sterling. Just so we’re clear, I am doing this for Nate, not for you.”

“Ah yes, you and Nate.” Sterling glanced at Nate across the room with a smirk and stood up to walk to the liquor cabinet in Nate’s apartment. “Always had something special, didn’t you?”

The coffee finally did its job and Nate picked up on Sterling’s double meaning, and from the glare Sophie sent him, so did she. There was a warning in her eyes, one that Nate had to set straight as fast as he could, he knew, otherwise she would walk away.

“Look, obviously this isn’t the most ideal situation for any of us, but Sterling, if you want to catch these thieves, you need me and you need Sophie.”

Sterling swirled around, the ice in his glass clinking loudly. “She got made by a security guard, Nate! She’s involved with the break-in!”

Nate ignored Sterling’s interruption and raised a hand to stop him. “She says she isn’t and I believe her. So should you. If you want to know how they planned this heist and catch them, you need her. Like you said, she’s a thief, and who is better at catching a thief than another thief?”

Sterling narrowed his eyes at Nate assessing, and then at Sophie. “What’s in it for you, darling?”

“Clear my name, get the competition off the streets, help out a friend? Pick one.”

She looked at Nate when she said “friend” and Nate could tell from the softer look on her face, he was in the clear. She knew he wasn’t about to rat her out to Sterling and she would be on his side from now on.

Sterling caught the look, but didn’t comment on it. Nate knew he’d be hearing about it later, but for now, the case was settled.

“Okay then, we’re all on the same page. Sterling, you’ll get the sarcophagus back, we’ll catch who stole it, and then we all go back to our day jobs. Now Sophie, we need a Medjay, do you know any?”

Sophie shook her head, but took out her phone and scrolled through her contact list. “No, but I know a guy who does.”

She dialed a number and waited for the other end to pick up. “Eliot? It’s Sophie Devereaux . I have a favor to ask you.”

VII. When Arcturus Spilt his Light

Crowded with wolves, and for the honor of man
I affirm that never have I before. Now while
I have looked for the evening star at a cold window
And whistled when Arcturus spilt his light.
~Allen Tate

“I still vote for killing the vampires and letting Nate figure this cylinder thing out.”

Parker was sitting on top of one of the tables in the public library, swinging her legs as she stared at the wooden box in her hands. She turned the empty box over and over, studying it closely before letting it fall to the table with a loud thump.

Eliot cringed and reached over, pulling the box towards him and out of Parker’s reach. “I am not going to trust this Nate guy, just because you say he’s a good person. This is our only lead, Parker. Once we find out why the vampires stole the cylinder and why they need it, we can follow the most logical trail and find the vampires. Then we kill them.”

Parker sulked, “I hate logic.”

Eliot sighed deeply and counted to ten in his head. And then again. And once more just to be sure he wasn’t going to punch a hole in the wall. He then turned to Parker and held up the papers he had been studying. “Professor Alex O’Connell in New York.”

Parker jumped off the table and snatched the papers from Eliot’s hands to read the title at the top. “Early Sumeria (3500 B.C.E.) through the Collapse of Old Babylonia (1025 B.C.E.) By Alex O’Connell.”

Eliot turned the computer screen towards Parker. It showed a picture of an old man against a backdrop of a wall filled with degrees, awards and ancient masks that seemed to stare right through Parker.

Parker twitched and made a face at the screen. “He looks creepy.”

Eliot sighed again and turned back the screen. “It’s our best source, we’re going.”

That was Eliot´s stern voice, Parker had learned, and there was no arguing with it. When she let her vision slip, she could see his aura shifting from its usual mysterious red to darker brownish colors with bright yellow streaks, and the wolf of his true form snarled at her.

She quickly let her vision slip back to normal and darted towards the exit. “Let´s go then.”

Outside, Cookie jumped up, barking excitedly as they exited the library. Parker scratched her between the ears and shushed her. “No causing a scene, or Eliot will leave you behind.”

He wouldn’t, and Parker laughed when Cookie whined softly and looked at her with big, puppy-dog eyes. Eliot chuckled. He was uncomfortable around the Hound, but so far, Parker seemed to be the craziest of the two. He didn’t mind having the Hound in the car with him, as long as it rode in the backseat.

“Got that right. Now get in, we got a long drive ahead.”

Parker climbed into the backseat along with Cookie and let the Hound’s head rest on her thigh while she dropped off to sleep with her head against the window. Eliot turned the radio on softly, making the drive down to New York in near silence. It gave him time to let his mind wander; Archie, Parker, the Sumerian cylinder and the vampires.

He had no idea why they were all connected, just that they were, and thinking on it didn’t help. As long as they didn’t know what the cylinder did, they had no way of figuring out what the vampires wanted it for. He truly hoped this Professor O’Connell could help them, or he would be forced to give in to Parker’s constant nagging of going to this Nate guy and asking him for help. Eliot didn’t like asking strangers for help on hunting cases, but if he had no other choice--and right now he didn’t--he would pick a ninety year old professor over a shady contact from a Hawke any day.

Until they were stuck, Eliot was going with the frail old man he could easily eliminate if things went sour.

Professor O’Connell was everything Eliot expected. Old, frail, grey, but with sharp eyes and a friendly smile. When Eliot explained what they were looking for, he invited them into his university office with a sweep of his arm.

“Please do come in. Can I pour you a drink? Scotch is in order, I think. It’s not very often I get young people with interest in Sumerian history in my office. My classes are getting emptier and emptier. Young people these days aren’t interested in ancient history anymore, not with all the possibilities the future holds for them. But--”

While the professor prattled on and poured them drinks, Eliot settled in one of the chairs in front of the professor’s desk, while Parker gingerly sat in the other. She leaned over at Eliot and whispered, “He’s creepy in real life too.”

Eliot rolled his eyes and shushed her. “Parker! He is not creepy, he’s just old.”

The professor shuffled up to them, handed them their drinks, taking his own chair on the other side of the desk. His eyes fell on Cookie, who sat beside Parker, her eyes fixed firmly on the old man.

The professor’s eyes seemed to light up and he smiled widely. “That is quite an amazing dog you have.”

“She is.” Parker dropped a hand to Cookie’s head and scratched her behind an ear with a smile. “Her name is Cookie.”

“Cookie? That is a wonderfully strange name for a beautiful dog. She reminds me of the friezes in Persepolis. My father used to--work--there, a long time ago. We didn’t go back very often, but I did get a chance to look at the friezes. They were gorgeous, as is Cookie. How long have you had her?”

Before Parker could open her mouth, Eliot held up a hand to interrupt. “Can we focus on what we came here for please? It’s important.”

The professor looked between Eliot and Parker, threw a small, apologetic smile at Parker and sat up straighter. “Of course. You said something about a Sumerian cylinder?”

“Yes. It was stolen from a--friend. We need help finding out why.”

The professor nodded. “Usually they are kept in a wooden box with ancient writings and drawings on them. Did they take that too?”

Eliot gestured at Parker, “No. Parker?”

You must guard it, guard it with your very life. Do you understand?

Parker wrapped a tight hand around her bag and pulled it closer to her body instinctively. There was something about the professor that she didn’t trust, something that told her she shouldn’t just hand over what had been so important to Archie and the Hawkes. She let her vision slip and observed the Professor’s aura. It was a swirling mass of colors, mostly sandy-white and beige, with streaks of gold and silver in it. She had no idea what to make of it, but it didn’t feel threatening.

But then why was she so hesitant to hand the box over?

“Parker? Give the professor the box.”

Eliot’s nudge pulled her from her musings and she let her vision slip back to normal. The professor was looking at her with an expectant look on his face and so, with Eliot glaring at her, she slowly took the box from her bag and slid it across the desk to the professor.

“The cylinder was in this. Someone stole it. There are also some papers inside that we can’t read. I want it back.”

Cookie leaned against her leg with a soft growl and Parker scratched her head in understanding. Cookie had her back if things didn’t go as planned.

“Of course. I just want to take a look, see what type of cylinder we are dealing with.” The professor very carefully opened the box and took out the papers.

His face practically lit up when he read the first few sentences on the documents. He spread the papers across his desk, set the wooden box on top of them and grabbed a heavy, thick book from a corner of his desk. He flipped wildly through the pages until he finds what he is looking for. “There! Jamshid, King of Persia. He found the Jam-Jamshid, the Cup Of Jamshid, in Istaker, and it is said that it can turn normal humans into immortal gods. It can also raise the dead, under the right circumstances.”

Eliot sat forward at that, alarmed. “Raise the dead?”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Parker sit up too, and he prayed she didn’t open her mouth and say something stupid before they got the information they needed. Knowing Parker and her reputation, it would be a close call. Girl couldn’t keep her mouth shut to save her life.

“Yes. But it would have to been done during šab-e yaldaa, the winter solstice, and only then.” The Professor flipped a page and read out loud, “Yaldaa is a time for mortals to create their own visions, making real their aspirations and dreams. It is accompanied by a special festival of light, symbolized by the use of fire, both in candles and the burning of a hearth fire log and keeping the ashes for cleansing.”

He looked up and showed Parker and Eliot a black and white picture of an old temple. “Legend says that the ceremony should be held at a fire temple, like the ones you find in Iran and Iraq.”

Eliot knew they were on to something, he just didn’t know what yet. With the winter solstice only three days away, though, they needed to figure it out now.“Are they still standing?”

“Most have been destroyed by wars, but there is one fire temple in Iran that is still standing in relatively good preservation. It is near Isfahan, in the desert of Iran.”

Parker frowned, “but what does that have to do with the stolen cylinder?”

“Ah yes, the cylinder.” Professor O’Connell flipped a few more pages in his book before reading off some more text. “During the Yaldaa, whoever holds possession of the Jam-Jamshid, has the prolonged power of the light. This power penetrates even the darkest places, awakening spirits from eternal slumber. Risen from the ashes of the ceremonial fire, these spirits are bound to earth forever, immortal and untouchable.”

The professor closed the book and looked up at Eliot and Parker. “My guess is that whoever stole the cylinder, believes they are going to either make themselves immortal or raise someone from the dead. The winter solstice is not far off, as you know.”

That made it click together in Eliot’s head. “Well, that’s not good.”

The professor chuckled at Eliot’s exclamation. “Only if there were such a thing as resurrections, but luckily, there isn’t. Whatever they think they will accomplish with the cylinder, it won’t happen. It’s legend, lore, tales.”

“Yes, there is.”

“Parker!”

“Resurrection isn’t actually as impossible as people think. Sure, it takes a lot of preparation and patience--which I don’t have, so I’ve never done it myself--but once you have everything you need--”

Eliot shot up from his chair and hurriedly started grabbing for the wooden box and the documents. “Professor O’Connell, you’ve been a great help, thank you. We should be going. We have--work to do.”

He prayed the professor’s hearing had suffered from his age and he couldn’t hear Parker babbling over Eliot’s too loud, hasty words, but just in case, he made a grab for Parker and dragged her to the door of the professor’s office. Parker managed to whistle for Cookie in between her still ongoing explanation of how one goes about resurrecting people, and Eliot shoved them out the door as fast as he could. “Thank you again, professor. Bye!”

Parker didn’t stop babbling until they were at the truck and Eliot forcefully clamped a hand over her mouth to stop her. Cookie growled at him, but he didn’t pay the dog any mind as he glared hard at Parker.

“Parker! You don’t tell the normal people about the monsters and hunters, remember?”

Parker nodded behind his hand and Eliot slowly let her go. “I don’t like him. He has a strange feeling about him. He’s not telling us all of the truth.”

“Well, he told us everything we needed to know, what more do you need?”

Parker opened her mouth to reply, but she snapped it shut without saying anything. Whatever it was, Eliot figured he probably didn’t want to hear it anyway. She looked thoughtful, but kept silent, so Eliot nudged her in the direction of the truck. “Get in.”

Eliot had opened the driver’s side door to the truck and started to climb in when his phone rang. “Yeah.”

“Eliot? It’s Sophie Devereaux . I have a question for you.”

“Sophie. It’s been a while.”

“It has. How have you been?”

"Same old, saving people, killing things. What can I do for you?"

“I need to get a hold of a Medjay and I was thinking you might know of a few.”

Parker was waving her arms madly from the other side of the truck to get Eliot’s attention and when he finally looked at her she made a questioning gesture. Eliot shook his head and turned his back to her for a little bit of privacy. Parker being Parker, merely climbed over the truck and dropped down next to him on the other side.

Eliot jumped up and barked at her. “Really, Parker?”

“Eliot? Something wrong?”

Eliot sighed and focused back on his conversation with Sophie. “No, it’s nothing. Just a nosey Hawke. Twenty pounds of crazy in a five pound bag. You need a Medjay? What for?”

“I’m working a case in Boston and I need someone to work out a few things.”

“Boston? Well, I’m in New York, and I could use your help tracking some vampires. Can we meet up?”

“I’ll text you the address.”

