Lydia strode through the crowded city street, the sun blazing down from its zenith and warming the chill air. She was surrounded by people bumping and jostling and hurrying, and her stature had her struggling to find her path.

The cawing of seagulls mixed with the distant crash of waves and the rumble of cars, the chatter around her merging into white noise.

All she could see was people. Humans mingled with cloaked vampires and Sidhe whose hair colours were impossible, as well as everything else that just blended in. Every bump had her wondering if the other person was a ghoul in disguise.

It was best not to think about it.

The difference was stark compared to what she was used to. The only magi at the estate were human, and her schools had been mostly the same. At university, she hadn’t bothered noticing; she was too busy improving her magic, and nobody had wanted anything to do with her anyway.

She’d been to cities before, but none had been quite as wild as this one. Or perhaps the guards her mother always sent had deliberately led her to the least interesting places.

Either way, in the press of sweaty bodies milling in random directions, it was impossible to tell who was what.

Was it better that way?

She spotted the Nightcorp building, black and boxy and sinister, and felt a strange twinge in her gut.

Her previous visit hadn’t exactly been cordial.

She had been justified, though. Even if not directly, Nightcorp had been partly responsible for her sister’s disappearance, having let Crispley break away. She still remembered her frenzy.

Back then, the picture of her life had been her and Jess taking up the whole frame. Slowly, the borders had expanded, and now the spaces next to the two of them seemed hauntingly empty.

How was she supposed to fill them?

But already, a pair of faces had started invading the canvas, making stupid expressions next to her.

Of course, were this picture real, she’d have probably cropped them out.

One of those faces was standing in the Nightcorp doorway, dimples in her cheeks and her parasol rattling as she spoke excitedly to another vampire. 

Approaching, Lydia frowned when a bald man with a lined face and fluorescent jacket walked up to Hannah and pushed his face into hers.

Hannah tittered. “Hello! Have you come to hear about the virtues of Count-”

The man shoved her, eliciting a shriek as she fell back onto the hard paving, parasol floating to the ground. “No-one wants to ‘ear about yer bloody Count Dragula! Go home to Transylvania, ya monster.”

Hissing, Hannah scuttled back into the shade of the building’s doorway.

Lydia brushed past the man, scooping up the umbrella and holding it out as she squatted down in front of Hannah. “Will you tell me about Count Dragula?”

The girl’s eyes were moist, her arm shaky as she reached out to take her parasol. “What are you doing here?”

With a small smile, she said, “I decided to go for a walk. And what about you? Shouldn’t you be at Jack’s?”

Climbing to her feet, Hannah shook her head. “He told me I could have the day off, so I came to help here.”

“You’ve really taken to spreading the word of Dragula, haven’t you?”

She nodded fervently. “Of course! Dragula’s teachings apply to everyone, not just vampires, but they also-”

A sputtering sound erupted from behind Lydia. “What the bloody ‘ell are ya doin’? Don’t talk to it!”

Whirling round, she fixed a slicing glare on the man and harrumphed. “Well, why shouldn’t I?”

“It’s bloody disgusting! You’ve gotta mmph mmph!”

With a twisted smile, she reached out her senses, forcing the man’s jaw shut. “You know, every day I see particular human stains living off other people’s work, giving nothing back, and thinking that they’re special. Gambling. Drinking. Riding around on giant turtles-”

“Aren’t you talking about someone specific here?” said Hannah, stepping back into the sun.

Lydia shoved her finger in the stain’s face. “The point is that I can offer my kindness to anybody I like, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

The man stared at her, his eyes pressing from his skull. The stream of pedestrians had slowed, a ring of curious bystanders forming around them.

Jabbing her finger into his chest, she said, “do you understand?”

He nodded vigorously.

“Good boy. Now go.”

He scurried away, and the gathering dispersed as quickly as it had gathered.

“Thank you,” said Hannah, clasping both her hands onto Lydia’s.

That was strange. Her reflex was usually to recoil when touched by anyone but Jess and her father, already reaching for surrounding energies; instead, she felt an odd warmth creeping up her arm.

“Does this happen a lot?”

Hannah looked away. “Now and again.”

She furrowed her brow, casting her gaze to the imposing skyscraper before her. “Why don’t you tell somebody in there about it?”

“I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.”

“Why bother with idiots like that?”

“I meant the other vampires.”

Her face fell, realisation weighing down on her mind. The only trouble to be had was if they started a fight, which was, she noted, extremely likely when the other party believed themselves the one bastion of justice in the world.

How had she never seen this before?

Brushing a hand across Hannah’s cheek, she frowned. Touching others was different; she knew it was coming. “Then you can tell me.”

Hannah shifted uncomfortably. “Thanks. I’m gonna get back to work now, so…” She gestured to the other vampire, who was staring at them with an uncertain expression.

“Of course,” said Lydia, flashing a smile. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

As she turned to leave, a jovial cry rang out from a few feet away.

“Get your tits out, love!”

Craning her neck, she sneered at the group of three men leering at her from the kerb. They looked average, with gelled hair and puffer jackets and obnoxious aftershave. She couldn’t tell if they were adults or teens, but they were definitely old enough to know better.

Oh, well.

She was feeling generous.

“With pleasure,” she said, unzipping her leather coat and reaching into the front of her shirt.

Hannah stammered. “Uh, you’re not actually gonna do it, right?”

She withdrew her hand to produce a tiny blue bird, chittering away.

“I don’t think that’s what he meant by ‘tits’.”

“Oh, of course.” She reached back into her shirt. “Tits. It was plural, wasn’t it?” She removed another identical bird to join its brethren.