They ended the conversation and Eliot scrolled through his contact list. He could wait until they got to Boston, but if a Shadowless needed help, then things were serious. He knew just who to call--

He looked up, because Parker was staring at him, “What?”

Parker was leaning against the side of the truck with an excited look on her face, her earlier musings apparently forgotten. “Are we going back to Boston?”

He sighed. “Yes, we’re going to Boston. Now let me make this phone call.”

The address led to a bar in Back Bay called Rory’s. Sophie greeted him with a hug and a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Eliot. You look good.”

Eliot smiled. “You always look good.”

Sophie’s eyes shifted to Parker, who was lingering by the door with Cookie, as if she was afraid to come in.

“Sophie, this is Parker, she’s a Hawke, and that--dog--is her Hound, Cookie. Parker, this is Sophie, a Shadowless.”

At the mention of the Shadowless, Parker brightened up and shook Sophie’s outstretched hand enthusiastically. “Oh, you guys are cool! You’re like ninjas or something. Vampire killing, bad-ass ninjas!”

Eliot sighed--it felt like all he had been doing since meeting Parker was sigh over her antics--and turned to the man at the bar. “I don’t believe we’ve met?”

The man smiled mysteriously and introduced himself as Nate.

“Nate? Parker’s Nate?”

Nate glanced at Parker and shook his head. “I’ve never seen her before. But I knew her mentor, if you will. Archie.”

“Right. I’m afraid he’s--”

“Dead, I know. I heard.”

An awkward silence fell between them as they both sized each other up. The tension was lifted when Parker and Sophie joined them at the bar and Parker realized this was the Nate Archie had told her about.

“See Eliot, I told you we needed to go see Nate!”

Eliot rolled his eyes at her. “Yes, you were right. Now can we please get on with this?”

Nate glanced at him for a second, then handed Parker and Eliot copies of Sterling’s case file and started to fill them in on the details. Together with Sophie he laid it all out for them, including his thoughts on who had stolen the sarcophagus and why Sophie was involved.

Sophie took a sip of her drink, "These vampires that killed Archie and stole this cylinder are probably the ones that stole the sarcophagus, too. It’s too much of a coincidence. Vampires don’t steal, they kill, so two robberies in one week, both by vampires, without more dead bodies? That’s too out of the ordinary to be accidental. They must be working for someone.”

Nate nodded, “I think they are. I’ve been hearing things about a secret society called The Core that uses vampires to do their dirty work.”

Sophie frowned, “The Core? I’ve never heard of them, what do they want? Who are they?”

Nate shook his head. “I don’t know yet.”

Eliot thought about that for a second. This secret society is where they would find a lot of the answers to the questions they had, but, “What was in the sarcophagus though? Why did they steal it?”

Nate shrugged. “Does it matter?”

Eliot pounded one finger on the bar, "Well, I think there’s more to the robberies than just vampires or some secret club stealing valuable artifacts. This cylinder that was stolen? It can be used in a ceremony to raise the dead.”

Nate pursed his lips and even Parker was silent as they all considered Eliot's words. Then he raised his eyes, "Well, the sarcophagus supposedly holds the mummy of Tammuz, son of Nimrod. So--”

Eliot cursed loudly, startling Parker, and Sophie gasped, “Oh no.”

“I don’t get it. It’s a mummy, mummies are cool!”

Sophie sighed and despite the bad news about the inhabitant of the sarcophagus,, Eliot chuckled to himself. He wasn’t the only one exasperated by Parker.

“Parker, Tammuz was a god. He was an evil tyrant worshipped by thousands. If he is resurrected, God knows what will happen. We're talking end of the world, biblical apocalypse kind of bad.”

Parker deflated and considered Sophie’s words. “Oh. That’s like, really bad, huh?”

VIII. Now Remember Courage

Now remember courage, go to the door,
Open it and see whether coiled on the bed
Or cringing by the wall, a savage beast
~Allen Tate

Hardison arrived at Logan Airport late in the evening, and caught a cab to the address Eliot had given him. He was hungry after the long flight, ordered a burger and fries and a orange soda while Nate explained the situation.

He blinked, feeling a bit like Alice--except he’d wound up in Monsterland instead, complete with mummies. "You're serious?"

"Fraid so." Nate took a long swig of his drink. His third drink.

Hardison eyed the man's glass. He was having a hard time believing this was the Nate Ford he'd heard so much about; the guy was a drunk.

"OK, so let me get this straight, a bunch of --" He glanced around, but the bar was nearly empty and the only waitress was outside, smoking. "A bunch of vampires have a cylinder that can raise the dead and now they've gone and stolen a sarcophagus with some dead dude--"

"A mummy--but like a really bad-ass mummy. He used to be a god." Parker chirped up, then frowned, "And they stole the cylinder, too."

"Parker." Sophie interrupted her, "Hardison is talking, let him finish."

"But they killed Archie and then they stole it."

He froze. Archie was dead? He’d never met the Hawke, but he'd heard of him. Archie had saved his Nana's life years ago, and she'd told him the story often. He owed the guy.

Nate put his drink down, "And Chaos hacked the security for the museum."

Chaos? Hardison hated Chaos. And Chaos was now messing around with vampires?

"Oh, well, hell. You can count me in, then." He leaned back, "But I'm a Medjay--I don't hunt vampires."

Nate stood up abruptly, "We don't need you to--that's why we have Sophie." He paused, adding, almost an afterthought. "And Eliot."

"Oh, I'll handle the vampires." Eliot growled. "Come on, I'll help you with your equipment."

Nate woke in pieces, fighting the slow drift up from oblivion. He finally opened his eyes reluctantly, his head aching and his mouth bone dry. He sat up, fumbled for the flask on the nightstand, and caught the faint hint of Sophie's perfume.

It stirred up a fuzzy memory from last night--Sophie sitting on the edge of bed, running a hand through his hair, saying something he couldn't remember now.

Had they...?

He didn't think so. Thinking made his head pound more, so he took the last swallow from the flask, and stumbled across the hall to the bathroom.

He could now hear voices downstairs. And the smell of food cooking.

Oh, hell.

He lived alone. He liked living alone.

He splashed water on his face, then went back into the bedroom to find clean clothes. Dressed, he went downstairs with trepidation. Slowed at the last step, because his apartment had been taken over.

Hardison was sitting on the couch, surrounded by a snarl of cables and power cords. He was typing furiously on one laptop, but there were other laptops and computers and other equipment scattered across the coffee table and the end table and the floor. Parker and Sophie were sitting at the small table, cleaning and assembling an arsenal of weapons. Cookie--and who named a Hound Cookie?--was lying at their feet, chewing a rubber gun grip.

And Eliot was cooking.

He blinked. When Eliot had introduced himself last night, he hadn’t immediately put two and two together. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but Eliot hadn't matched up to his mental image of Spencer. It'd taken a few turns of the conversation to realize Eliot was Spencer, a hunter who was both a Civil War hero and a bisclaveret.

Who was cooking breakfast.

In his kitchen.

It was way, way too early for this.

Nate scrubbed a hand over his face, and headed for the coffee. As he walked by, Cookie dropped the grip and wandered over.

“Stop begging. Go.” Eliot snapped his fingers and pointed, not even looking at the Hound. “Go lie down.”

Cookie gave Eliot and Nate both a reproachful look at the same time Parker said, “But I’m hungry.”

Nate had been reaching for a mug, stopped. Glanced from Eliot to Parker and back, confused.

“Hawkes and their Hounds have a symbiotic connection.” Sophie reassembled a Colt .45 with breathtaking ease. “Parker here eats for two.”

Parker messed with the slide on a Glock 17. “And I’m hungry.”

“Fine. Here.” Eliot picked up the pan, slid a large mound of scrambled eggs into a bowl, and plucked the basket out of the deep fryer. He began draining the diced potatoes. “But the hash browns will take another minute.”

Nate poured himself a cup of coffee with a healthy dash of whiskey, watching in bemusement as Eliot tossed the potatoes in a big wok, added onions and peppers. He thought about asking where the wok and the deep fryer had come from, decided he didn’t want to know. Hunters didn’t really care much about the legal side of things.

A couple of minutes later Eliot drained the potatoes, handed him a plate, took another one over to Sophie.

She gave him a smile, making room between the daggers and the guns, “Thank you, this looks wonderful. Nate? Come on, sit down, you can’t eat standing up.”

He gave in and sat down, trying to ignore the strong odor of gun oil. Which was easy once he took a forkful of the eggs--they were good, fluffy, with just a hint of herbs.

Sophie moved the .45 so Eliot could sit down as well, “This is really good; did you use Mexican oregano?”

Eliot nodded, “Sure did. But the herb has to be fresh if you’re going to use it with eggs”

Sophie and Eliot began talking about recipes, of all things, and Nate tuned them out, and focused on his breakfast. It was good, but he wasn’t used to eating so much. He took one more bite, reached for the empty wooden box that the cylinder had been in. Parker gave him a sharp look, but continued eating.

He turned the box over, letting his fingers run over the engraved symbols. He’d heard rumors about The Core from various hunters for years. While most of what he’d heard was a mix of urban legend and hearsay, there was definitely somebody--several people, most likely--working behind the scenes.

There were just too many coincidences--like the zombies that Hardison had told them about. A company suddenly deciding to engage in fracking in a place which just happened to still have fallout from nuclear testing. Was it only a coincidence? If so, why had the company decided to pump the wastes from the fracking directly into the creek that flowed through the biggest cemetery in the area?

Which brought him back to Sam. It always came back to Sam. He and Maggie had worked for IYS and he was convinced Ian Blackpoole, the CEO, was connected to The Core. He just couldn’t find any hard proof--

“Yes!!” Hardison gave a sudden whoop, and threw a fist in the air. “Yeah, that’s right!! Gotcha!! Nobody out-hacks a Medjay!!!”

Eliot rolled his eyes, “That’s great, Hardison, but did you find him?”

“Did I find him? This is me, man.” Hardison grinned and picked up the remote, flicked on Nate’s TV. Instead of a TV channel, a map came up. “He’s in a hotel over on Huntington Avenue. Somebody’s been a naughty little boy too--”

Eliot got to his feet, reached for his jacket. “Just give me the address, Hardison.”

Nate set down the box and opened his mouth, but Sophie was already talking.

“I’ll go with you.” She put her fork down, began collecting weapons. “We don’t know how involved he is with these vampires.”

Nate decided to keep quiet, took a sip of his coffee. Which needed more whiskey.

“You do that.” Hardison got up, stretching, “I’m going to get myself some breakfast--since you all, didn’t, you know, bother to make me a plate.”

“Help yourself.” Eliot half-hid a smirk and Parker frowned, got up and went into the kitchen.

Eliot did a quick weapons check, then went to the door and opened it. He let Sophie go through first. He started to follow, but stopped, “And check and see if Chaos or his ‘friends’ are leaving the country any time soon.”

“Yeah, I know, you already told me.” Hardison muttered, but the door had closed. He turned around--and smiled when Parker held out a plate of food. “Why, thank you. I appreciate that.”

Parker tipped her head back, “Why is your aura gold? Are you some kind of bird?”

“I--” Hardison glanced over at Nate for help.

He ignored them both, got up and went over to the TV. Stared at the map. “Hardison? Can you find out who paid Chaos?”

“Sure, I can do that.” Hardison crossed the room back to the couch, sat down. Parker perched on the arm of the couch beside him and he eyed her for a long second, then waved his fork at Nate. “So, you’re thinking if we follow the money, it might lead us back to The Core.”

“What’s The Core?” Parker interjected. “Cuz you keep talking about it.”

“Not it--they. They’re like this old school secret society. And when I say secret, I mean very secret. Their secrets even have secrets.” Hardison took a bite of potato, started typing. “Been tracking them for the past couple of years. I’m pretty sure this guy? Is the head honcho of The Core. He’s into everything and I do mean everything.” Hardison punched a key and Nate froze because it was Ian Blackpoole’s photo that appeared on the TV screen.

Sophie gave Tara a quick sum up of both the bad news and the good news as she and Eliot waited for the elevator. The bad news was she hadn’t found Kadjic yet. The good news was Kadjic had been too busy stealing a sarcophagus to start a nest in Boston. The bad news was he’d not only invited other vampires to help with the theft, but he was apparently planning to bring back an ancient Sumerian demi-god for some rich white Yanks who’d formed their own secret club.

Tara listened to her account, and said a long stream of very unladylike words. The elevator doors opened and Eliot motioned for her to hang up.

“Tara, I’ve gotta go.”

Tara stopped swearing, “Do you need me? I can come to Boston.”

“No, I’ve got Eliot and Nate, plus a Hawke and a Medjay.” She hung up, knowing Tara would understand. “Eliot? Is something wrong?”

Eliot was sniffing the air, “Chaos must’ve figured out he was hired by vampires, that’s garlic--Italian Late.”

Well, that was good news. If Chaos was trying to ward off vampires--it meant there weren’t any here. Hopefully. She reached for her coat sleeve, touching the hilt of her dagger anyway. “Italian Late? You can tell the type of garlic by smell?”

“It’s a very distinctive smell.” Eliot slowed, sniffed the air again, “No vampires, just humans. And a lot of garlic.”

Eliot gestured toward the staircase at the end of the corridor. “Let’s walk. Less chance of getting trapped, in case Chaos decides he wants us dead.”

Sophie sighed, she really didn’t feel like climbing stairs, but she had to admit Eliot was probably right. Chaos was more likely to have alarms set to warn of their arrival if they took the elevator up and there wasn’t any room to hide or run if he decided to attack them. If they took the stairs, they still had an element of surprise.

She kept a hand on one of her daggers at all times during their ascent, Eliot checking for scents on every floor.

No sign of vampires.

“Chaos is up here,” Eliot turned his head, nose wrinkling, “I can smell him now. He smells--sweaty.”

Sophie almost chuckled at Eliot’s disgusted tone, she couldn’t imagine what it was like to constantly smell other people’s--and monsters’--scents, but she guessed it wasn’t always handy.

The top floor looked exactly like the thirteen previous ones, but Eliot sniffed at the door, nodded at Sophie. “He’s here. Hardison, we good?”

Hardison’s voice was clear over their comms.

“I can hear you, you’re good.”

The door was unlocked.

Eliot motioned for Sophie to get her dagger ready. Then he took a large hunting knife from the inside folds of his coat, flipped it in his hand a few times, and silently pushing the door open. They crept inside, Eliot going first.

There was nothing. The walls and floors were unpainted concrete. No furniture, no rooms, no curtains to block the sun from beaming in. The only thing on the entire floor was a large, square box-like office in the middle.

Chaos’ hide-away.

Eliot motioned for Sophie to circle around from the left, and he’d take the right. Turning the corner, the sun was blocked by the neighboring building and shadows were already stretching out to her. She quickly pulled them in and wrapped them around her, muting any sounds she made as she inched slowly around another corner.

There. A door.

She waited for Eliot. He joined her at the door, sniffing silently. He nodded. She twisted the shadows to quietly open the door. She slipped inside quickly, Eliot following. The inside of the room was completely black, unlit, apart from the computer monitors covering the far wall. They were flickering, each one of them, like televisions on static, and Sophie shifted through the darkness to cloak herself against their light. The darkness held no secrets from her, and she spotted a figure hunched in the corner.

“Chaos, I presume?”

The figure startled violently. His head shot up, and he glanced around frantically. “Who’s in here? How did you get in? Who are you?”

Sophie saw Eliot inching closer to the figure slowly from the other side of the room, not as silently as her, but still impressively quiet for a strong bisclaveret. She mirrored his movements, until she was crouched right in front of the cowering figure in the corner. She leaned in, whispered in Chaos’ ear. ”We’re the ones you need to tell why The Core stole the mummy, Chaos.”

Chaos’ eyes grew wide as saucers and he shakily pulled a short dagger from his jacket pocket. “Who--Who are you? I have a dagger and I am not afraid to use it.”

Sophie ripped the weapon from his hands and slid away in one fluid motion, handing the dagger to Eliot with a grin. “Now it’s ours. Tell us what we want to know, Chaos. What does The Core want with the mummy?”

Chaos shook his head frantically before burying his head in his hands. “No! No, you’re--You’re working for them, aren’t you? You’re testing me! I’m not telling!”

Eliot sighed, rolled his eyes at Sophie. “We don’t have time for this.”

Eliot loomed over Chaos, pulling him to his feet in a split second. He threw Chaos in a chair, pressed his knife against his neck, motioned for Sophie to turn on the light. Chaos blinked against the harsh fluorescent light, trying to adjust his eyes to the sudden brightness.

When he felt the sharp prick of Eliot’s knife against his throat, he swallowed audibly. “Wh-Who are you? How did you get past the protection?”

Eliot chuckled. “The garlic? Not vampires. My turn to ask a question. Why are you working for The Core?”

Chaos went completely still, staring from Eliot to Sophie and back, before wincing. “I didn’t know. Blackpoole, he hired me. I didn’t know. The Core--I didn’t--”

Sophie exchanged glances with Eliot when Chaos mentioned Blackpoole. The man’s name had come up during the investigation, more than once, and they were almost certain he was the leader of The Core and the mastermind behind the theft and possibly the fracking Hardison uncovered in Nevada. And who knows what else they didn’t know of yet.

“How did you find out?”

Chaos met Sophie’s eyes for a second before glancing at his monitors. “One of his guys let something slip during the heist, something about drinking blood. I thought it was a joke, but no one else laughed. I--I didn’t think they were real, but then--I had done a background check on Blackpoole, but not his henchmen. When I did--They were all dead. Death certificates and all! And yet, there they were!”

Chaos snapped his mouth shut, panicked eyes moving around the room, nervous hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt. His gaze darted to Sophie, “Please, they know I know. They’ll kill me.”

Sophie could hardly hear his frightened whisper, but she heard enough. And Chaos was right, they would kill him if they got their hands on him. She exchanged glances with Eliot, but Eliot shook his head. Nothing they could do to help Chaos, not now.

They needed to stop Blackpoole and get that mummy back first.

She pressed him for more info, “What does Blackpoole want with the mummy?”

Chaos sighed and stretched a hand out towards his desk. Eliot moved quickly, pressed the blade of the dagger against Chaos’ skin tightly, growled. “What are you doing?”

Chaos swallowed again. “Show you--Show you the plans?”

“Are you asking or telling?”

“T-Telling, telling!”

Eliot slowly dropped the dagger, leaned in. “One wrong move and it won’t just be a threat.”

Chaos nodded, waited for Eliot to step back before pulling a keyboard closer. One of the monitors came to life when he started typing, images of the sarcophagus, the mummy, the cylinder all popping up on the screen. A second monitor stopped flickering, showing blueprints and satellite images of what seemed to be a waterfront building. A third monitor changed from static to pictures of men, Ian Blackpoole in the middle.

When he was done, Chaos slowly turned around to face Sophie and Eliot. “There, that’s all of it.”

Sophie stepped closer to the monitors, trusting Eliot to keep Chaos where he was, and studied the faces of the vampires closely. She recognized one of them.

“That’s one of the guards from the museum.”

Chaos nodded. “He was put there by Blackpoole, to make the heist easier. They called him Rick.”

None of the other faces stood out, so she memorized the faces before turning to the other monitors. “What’s with the blueprints?”

“That’s where Blackpoole is keeping the mummy until he can get it out of the country to--” Chaos cut himself off and looked at Eliot desperately. “Look, you have no idea what they will do to me when they figure out I know all of this. And that I told you! I was just supposed to hack the museum for them, that’s all. Can’t you, like, protect me or something?”

Eliot growled and pushed Chaos against the back of his chair with one hand firmly placed on Chaos’ chest, pressed the knife against Chaos’ neck. “Do we look like the police to you? Talk first, and maybe I won’t be the one that kills you.”

A slight frisson of fear went though Sophie as Eliot’s threatening words and behavior. She knew Eliot would never actually kill Chaos, it wasn’t as if he had actually done anything really wrong and he wasn’t a monster, but she couldn’t help but feel intimidated.

“Fine, fine. What do you want to know?”

Eliot looked at Sophie over his shoulder, startled Sophie back into action. “The blueprints, what are they for?”

“Warehouse. Red Hook Waterfront, number 13B. Brooklyn, New York. That’s where the mummy is.”

“How long is it staying there?”

Chaos glanced at his keyboard before looking back at Eliot. “I can pull up the flight details, if you let me--”

Eliot didn’t move a muscle for a few seconds, Chaos staring at him with wide, scared eyes, before Eliot stepped back and gestured at the keyboard silently. Chaos tapped a few buttons, almost without taking his eyes off Eliot’s knife. “There. Flight leaves tomorrow, 10:15 am.”

Sophie glanced over the flight details. “It’s going to Iran.” She turned to Chaos. “Is Blackpoole going too?”

Chaos nodded. “He’s on an earlier flight, tonight at 10:00 pm, so he can be there when the mummy arrives.”

“Who is he bringing with him?”

“The--The vampires. And a few other people. Core members. I don’t know their names, I booked them on the flight under fake names. I’ll print a list if you want.”

Eliot growled and Sophie almost started to feel bad for Chaos. “We want. Print it. Now, what do they want with the mummy?”

Chaos stuttered, “To--To ressur--resurrect it. The m-m-mmumy, resurrect the mummy. It-It needs to be d-done in a t-t-temple in Iran. A f-fire temple.”

“Where?”

“Is--Isfahan, in the desert.”

Chaos tapped a few more buttons and Sophie watched as an image of an ancient temple popped up on one of the monitors. It didn’t look like much; four walls with a round dome on top, sitting on a small mound of desert sand. “That’s it?”

“It’s--It’s mostly underground. S-Sacred ground and all.”

Sophie turned and caught Eliot’s eye. She was pretty sure that was all the information Chaos had, it was enough for them to stop Blackpoole with, anyway. Eliot nodded at her, so she moved to the other side of the room and pressed a finger against her ear piece. “Did you get all of that, Hardison?”

“Sure did, processing now.”

When she turned back, Eliot was pushing Chaos towards his desk, chair and all, demanding he give them the list of names and flight details. She knew there was one last question that needed to be asked.

“What does Blackpoole want with the mummy? Why does he want to resurrect it?”

Chaos’ eyes darted towards Sophie and then back at Eliot, something close to horror settling in his face. He hesitated and Eliot flipped the knife in his hand a few times. “Answer the nice lady.”

Chaos sighed and tapped a few buttons, pointed at a screen. It showed an image of an ancient text that Sophie couldn’t read, but Eliot made a noise of recognition. “The Bundahishn. Old Zoroastrian texts. This is from the chapter ‘on the reason for the creation of the creatures, for doing battle’.”

Both Sophie and Chaos were stunned into silence for a few moments. Sophie was the first to find her voice. “You can read this?”

Eliot shrugged. “I had some free time, I studied it.”

Chaos gaped at him. “Dude! I had to, like, use eleven different sources to translate just this page, and you can read it?”

Eliot rolled his eyes. “Yes. Why do you have it?”

“I found it on Blackpoole’s computer.”

Sophie would have laughed if it hadn’t been so dangerous. “You hacked into the head of The Core’s computer?”

Chaos shrugged, but he looked miserable. “I didn’t know he was the head of The Core then, or what he was up to. Shit, he is really gonna sic those vamps on me now.” He let his head fall forwards on his keyboard. He groaned. “I am so screwed.”

“Yeah, you are.” Eliot turned back to the monitor. “This explains how to create beings, creatures, for the purpose of war, battle and servitude. It says whoever raises these creatures, will gain their power and being, and will rule them for eternity.”

Sophie shuddered. “That doesn’t sound good. We know he wants to resurrect the mummy, but what if that means he will gain Tammuz’s powers?”

Eliot met her eyes over Chaos’ head. “We need to stop him. Now.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Sophie quickly grabbed the list of names from the printer and followed Eliot out the door. Eliot was already discussing things with Hardison, when she heard a yell from inside the room.

“What about me?”

Sophie stopped, but Eliot shook his head. “We don’t have time. He got himself into this mess, he can get himself out.”

She hesitated. “Can’t we at least get him some proper protection wards or something? He’s using garlic--you know that doesn’t work.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t work?” Chaos squeaked.

Eliot ignored him, already heading towards the exit. “Fine. I’ll have Hardison email him some stuff.”

It wasn’t much, but Eliot was right. They didn’t have time.

“All right, what have we got?”

Hardison tapped a few buttons on his keyboard. “Names, flight times, locations and faces. I’m working on Blackpoole’s shady side now. You won’t believe how deep he’s invested in this Core business, Nate.”

Nate sat down next to the Medjay, studied him for a few moments. Hardison was young, yet he had a reputation that far exceeded his years. He’d hacked the White House, the Pentagon, NASA, both Mastercard and Visa--the list of huge, powerful companies with everything to lose went on and on. Nate didn’t know how much damage Hardison did when he hacked into the systems of those corporations, but he was fairly certain Hardison could bankrupt the entire United States of America if he wanted to.

“You don’t want to bankrupt the country, do you?”

Hardison stilled, turned his head slowly and looked at Nate with a deep frown on his face. That’s when Nate realized he had said that out loud.

Hardison didn’t give him an opportunity to take it back though. “Uh, just how much whiskey was in that last cup of coffee?”

Nate winced, his reputation was the last thing he wanted to deal with on this job. He was saved by Parker and Cookie thundering down the stairs.

Parker sidled up next to Hardison, “What’s up?”

Nate took opportunity of the distraction to slip away to the kitchen and top off both his coffee and whiskey. He had a perfect view of Hardison and Parker from the counter, so he studied them for a little while. It’d only been a few days, but something inside of him warned him about getting attached to these hunters; he worked alone, always had.