“How do they even survive in there?”

***

Her plush leather sofa devoured her, a moan escaping as she sank in.

It was in the middle of a large room, across from a giant television in front of a window that took up the whole wall. Behind her was a kitchenette, wide and sharp with a shimmering chrome counter separating it from the main room. Next to that was a hallway leading to the front door, a couple of doors along the wall leading to her bedroom and bathroom.

The walls were decorated with paintings donated by her mother; she wasn’t aware of her own generosity, though.

Outside the window was a panoramic view of the beach. The rippling waves were like a painting, the press of tourists like tiny figures on a game board. 

An ocean view was coveted anywhere. She’d had to buy the entire building just to get one, but as she looked at the infinite horizon, she considered it worthwhile.

It was also a family investment. The Blackwells had tried grabbing control of Blackpool many times, and always failed. So rather than try to crush rebellious elements - as her mother deemed proper - she had decided to win them over.

The start was housing. Shelter was a basic need, and therefore easy to exploit while convincing people she was doing them a favour. Capital and control. Once she had those, the city would be hers.

And soon after, the family.

Something sparked in the pit of her stomach as an invasive buzzing rang through the room. She cradled her head in her hands.

The reason for her aimless wander. The thought she’d been avoiding the entire morning.

Her fucking cousins were here.

They weren’t real cousins, of course - just magi adopted so they could be part of the Circle. Her mother insisted there be a bond, though, however strenuous.

“You can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family.”

Yeah, right. Wasn’t that exactly what she was doing?

Sighing, she plodded over to the door, pressing a button on a small screen set next to it.

Two faces popped up: a man and a woman. The man had round cheeks and a weak jaw, thick black hair falling in a mop; the woman was blonde, with sharp features, thin lips, and a serious expression.

“Lydia, darling,” said the man, rubbing his hands together, “let us in, wouldn’t you? It’s freezing out here.” 

The woman backhanded his chest, causing him to step back and grunt. “Stop being so casual with the Lady, Kenneth!”

Spluttering, he turned to her. “What does it matter, Zara? We’re all the same family, aren’t we?”

“She’s blood, and we’re adopted; it’s not hard to show the proper respect!”

He bristled. “I’ll show you respect.”

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”

Shaking her head, Lydia buzzed them in, putting her door on the latch.

They entered a couple of minutes later, dragging heavy suitcases behind them.

Kenneth was half a foot taller than her and portly, wearing a tailored charcoal suit with a mohair overcoat.

Zara was almost six feet, and dressed like a mannequin in a military surplus store.

Pushing past her with a smile, Kenneth clapped his hands together. “What a lovely place!” He noted the kitchen, walking over and opening the massive fridge.

She felt her eyelids twitching. Looking around, she found Zara had stolen her spot on the couch, kicking back with one leg crossed over the other.

She simmered. “What are you both doing? This is my house, not yours; why are you making yourselves at home?”

Withdrawing from the fridge with a slice of cake, Kenneth shrugged. “Family share, right?”

Like hell. That was her last slice of cake, an angelic creation from a bakery she’d found tucked away in an alley. 

“We’ll have to stay with you anyway,” said Zara, sliding her boots off. “For your protection.”

She stammered. “Why would I need you two to protect me? I own the building; find different rooms!”

Lolling her head back, Zara said, “it never hurts to have someone watch your back. We are at your command, my Lady.”

Her eyes widened, jaw clenching. “Well, obviously not, otherwise you’d obey my bloody command!” It was as she’d feared. Though they seemed well-meaning, they probably had orders to report everything to her mother. 

She found it ironic she hadn’t been sent a big brother, too.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” said Kenneth, taking a seat next to Zara.

“There’s only one bedroom!”

“We can all snuggle.”

Zara slapped him on the head.

She rubbed her brow. “Weren’t there supposed to be three of you?”

As though in answer, she heard the door swing open, despite the fact it had been locked. She turned to see a man stumbling in, tall and thin and dark, with silky hair and a handsome face. His shirt was buttoned wrong, and covered in red smears.

“Gary!” Zara bolted from her seat, pelting over and lifting him up by the collar. “Where have you been all night?”

“You know,” said Gary, a dreamy expression on his face, “out and about.”

She shook him. “Out and about, ma’am. Don’t forget that I’m your superior.”

Waving it off, Gary scoffed. “Oh, bugger off, you army reject. Are you sure you’re not in the wrong story? Did they have too many extras when you tried out for Full Metal Packet?”

“That’s enough,” said Lydia, grabbing Zara’s arm and forcing her to drop him. “I think you’re right, Zara. I do need a personal escort.”

“So, does that mean-”

“One person will suffice: I choose Gary.”

Slumping against the wall, Gary pointed at himself with pursed lips. “Me?”

She smiled. “Why, yes.” The state of his clothing told her all she needed to know; he was more interested in other activities than policing her.

Zara’s mouth hung open. “But-”

“No buts,” said Lydia, pulling her jacket from the back of the sofa. “You two can talk to the building manager and get your own rooms-” she glared at Kenneth - “while I do some business. I shall text you your assignments. Come.” She gestured to Gary, who scampered after her as she left.

Losing him would be easy: she just had to walk past somewhere with lots of pretty girls. Or boys. Then, she could…

She didn’t have anything to do.

Oh, well. She hastily scribbled out the faces that appeared in her mind, one hairy and grizzled and one grey and beaming; that wasn’t a choice she’d ever make.

But as her legs carried her in that direction anyway, she wondered if perhaps she didn’t have one.

She smiled.