But maybe he wasn’t the only one in danger of not being able to walk away from the group. Parker leaned in closer to Hardison and Hardison explained what he was doing, while surreptitiously sneaking glances at Parker. Nate wasn’t sure if Parker noticed, but even if she did, she didn’t react to it. She merely asked Hardison all kinds of questions about the case, listening closely when Hardison explained it to her. Which was also unusual; from the little time he had been around Parker, he knew one thing for sure: Parker never sat still for long.

Except with Hardison, apparently.

“Wait, you did all of this in an hour?” Parker sounded incredulous.

Hardison grinned, pointed at himself. “Medjay, remember? It’s what I do. And it’s been,“ he checked his watch, “eighty-three minutes.”

Parker still looked extremely impressed and Nate realized he should’ve probably have listened to what Hardison just told Parker. He mentally berated himself for losing focus, and schooled his face into something professional-like, before making his way back over to where Hardison and Parker were now huddled over the computer. “So what have you got on Blackpoole?”

Hardison jumped at that and Nate grinned into his coffee. It seemed he wasn’t the only one with a distracted mind. “Well, he’s got his head up so many company’s asses, he just about controls the east coast. I mean, banks, insurance, steel, shipping, building, trucking, drilling, fishing. You name it, he’s invested in it or on the board of it. Interestingly enough, he is also on the board of Cuadrilla, the same company I caught fracking in the Nevada desert. Coincidence? I think not.”

Parker frowned. “What’s fracking?”

“It’s a way of drilling into the earth to get to an oil well or a gas bubble. I caught a company doing it illegally in Nevada a few days ago. They dumped their waste into a nearby creek, which spawned some kind of radioactive vampire-zombie hybrid monster.” Hardison shivered. “It was nasty, man. I had to clean myself and Lucille three times to make sure the muck was really gone.”

Parker narrowed her eyes at the mention of Lucille. “Who’s Lucille? Your girlfriend? Wife? Secret lover? The hooker you keep in the back of your car?”

Nate nearly choked on his coffee, but Parker continued staring at Hardison with an almost murderous look on her face, completely serious. Cookie also was staring at Hardison, with her eerie white eyes and a slightly curled upper lip, and Nate wondered again how his life had gotten to this; sitting in his kitchen with a Hawke and her Hound, who were both silently threatening a brilliant Medjay to explain himself or there would be hell to pay. For no apparent reason.

Hardison paled and hurried to clear the situation up, hopefully before Parker decided to sic Cookie on him. “Lucille’s my van! My van, Parker!”

Hardison stared at Parker with wide eyes, Parker stared back, her mouth scrunched up tight as she thought it over. Then her face cleared and she smiled with a shrug. “Okay!”

He was pretty sure Hardison was as lost and confused by Parker’s sudden mood swings as he was. He shrugged when Hardison looked at him for help, cleared his throat. “So what about The Core?”

Parker didn’t react to the subject change, she seemed to have already moved on, and Hardison nodded at him thankfully. Crisis averted?

Hardison tapped a few more buttons on his computer. “I haven’t been able to find anything substantial that would, you know, hold up in court, but I think I’ve mapped out most of the members and hierarchy anyway. Here.”

Nate shifted his focus to Hardison’s screen. “Based on what?”

“Blackpoole’s email, phone records, bank statements, credit card payments, companies, shell companies, his daily routine, surveillance cameras. You name it, I checked it. Cross referenced it with the people most likely to be connected to Blackpoole in some way, and the list of names Chaos gave us, and then back-checked them the same way. Weeded out the ones that didn’t seem shady enough, or that we already know are the vampire-henchmen, and built a face map from that. Ran all of them through the usual law enforcement systems and mapped out all of their aliases and did the whole trick again. And that gets you this.”

Nate wasn’t sure what he had expected from the Medjay, but this wasn’t it. This was so much more than he ever could have hoped for. If it was at all possible, he was keeping Hardison. He could feel his mouth hanging open and his eyes widening when he took in Hardison’s really, really impressive face map. “That is a lot of information in a very short amount of time, Hardison.”

Parker smacked Nate on the arm in triumph. “That’s what I said!”

Nate frowned, rubbed his arm. For a petite woman, Parker hit like a pro-boxer. “Thank you, Parker.”

Hardison smirked, raised his eyebrows, with a glance at Parker that Nate decided to ignore. He was not getting in the middle of whatever was happening here.

“So what’s gonna happen now?” Hardison sat back, suddenly serious. “We tell Sterling where the mummy is and that’s it? That feels--wrong.”

Nate nodded. “I know.” He knew he should just give Sterling the information and be done with the case, that was the deal, but it did feel wrong to hand it off to someone else, now that they knew where the mummy was, and what was going to happen if it got shipped out to Iran.

“Let me just think on it, okay? I have to call Sterling.”

He took out his phone, dialed Sterling’s number. Sterling picked up immediately. “Nate! I hope you’re calling to tell me you’ve found my sarcophagus. I was beginning to worry you’d lost your touch.”

Nate sighed. So it was going to be that kind of conversation. He excused himself from Hardison and Parker and walked back to the kitchen. “Stow it, Sterling, or you’re not getting anything from me.”

Sterling chuckled; it never failed to grate on Nate’s nerves, he always sounded so smug and arrogant and he was about one point five seconds away from hanging up and letting Sterling figure the case out himself. He pinched his nose, a headache already forming behind his eyes.

“Well? Did you find my sarcophagus?”

Sterling made it sound more like an order, and Nate sighed, knew he should just get it over with and get Sterling our of his life. Saying what he really wanted to say wasn’t gonna help him any with that. “It’s in New York. Riverside warehouse, I’ll text you the address.”

“Is the mummy still inside?”

“As far as we know, yes. We traced the hacker, Chaos; he told us what the thieves want with the mummy, so it is safe to assume it is still in the sarcophagus. I’d hurry though, if I was you. A sarcophagus with an ancient mummy is not something you can smuggle out of the country easily and it looks like plans have been made to ship it to Iran soon.”

“Sounds like you know who the thieves are and what they plan to do with the mummy.”

Years of working with Sterling meant Nate knew to translate that to ‘tell me everything you know, now.’ He sighed again, he was so sick and tired of the games. “For once, Sterling, try to pretend to be a decent human being.”

Sterling chuckled again. “Fine. Oh great Nathan Ford, please do tell me about those filthy thieves and their plans with my fucking mummy!”

It was petty, but Nate grinned, feeling better. There was nothing more guaranteed rile Sterling up than withholding information. “Much better, although next time you might want to read up on how to be nice to your only source of information.”

“Just tell me Nate and I won’t start arresting you and your little pack of bandits.”

Nate made a quick judgment call. He knew he had to share the information they had with Sterling, but that didn’t mean he had to tell him everything. “Fine. Ever heard of The Core?”

“The Core? As in secret society, powerful business men, The Core?”

“That’s the one. Ian Blackpoole is their president. I’ll send you a list of the other members we know of.”

Sterling actually growled at that. “Bloody Ian Blackpoole. He’s been a thorn in my side long enough. What does he want with my mummy?”

“Apparently he wants to resurrect it. And I am pretty sure I don’t have to tell you why it is a bad idea to resurrect Tammuz, son of Nimrod.”

Silence.

Then an incredulous snort.

“Have you finally lost your marbles, Nate? Resurrecting a mummy? You’re kidding, right?”

Nate rolled his eyes. “I’m not kidding. Look, we don’t have time for the you’re-kidding-me game, so just take it from me. Ian Blackpoole is planning a resurrection ceremony in a fire temple in Iran. Isfahan, to be exact. I would recommend getting to New York as fast as you can and getting that mummy back, if I were you.”

Sterling snorted again, sounding irritated when he spoke. “Fine, let’s go with your ludicrous theory that Blackpoole is resurrecting a mummy, what happens if he succeeds?”

“He gains the mummy’s power and rules it.”

“O-kay.” Sterling drew out the word and Nate fought the urge to sigh. Again.

“Look, you asked me to find out where the mummy is and who took it and why. I did that. I don’t care if you believe me or not, you got what you wanted. This deal is done and over. I’ll send you the information via encrypted message. Goodbye, Sterling.”

Nate resolutely hung up the phone, threw it across the counter top. He sat down on one of the breakfast bar stools and rubbed his face with a groan.

“Sterling’s not playing nice?” Eliot pushed a glass of whiskey towards him with an understanding smile.

Nate took it with a grateful nod. He knocked back the shot and savored the burn of it going down his throat, all the way to his belly. He knew his sister in law was right, alcohol was not the solution to the world’s problems--or Nate’s--but it felt good to try anyway.

“So, job done?”

Nate nodded. “Yeah. It’s in Sterling’s hands now. Hardison just needs to send him the data.”

“Did you tell him about the vampires?” Sophie asked, “And Kadjic?” She looked disappointed, but Nate shook his head before she could get angry with him.

He knew she hadn’t come to Boston just because he called her, there was too much between them for Sophie to just drop everything for him. He should’ve known it was too much of a coincidence that she’d been spotted by the security guard, been involved in Sterling’s case that involved both The Core and vampires. He hadn’t known about Kadjic though, not then.

He did now, and he knew Sophie needed to do this. “No, I didn’t tell him about that. The vampires are all yours.”

Sophie’s face cleared and she smiled. “And with the help of a certain Medjay, I bet I can track him down in no time.”

She turned on her heels, and Nate and Eliot both watched her sidle up to Hardison.

Nate let the silence grow, minutes ticking away, but when he finally opened his mouth, Eliot beat him to the punch. “Of course we’ll help. It’s vampires, it’s what we do.”

Hardison found Kadjic in New York, probably keeping an eye on the sarcophagus and the mummy. And if Kadjic was there, Sophie was sure there’d be a nest. They hadn’t been able to find a new nest in Boston, so Kadjic must’ve been too busy with the heist and the transport of the mummy. Now that the mummy was about to ship out, though, Sophie was sure he would be back to spawning

She’d tried calling Tara, but Tara hadn’t picked up, so she’d left a message that Kadjic was in New York and she was going after him. It was strange to have a Medjay, a Hawke and a Shifter as her back up, but she had to admit it made her feel safe. And despite the tension still between her and Nate, she was glad he’d let her have Kadjic and even offered to help. It wouldn’t be the same as hunting with Tara, but she knew they were hunters and would have her back.

“I’m glad we get to go vampire-hunting.” Parker plopped down on the couch next to her, bouncing with childlike glee. “It feels so--so wrong; just handing everything off to this Sterling guy and not doing anything about the vampires and the mummy and stuff.”

Sophie smiled. No matter how strange she found the Hawke, she couldn’t help but agree. It did feel weird just handing Sterling all of their work and letting him deal with it when they knew the mummy was in the hands of those working for The Core and what The Core planned to do with it. Hunting Kadjic and his new spawns was a good way to get rid of that tension and Sophie would finally, finally get to kill Kadjic.

“I know, I agree. And so does Nate. So the sooner we get to New York, the better. Hardison, how are you doing on those plane tickets?”

“Almost done. I didn’t have time to make you all new IDs, so I had to make do with the ones you have on you and clean up your records a bit. Plane leaves in an hour.”

“But--Cookie!” Parker pouted and Cookie whined.

Sophie cringed, she had forgotten all about the Hound. Judging from the Parker’s crushed look and the protective hand she put on her Hound’s head, Cookie didn’t fly. Sophie glanced at Hardison, but he merely shrugged. “I can get her on the flight, but--”

“No! Cookie doesn’t fly. The crates are too small and the cargo area is too cold and there would be other animals and--”

Parker was working herself up into a right tizzy and Sophie struggled to find something to say to calm her down. Nate and Hardison were of no help, both looking around the room to avoid getting sucked into the train wreck of a conversation. Bastards. Leaving Parker behind wasn’t an option, not since Sophie had started to think of them as her team, and when did that happen anyway? “Well--”

Thankfully, Eliot stepped in then. “We’ll drive. I didn’t want to leave behind most of my weapons anyway.”

Parker immediately perked up at Eliot’s suggestion. “I call shotgun!”

Eliot scowled. “Not if you want that monster of yours to come, too. She ain’t a lapdog.”

Cookie tilted her head, gave a small whuff, and Parker scoffed. “She’s not a monster. But fine, we’ll sit in the back. Can Hardison be shotgun?”

Sophie chuckled. She hadn’t missed Hardison’s glances at Parker, there was definitely something brewing there, but Parker seemed oblivious to it. But then Parker would do something like insist Hardison ride with her--or get angry over a supposed girlfriend, apparently--and Sophie thought that maybe it did go both ways.

And if there was something between the Medjay and the Hawke? She wasn’t sure if she wanted to be stuck on a road trip with that. “I’ll go with Nate then.”

Hardison opened and closed his mouth a few times, stunned into speechlessness. Sophie chuckled and quickly grabbed her coat, bag and purse, before anyone could protest or suggest something else. “I’ll be downstairs. Hurry up, okay?”

She heard Eliot grumble about ‘dirty paws’ and ‘lovebirds’ as she made her way out the door and she couldn’t help but feel like she dodged a bullet there. And she would get some time to talk to Nate, maybe rekindle what had been between them. Despite the alcohol problem and the obsession with demons and evil, she couldn’t deny the amber still burning inside of her..

Nate Ford was a hard man to forget.

She thought fondly back to the times when he was still working for IYS. Chasing her across the globe, almost catching her, but never quite. It was the thrill, the danger, the mystery and the adrenalin, all packed into something fast and furious, but never brought to completion. Nate was married and Sophie was part thief, part hunter. It wouldn’t have worked even if it had been possible, but that didn’t mean she’d never had impure thoughts about Nate Ford.

They lost touch after Sam was born and Maggie had passed. Word had gotten to her much too late to offer anything but belated condolences, and even that had seemed stale and awkward. Sophie had stayed out of Nate’s way and then Nate had disappeared for a while. When he did surface, he was a changed, broken man. One of her Shadowless sisters in Boston had called her to say she’d bumped into Nate in an Irish pub, thought Sophie might like to know. She did want to know, until she saw him.

She hadn’t gone in, merely stood outside and watched him. He drank. One glass, two, and another. Not two minutes had gone by. There was never a thought in her mind of going in, but she hadn’t been able to deny the pull, just to see him, even if it had been from outside in the rain. She couldn’t put her finger on why, but ever since she first met Nate Ford, she hadn’t been able to stay away.

“Damnit, Hardison, I said no! We are not naming my Jeep! Just because you feel the need to think of your van as a person, doesn’t mean I have to be as pathetic as that!”

Eliot, Parker, Cookie and Hardison brushed past Sophie, towards Eliot’s Jeep. Sophie smiled, both at the trip down memory lane and the sight of three powerful people and a dangerous Hound bickering over seating and names for an old Jeep. It was both strange--and oddly, nice.

“Ready to go, m’lady?”

“Let’s go.” Sophie curtsied at Nate mockingly, before smiling. “The sooner we get there, the sooner I get to chop off Kadjic’s head.”

They were silent until they were out of the city and on the highway. Nate didn’t really know what to say now that he was alone with Sophie, but he knew he had to say something to break the tension between them. They hadn’t had any time to talk yet, and there were things he wanted to say, explain, ask.

But just as he opened his mouth, his phone rang. He turned on the hands-free system, “Hello?”

“Nate? It’s Jim Sterling. I need your help!”

Sterling sounded out of breath, almost panicky. It was so out of character for him, Nate immediately responded the way he always did when confronted with an emergency situation. “What’s going on? What can I do?”

“It’s Alex O ‘Connell. He’s a professor--”

Nate interrupted Sterling, “I know, Eliot and Parker told me. What’s going on? Is he in danger?”

“Yes! Blackpoole’s kidnapped him. He’s keeping him hostage until he’s translated the spell for him, He just managed to contact me. They’re gonna kill him as soon as he’s translated the spell and told them how to perform it!”

Nate cursed, glanced at Sophie. “You think Eliot and Parker led The Core to him?”

Sophie shook her head, shrugged. “I don’t know, but we should check it out.”

“Please do, Alex is an old friend and I’m stuck at the airport,” Sterling sounded desperate now, “My flight’s been delayed and I can’t get a rental car. Can you get there as soon as you can?”

“We’re in the car now, can you give me an address?”

Sterling rattled off an address that Sophie quickly scribbled on her hand. It wasn’t too far from the University, in a warehouse neighborhood.

“Got it. We’ll be there in a few hours. Stall them.” Nate hung up, looked at Sophie. She was frowning. “That was weird, wasn’t it?”

Sophie met his eyes and Nate could clearly see the wheels in her head running overtime. “Yes. I just can’t figure out why exactly. I mean, it’s Sterling, we should at least consider the possibility that he is lying.”

Nate nodded. “I couldn’t agree more. But what if he isn’t lying? What if this professor really is in trouble and it’s because of us?”

They fell silent, thought about it for a few seconds. Then, Nate called Eliot.

“Nate?” Eliot sounded distracted--probably because of his passengers.

“Sterling just called. Said your Professor O’Connell was kidnapped by Blackpoole to help with the ceremony. You think they got to him through you and Parker?”

There was a loud thump--Eliot smacking his steering wheel--and a heartfelt curse before Eliot spoke. “Doesn’t matter if they did follow us, we should check it out. Sophie okay with the detour?”

Nate looked at Sophie, silently begging her to agree, to trust him this time and go with them.

Sophie hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yes. But we’re going after Kadjic as soon as the professor’s safe.”

“Got it. Hardison’s still tracking the vamps in New York, it doesn’t look like Kadjic is active. I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“Thanks Eliot.” Sophie smiled.. “Sterling gave us an address, can Hardison quickly check that? Maybe there are cameras he can hack so we can see what it looks like before going in.”

“On it. Let me know if there is any news.” Eliot took the address and hung up. Nate shut off the phone system too. The tension in the car was even heavier than before Sterling’s call, but this time he knew it wasn’t about them, this was about the case and Kadjic.

He pressed on the gas pedal a little harder. They needed to get to New York.

The address led to a four story, nondescript office building. It didn’t have any signs out front, and appeared to be empty. There was light in the stairwell, and streaming from the top floor, so it wasn’t completely abandoned. Eliot sniffed the area before letting anyone out of the car, but he couldn’t pick up any scents. Nothing vampiric anyway, the bakery next door sending up delicious but distracting fumes that overpowered just about anything else. While that did set off his alarm bells, he had to agree with Nate that they couldn’t make a decision based on just that.

Sophie went up the staircase first, using the shadows to cover her entrance, with Eliot following close behind as the first wave of offence. Once they checked, verified the foyer was clear, he spoke low into the comm telling Parker and Cookie to enter, with Hardison close behind.

Nate stayed at the top of the staircase, keeping an eye on the street for any surprises from outside. “Okay, sweep it one floor at a time, but be careful. We have no idea what’s waiting for us.”

Eliot grunted an affirmative, which was echoed by the rest of the team. It was strange to think of them as a team, they weren’t really, but it felt good at the same time. It’d been a long time since he last worked with anyone, and despite them all being quirky and a little strange, he--he liked them.

Even Parker and that freaky Hound.

They swept the first floor quickly, nothing much to see but papers scattered everywhere and old file cabinets. The second floor was a little harder, with the cubicles still up to obscure their view, but it gave Sophie more cover to breeze her way through the office.

She slid out of the shadows next to him, only her scent warning him in time. “Nothing.”

Eliot nodded, gave the message to the rest. “Second floor is clear. Moving up to three.”

He gestured Sophie to go ahead, followed close behind. The smell of the bakery next door was fading, leaving a musky office smell of dust and stale air, but no vampires. No humans either.

“Nate, I’m getting nothing. No vampires, but no humans either. Are you sure this is the right building?”

There was a loud high pitched squeal through the comms and Nate’s reply was lost in a groan of pain and surprise. Eliot pulled the earbud from his ear and threw it to the floor, the squeal still audible.

Sophie did the same thing, and that’s when Eliot knew they were in trouble. “Get out, get out now!”

His shout traveled down the stairwell, but he knew it was too late. Whoever had set the trap--and Eliot put his money on Sterling--was organized and had eyes and ears on the building. Within seconds of their comms spiking, iron blinds clattered down in front of all the windows, the doors automatically locked, the lights shut off.

They were left in total darkness.

“Eliot?” Sophie’s voice came from close behind him. He reached out and fumbled for Sophie’s hand. She chuckled a little nervously. “Shadows I love, complete darkness is problematic. Can you see?”

“Yeah, just follow me, and stay close.”

They picked up Hardison and Parker on the second floor. Parker was unfazed, if a little irritated. “So it was a trap. Bummer.”

Eliot rolled his eyes. “That’s all you have to say? Bummer? We’re trapped, Parker, someone trapped us in here and if I had to wager a guess, I’d say Sterling.”

Sophie huffed. “He’s the only bastard that has anything to gain from locking us up in here. Blackpoole and Kadjic don’t even know who we are and that we’re here.”

Hardison was shaking his iPad, muttering to himself. “They cut off the signal. It’s the metal, nothing is coming through.”

Eliot nudged Sophie forward down the stairs, gesturing to Parker and Hardison to follow her. Nate was waiting for them downstairs. From the dim glow of Nate’s cell phone, Eliot could see his knuckles were scraped and his hair in disarray. “I tried to open the doors, but they’re locked and bolted.”

Eliot sniffed the air, struggling to sort out the scents from the smells from the bakery. “Humans--some might be spawn, though. Did you see anything?”

Nate shook his head in denial, just as his cell phone rang.

Hardison let out a surprised, “Huh”, before taking the phone from Nate and syncing it with his iPad. He tapped a few buttons, handed the phone back to Nate. “The signal is coming from inside the building, or maybe the building next door, but I can’t track it. It’s bouncing around from spot to spot. There has to be some kind of magnifier somewhere.”

He started looking around, holding up his iPad against walls and windows, while Eliot glanced back to Nate. “Pick up.”

Nate connected the call and hit the speaker phone button. “Hello?”

“Hello Mister Ford, this is Alex O’Connell. I am very sorry that I couldn’t be there with you, but you will have to forgive me. I have more important things to do than entertain thieves.”

Eliot felt his stomach drop. Alex O’Connell? How could they have missed that? He seemed like such a decent, nice old man. And how did Hardison miss him coming up as a contact of The Core? He glared at Hardison, but Hardison was still trying to pick up the phone signal. Parker looked completely shell-shocked.

“The professor?” She turned to Eliot. “I told you we couldn’t trust him!”

Professor O’Connell chuckled on the other end of the phone. “Ah yes, Parker was it? I am very sorry to have fooled you, but I really do like your wonderful dog. She is gorgeous.”

Parker frowned, crouched down and wrapped her arms around Cookie, as if she was afraid the professor would reach through the phone and take her away. It pissed Eliot off, though he wasn’t really sure why. He had to fight to keep his tone level, “Why have you locked us in here, professor? Who are you working for?”

“Really, you just needed to be contained for a while to make sure you didn’t go after the sarcophagus yourselves. Jim Sterling doesn’t like it when people take things that are his, you should know that by now. He sends his regards by the way. Should I send him your well wishes back?”

Rage soared up through Eliot’s chest and he growled loudly. “Oh, I have something to send to that son of a b--”

“Eliot!” Sophie’s voice broke through the haze of anger, her hand soft but firm on his shoulder. “It’s no use, let it go. We’ll get him once we get out of here, don’t worry.”

“Well, that’s it for me! I will leave you in the company of a few very strong guards, just to make sure you don’t break out and interfere. They’ll let you out once the mummy is safely on the plane. Try to keep your necks away from them--if you value your life. Goodbye now.”

There was a knock on the door as soon as the professor had hung up. The scent of vampires forced its way through the smells from the bakery. “Vampires. They’re using vampires for guards.”

Hardison finally gave up searching for a signal, only to snort sarcastically. “Great. No phone signal, no internet signal and all the vampire hunters are in here. Now what? Any one of you psychically linked to anyone on the outside by chance?”

Eliot scowled. “You watch too much science fiction, man.”

“I’d like you to know that without science fiction--”

“Damnit, Hardison,” Eliot broke in, because this was not the time, “just shut up and find that receiver thing.”

“OK, first, a receiver can be small--very, very small--and this is a five story building. It could be anywhere--hell, it could be in the next building. They could even have moved it by now.”

“Well, there’s two Shadowless and several families of Shifters living in New York. So, either we find a way out of here or we need to figure out how to call--”

“Three.” Sophie interjected, “There’s three Shadowless living in New York, but one’s retired. I only hear about the naga who live on Staten Island, though. I’m guessing the rumors about the kumiho in the subway tunnels aren’t just rumors, then?”

“There are no Shifters in the tunnels, just mujina.” Eliot stacked his weapons in the corner, took his jacket off. Like it or not, he had no other options--as long as he was in his human form, his sense of smell wasn’t sharp enough. ”And kumiho are Walkers, not Shifters.”

“What’s a kumiho?” Parker seemed cheerfully oblivious to the gravity of the situation, “And what’s a mujina?”

“A kumiho turns into a fox, and a mujina is just plain nasty. They’re sort of like a badger, but way meaner.” Hardison waved his iPad around some more. “And nagas turn into snakes, except the ones in New York--uh, what are you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” Eliot finished stripping off his jacket and shirt, took a step towards the long counter that must’ve once served as a reception desk, ”I’m going to go looking for that receiver. If a vampire touched it and it’s here, I’ll find it.”

“Are you going to shift? Because wolves are cool!”

“Yeah, and keep that Hound over there, OK?” He slipped behind the counter, eyeing Cookie--he’d tangled with Hounds a few times before, and it’d always been in his true form.

“Parker, turn around.” Sophie gently, but firmly put an hand on Parker’s back.

There was a sudden snick, and the door behind Nate swung opened. Tara stood silhouetted in the doorway, a blade in either hand. She raised an eyebrow, “Spencer, why are you always half-naked whenever we meet?”

He stopped unbuckling his belt. “Because I was going to shift--what’re you doing here?”

“I finished--just a second.” Tara whirled, lashing out, her blades moving in a breathtaking blur as she decapitated the vampire who rushed up on her. She spun, kicked the falling body, and it fell into ash. SHe grinned. “New spawn are so predictable. I finished up in Baton Rouge, and came to Boston to see if you had started the party without me.” She spun both blades, slid them neatly into their sheaths. “Who is Chaos, by the way?”

“A hacker.” Sophie gestured towards the door, “Is that all of them? We still need to find Kadjic.”

“All seven. Five spawn, and two bloodsuckers who were actually worth my time.” Tara walked over, put a hand on Sophie’s shoulder, “And I killed Kadjic an hour ago--he was torturing your hacker.”

Eliot’d just slipped his jacket back on, stopped. He’d known Chaos hadn’t had a chance against The Core, but...

“Chaos is alive?” That was Nate, who was looking at the pile of ash with a strange expression.

“No.” Tara’s expression became sober, “Sorry, I had to kill him--he would’ve turned. He did give me the address of a hanger at some private airport. He said something about a sarcophagus?”

“OK, here’s what we’re going to do.” Nate straightened, looked at his watch, “Ian Blackpoole is flying in tonight at 10pm and its six minutes to eight. That gives us two hours to get to the hanger, secure the sarcophagus, and stop Ian Blackpoole.”

“And Alex, right?” Parker asked, “Because he double-crossed us.”

“And Alex O’Connell.” Nate clapped his hands together, “All right, let’s go steal us a mummy.”

The chauffeur uniform was cheap and scratchy, and Sophie wished they’d had time to get something more appropriate for her role. She couldn’t really complain, though. Hardison had been able to procure a uniform, information on the airport’s security, and IDs in a ridiculously short amount of time. Eliot had also borrowed the limo from a ‘contact’ and Sophie was still wondering about that. What sort of person willingly turned over the keys of their brand new limo to a bisclaveret?

She saw the private drive ahead, and pulled her thoughts back to the job--no, the hunt. Although this felt almost like the old days when she had been a grifter, and not a Shadowless. This particular airport was not only private, but very exclusive, catering to the socialites and wealthy of New York and New Jersey. Fortunately, the mayor of Jersey City happened to be flying out of this airport tonight and so they’d built their plan around that.

“We’re in.” Hardison’s voice was hushed, speaking softly into the comm. He and Parker were posing as electrical workers, so they could get access to the main control room for the airport.

She swung the limo onto the private drive, glancing in her rearview mirror at Nate, Eliot, and Tara, who were sitting together in the back. “OK. I’m approaching the security gate now.”

She rolled to a stop the security booth, hit the button for the window. and pulled out her ID. She’d prepared her speech carefully, peppered with just a few hints that the mayor was in a rush;now she just had to convince the guard--

Who had already raised the bar.

She looked at the security guard and he gave her a bored wave, never even looking directly at her or her carefully forged ID. She hit the button for the window and drove into the airport. “Unbelievable. Doesn’t he realize that anybody could just waltz right in?”

“Stick to the plan, Sophie.” Nate’s voice was dry, but there was something--

She glanced in the rearview mirror again. There it was again--that spark of the old Nate, the one who’d chased her through Europe and most of the Ukraine, and that one very memorable escapade in Nepal...

“Turn left here,” Tara directed, “looks like its the last hanger n the right.”

Sophie turned left, pulled up and parked one hanger down from the one they were really interested in. She took the keys out, already wrapping the shadows deeper around the limo.

“Hardison?” Nate frowned, “I need the cameras turned off now.”

“Hold your horses, I’m working on it.” Hardison’s voice sounded harried, “Billy Joe Bob the security guard wanted to talk my ear off. All right, shutting the security cameras down now. And--OK, really? That’s your idea of ‘security’? Nate, the locks for the hangers are not only electrical, they are controlled from here--you can walk into any hanger you want. The airport is practically yours.”

“Shut up, Hardison,” Eliot snapped out, “and unlock the hanger.”

“Already done. But I’m telling, you guys should see some of the stuff that’s in these other hangers, I’m talking there’s some major--”

“Let’s go.” Nate got out, and Sophie hit the button to pop the trunk, got out as well.

She, Tara, and Eliot armed themselves while Nate slipped a large amulet around his neck, reached for the mahogany case he’d placed in the trunk earlier.

He opened the case now and Eliot’s eyes widened, “Is that--”

“Yes, an Elisha revolver.” Nate strapped on a holster, and loaded the revolver with six bullets.

Sophie had heard of Elisha revolvers, though she had never actually seen one. The official story was Samuel Colt had been given a government contract to produce his famous Colt revolver.What most people didn’t know was that during the Civil War, a foreman for the Colt company had also made a dozen revolvers for the army, revolvers that used regular bullets, but could kill monsters. Nobody knew how Elisha Root had managed it and he’d taken the secret to his grave in 1865.Only three of his revolvers still existed.

“Well stay behind me anyway.” Eliot sniffed the air, as he began moving cautiously towards the hanger. “There’s at least a dozen vamps in there and none of them are freshly spawned.”

She noticed it again, there was anger behind Eliot’s words, raw and personal. She’d heard a million rumors about Eliot Spencer--most of the rumors said he was older than even the Hawkes, that he’d been a soldier once. Some said he’d fought in the Civil War, others swore it’d been the Revolutionary War. Everybody said something bad had happened to his family, but nobody seemed to know exactly what.

She fell in beside him, keeping her voice casual, though inwardly curiosity was gnawing at her. “You don’t like vampires much.”

Eliot gave a low bark of mirthless laughter, “Doesn’t matter, does it? No matter how many I destroy, it won’t change things--or bring my wife back.”

That brought her up short. She glanced over her shoulder at Nate, but from the pain in his eyes, she could tell Eliot’s comment had stirred up memories of Maggie.

Tara was slightly ahead of them, she signaled them to silence and pulled the shadows deeper around their small group. They edged closer to the hanger door, and Tara crouched, put up her hand and nodded to Sophie. They’d hunted together so long Sophie knew what Tara was thinking even if she didn’t say it out loud.

On the count of three.

Tara raised one finger, then two, then three--

They pushed the shadows towards the hanger doors together--and the darkness swirled and hit the doors hard, hard enough to blow the large doors open. Sophie pulled her blades, and ran in, slashing. The first vampire’s head went rolling and the body crumpled to ash. She turned, but not fast enough as a second vampire slammed into her.

“Die, Shadowless! Die!”

She went down, head slamming hard against the concrete, sliced up through sheer instinct--

One blade caught the monster’s shoulder, the other blade cut clean through the neck. She rolled to her feet, but already two more were rushing her. She scrambled back, grimacing because the last vampire’s claws had sliced into her arm. She didn’t have time to see how bad, these vampires were powerful, a moving blur of fangs and claws. She danced to her left, trying to find opening, any weakness--

Eliot caught her eye.

Sophie nodded and circled, moving closer towards him. He saw his chance, thrust out, overreaching with his katana. One of the vampires took the bait, slashed at his exposed side. Sophie cut the vampire’s head off at the same there was a loud crack! of a bullet. The other vampire’s head exploded into ash.

“A little help here!” Tara was being circled by three vampires. She was holding her own, but barely.

There were four other vampires left, and they moved in unison, blocking Sophie and Eliot from reaching Tara.

One of them grinned, “Tonight, you die, Shadow--”

There was another crack of a bullet, and the vampire’s last word was lost as its head exploded into ash.

Sophie spun, both blades out, and Eliot was already there, following her lead. She lured the second vampire towards her, and he cut it down with his katana. Then the other two rushed them, and Sophie swept in low, her blades slicing through their legs, leaving it to Eliot to administer the coup de grâce..

Both fell into ash.

A bullet took out the one of the vampires that was circling Tara.

Tara swung her blade out, decapitated another ad the last vampire threw its hands up, “I surrend--”

Sophie let her blade fly free and the vampire’s head bounced off the hanger wall as its body fell into ash. She took a deep breath, looked down at her arm, Three deep gashes. And the back of her head and one elbow hurt where she’d smacked the concrete. “Ow.”

Tara wiped her hand against a bloody scratch on one cheek--and then whirled, blades up as a golf cart drove up, with a luggage cart in tow.

“Wheee!” Parker jumped off the golf cart, “That was fun!”

Hardison got off as well and Cookie, who was sitting in the luggage cart, whined. He shook his head, “No, sorry, Cookie, ride’s over.” Cookie laid down, and gave him a sad look and Hardison threw his hands out, “OK, that? Is seriously not fair. You are a Hound, you can’t pull the whole big puppy-eyes on me.”

Nate holstered the revolver, and gestured at the long tarp-covered object in the middle of the hanger. “Can we please focus here?”

“Sorry, man. It’s just I’m a Medjay, I’m used to working alone.” Hardison glanced at Parker, and hastily amended, “I mean not that all of you ain’t cool or that I don’t like hanging out with you, but I’m a creature of habit.”

Tara turned away from a large toolbox by the wall “Here--I found a crowbar.”

Eliot took it, while Nate and Hardison pulled the tarp off. The sarcophagus was solid stone, elaborately carved. Sophie fetched the lighter fluid and gas can from the trunk of the limo and Eliot shoved, wedged the edge of the crowbar’s claw under the lid, “Ready? On the count of five--”

He counted, then put his muscle into it, and the lid lifted with a low grinding noise. The rest of them shoved, and the lid began to slide over, one inch, then two inches, and then finally it began to move--

“It’s not there!” Parker gasped. “They took the mummy!!”

For a moment they stood staring down at the empty sarcophagus in stunned silence. All except Nate, who crossed his arms, and pursed his lips.

“Nate?” Sophie looked over at him, “What is it?”

“Tara?” Nate turned his eyes towards her, “Kadjic. You said you tracked him down--where was that?”

“An old ironworks foundry in Cold Spring. Why?”

“Ironworks.” Nate rocked back on his heels. Then he gave a low, dry chuckle. “Of course--fire. The information about Iran, the plane times, it was all to throw us off. They don’t need to go to Iran to do the ceremony, if they have an old foundry, The Core has a perfectly good fire temple right here in New York!”

Nate slapped his hand on the sarcophagus, “How did we know about the ceremony? How did we know they need to do it during the winter solstice? How did we know about the resurrection?”

Parker frowned, confused, looked at Eliot. “Um, Professor O’Conn--”, her face cleared with realization, “the professor told us all of that!”

“Exactly! And it’s all a lie! Well, not all of it--there’s ceremony and a fire temple and a resurrection. But the time and the place, that was to get us out of the picture.”

Sophie could see Nate was brimming with adrenaline and she smiled to herself. Nate was a brilliant man with brilliant plans and his brain was something to be afraid of--when it was used against you.

She was confident that Nate’s brain would help them get the mummy back, and stop the ceremony now. “Okay, let’s get our things and get to the foundry. Tara, do you have the address?”

Tara nodded, but Hardison cut her off before she could give it to Nate. “Um, guys? I don’t mean to be a killjoy, but we have problems coming.”

“Problems?”

“Blackpoole. His private plane is taxiing to its hangar as we speak. The hangar next to this one to be exact. He is going to be here any minute now.”

Nate held up a hand. “Let me think for a second. We can’t let him go, we need to take him out Sophie, can you get him off the plane?”

She nodded, straightened her clothes. “I’m sure he’s got a driver showing up soon and I’m already dressed for the part.”

“Good, good. Hardison, find out who the driver is and cancel him. Eliot, you take out Blackpoole and secure him in the limo. We’re taking him with us. Parker, you and Tara make sure everything is cleaned up here and meet us at the car.”

Tara and Parker headed back to the hangar to deal with the mess from the earlier fight, with Cookie bounding behind them. Nate, Hardison and Eliot followed Sophie back to the limo. She got in, waited until the Hardison and Eliot were seated in the back and Nate had settled in the passenger seat, then drove the limo to the back of the hangar, parked.

Hardison checked his iPad for the phone number of the limo company from which Blackpoole had ordered his car and gave the number to Sophie.

“Crown Limo, how may I help you?”

“Yes, hello, this is--”, she looked at the iPad Hardison held out to her, “Victoria Warden, assistant to Mister Blackpoole. I am calling to cancel his reservation. Mister Blackpoole will not be flying in today.”

“Do you have a reservation number, ma’am?”

“Yes, it’s 674865.”

“All done, have a nice day, Miss Warden.”

Sophie hung up, smiled at Hardison. “What time is Blackpoole arriving?”

“The plane should be rolling in right about now. Parker?”

“I can’t see it from here, hang on.” Sophie could hear Parker’s light footsteps skittering across the hangar floor, before her voiced carried over the comms again. “It’s turning into the hangar now.”

“Okay Sophie, do your thing.”

Nate made an aborted move to put his hand on hers and for a second, Sophie was warmed. It was a sweet gesture and it was nice to know he still cared for her in that way, but right now, she needed her head straight to make sure she didn’t blow their cover. She started the engine, drove them to Blackpoole’s hangar in silence.

Eliot pressed the button to roll down the backseat window a little so he could sniff the air. “Just humans. Well, besides dead vampires and the lingering scent of an ancient mummy.”

Sophie could see Hardison making a face at Eliot through the rearview mirror. “Real nice, man, poetic almost.”

Eliot scowled. “You’re not the one smelling it, so shut up.”

She pulled up in front of the hangar, parked again, and turned off the engine. There was no movement inside the hangar, just the small private plane sitting there. They couldn’t see the cockpit, but Sophie trusted Eliot and even if they did turn out to be vampires--or Blackpoole had more vampire guards with him--she knew how to deal with those.

It would be a lot easier if they could do this without more vampires though.

“Okay, here we go. Eliot, cover Sophie. If Blackpoole has any guards with him, take them out. Sophie, you just have to get Blackpoole out of the plane and off the steps, Eliot will do the rest.”

Hardison handed her his phone. “Blackpoole’s number, all you need to do is dial.”

She nodded, took a deep breath. Blackpoole was a lot smarter than the security guard working the gate earlier, but then again, he wasn’t expecting anyone to sabotage him here either. And she was the best grifter around, with a bisclaveret covering her.

She got out, straightened her jacket, walked to the plane. She dialed the number Hardison had put in his phone. It rang three times before Blackpoole picked up.

“Ian Blackpoole.”

“Crown Limo, Mister Blackpoole. Your ride is waiting outside.”

“Ah yes, I’ll be out in a minute.”

Sophie hung up the phone, pocketed it. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Eliot taking up position under the belly of the plane. He nodded at her and she smiled back. They were ready.

The steps of the plane slowly folded out to the ground, revealing the door. For a few long moments, nothing happened, but then the figure of a man appeared in the doorway. It wasn’t Blackpoole, but a guard. A quick glance at Eliot confirmed Sophie’s suspicion--not a vampire, just human. The guard made his way down the stairs, followed by yet another guard, and then Blackpoole.

Sophie nodded at the security detail, smiled at Blackpoole pleasantly. Kept her face impassive as she watched Eliot slip behind the steps, just as the guards did a quick visual sweep of the hangar and the path to the car. The first guard nodded at Blackpoole and he started walking towards her.

Just as he passed his two guards, Eliot sprang out from behind the plane steps, took out one guard with a quick snap kick, and the other with a elbow to the chest . Blackpoole spun around at the ruckus just in time to see his second bodyguard go down. He yelled, but Eliot was on him in a flash. He wrapped an arm tightly around Blackpoole’s neck, squeezed. Sophie saw Blackpoole’s face turn bright red, before his body sagged, out cold.

Eliot threw Blackpoole over his shoulder, carried him hastily to the limo. “Pop the trunk, there’s duct tape in there.”

Hardison was already waiting to help, so Sophie got in the driver’s seat and started the engine. The trunk slammed shut and Eliot and Hardison got in, closely followed by Tara and Sophie.

“Taped up?”

“Taped up and going nowhere. Let’s go.”

The West Point Foundry was an old iron foundry building in Cold Spring, about an hour’s drive outside of the city. It was a huge brick building, situated next to a spring with the only entrance via a wooden bridge. Sophie couldn’t see any guards outside, but she had no doubt there were more than a few inside.

There was smoke coming out of the tower on top already, and she cursed. “We’re too late, they started already.”

“They needed the mummy to complete the ceremony, and they wouldn’t start the resurrection without Blackpoole.” Nate didn’t sound too sure, but she knew she needed to believe it was true. Or else they had lost already.

“All right, here’s the plan. Sophie, you and Tara use the shadows of the building to your advantage and kill the vampires standing guard. Eliot, you and Hardison go in after them and stop the ceremony.”

“How? We have no idea what they’re doing exactly. I mean, easy enough if they’re just reciting incantations and spells, but what if they have freaky stuff?”

Eliot rolled his eyes at Hardison. “Freaky stuff? What are you, five? We’ll just go in and see what’s what. It’ll be fine.”

“What about me?” Parker looked at Nate expectantly.

Nate smiled at her. “I need you to steal back the cylinder.”

Anger flashed across Parker’s features and she nodded. “Let’s go kick some vampire butt then!”

Sophie shook her head with a small smile, got out of the car. She caught Nate’s eye, “Are you bringing the Elisha?”

“Yes.” Nate filled the chamber of the gun with bullets, cocked it. “Just in case there are any nasty surprises.”

When everyone was armed and ready to go, Eliot and Hardison checked the trunk was properly locked, covered the limo with branches to shield it from curious eyes, and they took off towards the building. The trees didn’t give them much of a cover for anyone looking out, but Sophie made sure to cloak herself in the shadows as she dashed towards the building, as fast as she could. She heard Tara do the same to her left and Eliot to her right, with Nate and Hardison following close behind. Parker and Cookie were circling to the side of the building, looking for a tree to climb, so she could reach the roof, sneak in from above.

The door to the foundry was heavy, but Eliot heaved, with Hardison helping, pulling it open enough for Tara and Sophie to slip through. As soon as they were in, four vampires were on top of them. Sophie ducked away from swinging claws, punched the vampire in the side, and kicked his feet from under him. He went down, hard, Sophie’s dagger slicing through his neck smoothly. The second vampire came at her, teeth bared. She sidestepped him, hit him on the temple with the back of her blade, pushed him towards Tara, who cut his head off with her blade in the same sweeping motion she cut off the head of a third vampire.

Sophie saw a flash of teeth, “Tara, duck!” She whirled, just in time to jam her dagger in the vampire’s throat. Tara shot back up, slicing right through the soft flesh. The head dropped to the floor,

Sophie pulled her dagger back, kicked the body to ash. “It’s clear.”

The narrow entrance was dark, only lit by two single torches on either side of the door. Barely visible was the ancient iron walkway that wrapped around the outer wall of the building, going both left and right.

Eliot slipped through, whispered in Sophie’s ear. “Parker’s cleared the building, Nate’s behind us. Go.”

Sophie nodded, took a dagger in either hand, caught Tara’s eye. She gestured for Tara to take the right passage, she’d take the left. Eliot pulled Hardison inside, followed by Nate. The walkway was rusty and old, but the shadows muffled her footsteps and movement so she could make her way around the big chimney in front of the entrance, and out to the factory floor.

They were two stories up, and the big open space below them flooded with torches and candles. There were at least a dozen vampires and just as many humans standing around a big stone altar, covered with a red silk drapery. Sophie recognized most of the vampires and people from Hardison’s overview of Core members, including the man chanting an old incantation.

“Victor Dubenich.”

Nate hummed in response. “I saw him. He’s Blackpoole’s right hand man.”

She moved further down the walkway, until she caught movement. There was a female vampire standing at the far end of the walkway, but she hadn’t noticed Sophie yet. The vampire was staring at the proceedings downstairs with interest, and Sophie took advantage of the distraction. She sped towards the vampire, cut off the head before it’d even noticed she was there. Spun and caught the head, before it could thump to the walkway. The head and body dissolved silently into ash.

There were stairs at the end, leading down to the floor, guarded by two more vampires. She took them out in one fluid motion, she crouched down at the bottom of the stairs, sized up the room. Everyone was standing by the large altar, about seventy feet away. They were chanting the incantation together, Victor Dubenich holding Archie’s cylinder in one hand and a golden bowl in the other.

“Two upstairs and one down here. You?” Tara dropped down next to Sophie, their shadows blending together, shrouding them both.

“One upstairs and two down here. Eliot, Hardison, where are you?”

Eliot’s voice was hushed when he responded. “Making our way down the stairs on our end. We got a few more vamps. Parker?”

“Waiting by the skylight. Killed five vampires on my way here. Let me know when I can jump.”

“Nate?”

Nate sounded muffled when he whispered his reply. “Inside the chimney. I have a window with a good view of the altar and Dubenich. I don’t see the mummy. I count at least twenty people, both vampires and humans. We can’t take them all out without being noticed. Tara, Sophie, you’ll be the surprise attack from the back. Eliot, Hardison, take position at the side exits, I’ll take the front. Parker, drop down when I say so and keep Cookie at the ready. It’s gonna be ugly people, but we can do this. Keep an eye out for each other and leave Dubenich for me.”

Sophie murmured an affirmative and gripped her daggers tightly. She felt Tara by her side, felt Eliot and Hardison move away to take position, and took a deep breath. “Ready, Nate.”

Suddenly, the chanting stopped and the foundry went quiet. Sophie stilled, rose up slightly to see what was happening, gasped. Alex O’Connell was being led to the altar, blindfolded, by two vampires. They helped him lie down on the altar, the silk of his blindfold the same deep red as the alter cover. He didn’t appear to be in distress, and Dubenich set down the cylinder and replaced it with a small knife that he pressed against the professor’s neck.

He raised his gaze up. “We bring you this sacrifice as a token of our respect and admiration. This man offers you his life and blood of his free will.”

Alex O’Connell’s voice rang out clear and steady. “I do.”

“We ask you to grant us with your power and light, your grace and wisdom, your presence.”

Dubenich’s knife slid easily through the professor’s neck, blood flowing out immediately. He pressed the cup to the professor’s neck, catching the thick blood, stirring it with the knife. The professor gurgled, jerked, coughed wetly and Sophie closed her eyes for a second. He was one of the bad guys, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed watching him die. Had they stopped the ceremony, they probably would have had to kill him anyway, but that didn’t make her feel any better. She took a steadying breath, before nudging Tara.

It’s time.

Tara nodded, she was ready to put an end to this too.

“On three.”

Tara nodded, rose to a primed position.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

Sophie was off and running in a flash. She pushed the shadows out and around her, using the blast to separate the crowd. She heard Nate yell to Parker to drop, “Now!” and glass shattered above them. Parker and Cookie dropping right in the middle of them and everyone else in the room scattered--right into Eliot’s katana and Hardison’s machete. Cookie growled, biting and shredding, Parker feeding the Hound vampires and humans alike.

The shadows created confusion, knocked people off their feet, giving her time to cut off one head, two, then three. Sophie narrowly avoided a kick to the head, dodged a sword swipe, rolled. She pushed herself up, plunged her daggers deep into a vampires chest, ducking below Tara’s swinging blade. A growl from behind jerked her up; she swung the decapitated body around and into the charging vampire. Pulled the daggers out. She stabbed one into the vampire’s heart, used the other to slice his head off.

She pulled the shadows back in, cloaked herself, took in her surroundings. Dead bodies and decapitated heads scattered around the floor, Eliot was ripping a man’s throat out, while Hardison swung his machete through two vampires, Cookie ripped an arm from a woman on the end of Parker’s taser. Tara slit through the neck of her last vampire, covered in blood like all of them.

And Nate had Victor Dubenich at gunpoint. “Hello, Victor.”

Dubenich was staring at him with obvious shock on his face. Nate couldn’t have planned it better. The floor of the foundry was covered in dead bodies, blood and heads and ash. The Core had been destroyed, crushed. All that was left was Victor Dubenich and Ian Blackpoole.

“Wh-Who are you?”

He smiled calmly. “I am Nate Ford, and I’m here to stop you from destroying the world. No mummy, no resurrection, no treasure of Nimrod and no powers.”

Dubenich laughed nervously. “Blackpoole will stop you, you won’t get away with this!”

“We will, you’ll see. I happen to know Blackpoole is currently tied up somewhere else. Some place he can’t get away and help you out of this jam. It’s over, Dubenich, give it up.”

Dubenich paled, “No. No, you’re lying. It can’t be over.”

“Oh but it is. Give up, Victor, you’re done. Hand me the cylinder.”

Dubenich raised his hand, the hand with the cylinder. “No! You’ll never get this!” He slammed the cylinder on the altar, crushing it under his palm.

Parker screamed, “No!”, ran up, and kicked Dubenich’s feet from under him. Cookie flung herself on him, her huge front paws,landing on his chest. She barked in his face once, and then bit down on his neck. Blood squirted from between her jaws and Victor went still.

Parker scooped up the broken pieces and dust of the cylinder from the altar, let it fall back with a sob. “No. No, no, no!”

She looked up at him, tears in her eyes, and Nate felt a stab of guilt go through him. He’d made a promise to Parker, and he’d broken it. They’d stopped the resurrection, but at what cost?

He lowered his gun. “Parker, I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, crouched down and buried her face in the Hound’s fur. Sophie knelt down to rub Parker’s shoulder and Nate sighed and holstered his revolver. He was gonna have to make this up to her, big time.

Hardison was the one to break the tense silence that hung between them. He thumped Eliot on the shoulder, “See, I told you they had freaky stuff!”

“Damnit, Hardison!” Eliot stomped off irritated, wiping his katana on his coat, then froze. “Damien.”

Nate turned--and froze, too. Damien Moreau.

He was standing on the walkway, looking down with a sinister smile, flashing his fangs. “Eliot.”

Nate watched Eliot’s face shift from surprise to shock to anger to sadness and everything in between. Eliot’s hands were balled into tight fists at his sides, his eyes glued to the vampire, his breath shallow. He knew Eliot was just a fraction of a second away from charging Moreau.

When Eliot spoke, it was low, threatening,“What’re you doing here?”

“Oh, just picking up something that belongs to me.”

Nate realized he was talking about the cylinder. “You’re too late, Moreau. Dubenich destroyed it. You can’t resurrect Tammuz.”

Moreau’s gaze shifted from Eliot to Nate. His smile turned even crueler, and Nate had to struggle to keep his face passive. He didn’t know what history Eliot and Moreau had, but judging from Eliot’s tense stance, he guessed Moreau was the vampire responsible for the death of Eliot’s wife.

“And you are?”

“Nate Ford. I am a friend of Eliot’s.”

“Really? A friend of Eliot’s?”

Eliot growled low at Moreau’s mocking tone, his entire body vibrating with contained anger and tension.“Get out before I make you, Damien. You have no business here.”

“Actually, I do. And it’s not some silly cylinder, or resurrection.”

A door slammed. “Hello Nate.”

Nate gritted his teeth, turned to face Sterling. “Sterling. I should have known.”

Sterling smirked, stepped onto the factory floor. He pointed a gun at Nate’s head, started making his way towards the altar. “No funny business, Nate, I’m just taking something from the mummy.”

Behind Sterling, Parker made a move towards them, but Nate caught her eye and shook his head. Whatever Sterling wanted, it wasn’t worth any of their lives. They’d stopped the resurrection, they’d killed the members of The Core.

“The mummy isn’t here.”

Sterling laughed. “Oh Nate, you daft puppy, you. Of course it is here, how else were we gonna resurrect it?”

Sterling made his way over to the altar and pushed the dead body of the professor off it. Nate winced as it fell to the floor with a sickening thud, but Sterling didn’t bat an eye. Sterling kept the gun trained at Nate’s head, while pushing off the top of the alter with his other hand. Dust lifted from inside the altar, the dusky smell of the mummy filling all their noses. Sterling reached in and took something--Nate couldn’t see what--from inside with the mummy.

“What are you doing, Sterling?”

“Just taking what I need, Nate, nothing to worry your head about. Ta ta.”

Sterling made his way back to the entrance of the foundry, with Moreau following. Just before he disappeared, he turned back to Nate. “ “Thank you for the ride, by the way, it will be nice to ride back to the city in a limousine. And I’ll let Mister Blackpoole ride shotgun, what do you think?”

And then he was gone.

Nate couldn’t help but curse loudly. They’d gotten played, right up until the end, and he should have seen it. “Damn it!”

Sophie rose at Parker’s side and voiced the question they were all asking silently. “What did Sterling just steal?”

Nate sighed. “I don't know, but we're going to find out and stop him. Him, Blackpoole,” He glanced at Eliot who was still standing there, fists clenched in rage, “and Moreau.”

It was another promise--but one that, this time, he would find a way to keep.

IX. Epilogue

Yea, I make my claim on thee that I may overwhelm the angry hate of haters, of the Daevas and of mortals, of the sorcerers and sirens, of the tyrants, and the Kavis, of the Karpans, murderous bipeds, of the sanctity-destroyers, the profane apostate bipeds, of the wolves four-footed monsters, of the invading host, wide-fronted, which with stratagems advance.
~from the Gathas (Hymns of Zarathushtra), trans. L. H. Mills

Eliot stared out through the window at the highway, mentally gaging when exactly the sun would rise from the streaks of light in the sky. He caught Nate and Sophie exchanging a look, dragged his attention back to his meal. After being on his own so long, it felt odd to have people concerned for him. He shot them both an 'I'm fine' smile and took a swallow of coffee.

Then he did a quick check of the diner, sniffing the air--more out of habit than any real need. It was a bitterly cold February evening and the place was nearly empty. He couldn't imagine it was ever that busy--the diner was a relic from the 80s, still had gray and pink booth seats, and maroon-flecked linoleum, and hideous mauve lamp shades.

Parker shoved the last bite of pancakes in her mouth, mumbled something unintelligible.

"Parker, swallow before you talk." Sophie rolled her eyes, then rolled them again when Hardison started the jukebox up and music wailed fuzzily from its speakers. "Really, Hardison? Country?"

"It's not country, it's Lorena. It's a Civil War song." Hardison slid into the booth, glanced at Parker's empty plate. He shoved his own half-eaten pancakes her way, looking askance when she immediately poured more syrup on them. "Seriously, am I the only one at this table who has ever opened a history book?"

"It's not a Civil War song," Eliot pointed out, "it was written before the war."

"That's right, hon. It was written way back in 1856." The waitress was a pretty brunette in her thirties, with curves that no waitress uniform could hide. She gave him a too friendly smile as she refilled coffee cups, "My granddaddy used to sing it all the time." She handed Eliot a scrap of paper with her number on it and walked off, her hips swinging.

"Can we please focus here?" Nate slipped a flask out of his jacket, added a healthy shot of whiskey to his coffee, "The sun is almost up."

"Oh!" Parker gave them a cheerful smile, "And then we get to kill the bloodsuckers!"

"Damnit, Parker," Eliot slammed his coffee cup down, "keep your voice down."

"Don't worry, Nate, we got this." Hardison waved his fork, loaded with eggs, at Nate. "Moreau's not getting away, not this time."

Sophie laid a comforting hand on Eliot's arm as soon as Hardison said 'Moreau'. He turned his head towards her, breathing in her scent, distinct under her perfume. Although it'd been more than a hundred and fifty years since he'd rejected clan law and his rightful place as the second of his pack, this felt no different. Sophie was the mate of their alpha, even if Nate had not yet chosen her. That made Sophie and him the pack's chosen hunters, and closer than brother and sister.

Eliot took another swallow of his coffee, let her touch steady him as he glared over the table, "Just finish your breakfast, OK?"

Most people would've flinched, but Hardison merely smiled widely at him. "See? This is exactly what I'm talking about, You? Have some major anger issues which you need to--no, no way." Hardison plucked the syrup bottle out of Parker's hand. He shook his head when she started to protest,"Uh uh, no more sugar. Remember what Cookie did in Lawrence?"

"He's right, Parker." Sophie shuddered visibly. "No more sugar for you or your Hound."

Parker jutted her lip out, "But--"

"No." Sophie and Eliot said it at the same time.

Nate finished his coffee, tossed a couple of bills on the table, and stood up. "Sun's rising, Finish up, I'll meet you at the van." He made his way to the restrooms in the back and Eliot watched him go, looked back at the others..

Sophie spoke first, "I know, but he's trying, Eliot. He isn't a hunter, not like the rest of us."

"But he's, like, smart." Parker interjected, stuffing the last of the pancakes in her mouth. She started to speak, then hastily swallowed when Sophie gave her a look. "I mean, I know some stuff and you know some stuff, but Nate knows other stuff. Like, Important other stuff. Are we going to go kill the--" She made air quotes with her fingers "not-monster monsters now?"

Eliot sighed heavily, as he reached for his wallet. Having a Hawke around was useful, but sometimes...

Sophie was not impressed with Marion, New Mexico. The town was thirty minutes from the diner, but might as well have been in another century. There was a small huddle of adobe and brick buildings along the main road, but nothing was open, and from the weed-choked sidewalks and rusted signs, nothing was likely to be open in the future.

Still, Marion was worth checking out, even though it was a long shot. Nate's source had heard a rumor from her sources, and at this point, every rumor was worth checking out.

It took them three minutes to drive through 'downtown', cross over railroad tracks, and turn onto a caliche-packed country road. Hardison immediately started fussing as soon the van's tires hit the crushed limestone.

Eliot was riding shotgun, pulled his eyes away from the desert scrubland. "It's a van, Hardison, not a--ow!" He yelped when Parker punched him.

"Her name is Lucille," Parker sat down cross-legged between the driver seat and the passenger seat, "and you should be nicer to her."

Cookie dropped her favorite rubber pistol grip and tilted her head, looking at Parker and Eliot.

Sophie gave the Hound a comforting pat. "It's all right, Eliot is just being Eliot."

"Me?" Eliot twisted, "I'm not the one who is obsessed over a van--"

"Lucille." Parker and Hardison said, in unison.

"Fine, Lucille. It's still weird." Eliot grumbled, "You name horses, not cars."

"Newsflash, it's the twenty-first century." Hardison found the driveway, eased the van over the cattle guard, "Nobody rides around on Champion the wonder horse anymore."

Nate reached under his seat, pulled out the revolver case. "Did he just make a Roy Rogers reference?"

"Gene Autry. Roy Rogers rode Trigger." Hardison nosed the van into a small clump of cottonwood trees. He parked and shrugged, "My Nana, she loved her westerns."

Eliot snorted and got out, and Parker scrambled after him. Sophie opened the side door so Cookie could follow, then reached for her own weapons. She began rubbing them with myrrh and frankincense as she pulled the scant shadows to her. She sheathed her daggers, turned and surveyed the property.

In the middle of the property were two battered mobile homes, connected in an 'L'. That and some sagging electric poles and a listing mailbox were the only signs of civilization.

There'd been a ranch here once, but the place had been parceled off into pieces when the ranch had failed back in the 30s. It was now scrubland again--the crumbling remains of what had been the foreman's house and a few rusted pieces of a corral were all that was left. And of course, the line of cottonwoods choking the old acequias, the irrigation channels that criss-crossed the southwest--proof of how precious water had been in the days before electricity--and pumps.

A slight wind picked up, whirling dust at their feet. All Sophie could smell was the sharp scent of creosote bushes, but Cookie let out a growl, while Eliot wrinkled his nose, "Vampires--pretty big nest, but a lot are still spawn."

She heard the tension in his voice, put a hand on his arm, "All right, Nate and I will go through the front door."

"OK." He turned his head, breathed in her scent--which no longer struck her as odd--and gave his katana one more wipe, before tossing the rag in the van. "Let's go."

Sophie followed him cautiously across the desert, the hard-packed dirt crunching under her boots. She edged up the warped porch steps, checked.

The front door wasn't locked.

She pushed it open, was hit by the sickening sweet smell of death and the sound of buzzing flies. Definitely a vampires' nest. It only took a second for her eyes to adjust, see the three spawn sleeping on the filthy carpet. They were all teenagers, too young and too new to be able to wake during the daylight hours--she executed them, said a silent prayer to Mafdet, over their ashes.

She moved down the hall, Nate close behind. She found a den, the floor littered with sleeping bodies. She killed two more spawn, heard the crack of a bullet behind her. She continued beheading vampires, trusting Nate to have her back. There was another gunshot, then Parker and Cookie fell in beside her, helping.

Behind her, she could hear the sounds of fighting, more gunshots, and Eliot's low growl, the one he only used when he was pissed.

"Sophie! Watch out!" She left the last couple of vampires for Parker, and spun, her blades out.

She slashed down, but the vampire danced out of reach, grinning, revealing razor sharp fangs. "Is that all you got, Shadowless?"

She ducked in low, feinting with her blades, forcing him back--there was the sudden blur of a blade and Eliot's katana cleaved the vampire's head from it's body.

More vampires poured into the den, but they worked like a real team now, fluid, fast and unexpected; the vampires never stood a chance.

Sophie decapitated the last of them and silence filled the nest.

Eliot glanced over at her, and she shook her head at the unspoken question, “I’m afraid not, Eliot.”

He turned, “Parker?”

“No, nothing.”

He looked back at Nate, who sighed and holstered the revolver. "No."

Eliot raised his voice, “Hardison?”

A second later, Hardison appeared in the doorway. He shook his head, “Sorry man.”

Eliot cursed loudly, slamming a fist into the nearest wall “Damn it! He’s not here. He got away, again!”

Sophie laid a hand on his shoulder, calming him. “We’ll get him, Eliot, Moreau can’t be far off. We know he's in New Mexico , and we've wiped out all the other nests. He’s got nowhere else to go. It’s only a matter of time before we flush him out--and then he’ll be ours.”

Eliot turned his head, breathing in her scent. He nodded slowly, his grip loosening on his katana. “I know, thanks.”

Nate appeared on his other side and put a hand on Eliot’s other shoulder. “And we’ll be ready for him. He won’t get away again.”

The End