Closing up before a mission was easy, since I’d gone through the process so many times. I stored anything I considered valuable in armored lock boxes, the kind made with material that could withstand a plane crash. I hid those within the many menacing spines of my cacti garden whenever I was gone. Months, even years, on the field was a possibility, so I treasured the peace of mind of knowing my journals would never be read.

The garden itself was a luxurious setup built directly beneath my residence, one I designed with a winding lighted path to tour the whole collection, set with an automatic watering system that tended to the plants whenever Jorman wasn't around. My newest addition, those little pots of Tephrocactus geometricus, moved from the cardboard box to an empty shelf raised behind a row of Hedgehogs that I'd prepared for the moment. I stood back to admire the tiered display and nodded in quiet satisfaction.

I forwarded a message to Jorman to let him know I'd be leaving for a while and tossed a few travel items into a backpack, holstering my pistol on my hip and tucking my stake into the pocket of my sweater. The sun was low to the horizon, almost dipped below the skyline by the time I sealed the house. I took one final look at the place to memorize the rust-colored light spilling over a desert landscape and felt some attachment to the place, before speeding off toward the highway in the direction of Nevada.

Outside the small town of Henderson, located near Nevada’s border, I pulled into a desolate self-serve gas station to refuel and found no other vehicles present. I noted plenty of shadows surrounding the empty lot, the perfect setup for my kind of work, so I left my credit card in the pay panel and locked the nozzle for auto-pump, slipping the stake out of my sweater.

I dragged the pointed tip along my wrist to draw blood for bait, allowing the subtle scents from the wound to waft in the breeze. The smell was too faint to catch human attention, but plenty to stir the hunger of any Category 1 undead creature within a half mile radius. I waited there, looking as helpless as I could manage, for about fifteen minutes, a lot longer than I needed to fill the tank. I even added a fake phone call with an elaborate shoe-tying moment in an attempt to stall longer.

My subtle shows of cleavage and soft sighs of frustration, along with frequent and nervous looks over my shoulder, failed to provoke vampire action. No predators appeared to take advantage of my obvious vulnerability.

Regardless of blaring instinct that it was only a matter of time before something went wrong here, I had to let it go and move on. It wasn't happening now, and I could add a note of the potential danger for future patrols anyway. I patched up the wound as I made a quick log of my coordinates over COM, marking the zone with an interest flag, before hopping back into the Mustang and heading north toward the lights of Las Vegas.

Steady driving through the night brought me to the town of Indian Springs forty minutes further north-west, the first hidden signal point to alert the agency that I was getting close for my return. Indicators hidden inside of Shelby’s frame pinged, verifying the identity of my vehicle to the secret compound watching my approach. A turn off of US-95 past Mercury Highway brought me to an unmarked coordinate and I veered off the road, driving straight into the dark desert.

To an outsider, I might've looked drunk or crazy, out there in the middle of nowhere taking sharp turns for no visible reason. However, each change of direction was with a purpose, since my pattern of movements provided points of confirmation to HQ that I was who I said I was. Correct completion ensured that my vehicle wouldn't be hit by a defensive missile along the way.

An hour after that, I reached a concealed mountain entrance, where I watched a cliff split open with a smooth transition to reveal a passageway leading into the agency's top secret facility. Security checked me and my vehicle over at the gates, clearing me to enter, amd I coasted through the twisting tunnels of the parking wing to reach my reserved spot on the star level.

I went straight to Medical once I was inside for a scheduled intake, completing a series of routine physicals and intensive scans to confirm that I was in working condition. Hunters I'd known throughout my tenure--and basically, my entire life, including childhood--along with other agency staff, greeted me when I was done, welcoming me back to the fold. As I walked through familiar halls and passages back to my private quarter I returned their subtle nods and signals of approval along the way. That was their quiet indication to me that they knew why I'd been called back from my vacation, even though the news wasn't official--or cleared for common knowledge. Some friendly admin had spilled the news, out of passionate indignation with the situation and a long friendship with we, the hunters. I showered and set out to change as soon as I was inside, finding my clothes pressed and ready to wear.

The female agency base uniform was a dark gray jacket with a choice of skirt or trousers, along with a crisp white shirt and a coordinating neck tie. My sleeve was patched with the star, eagle, and four stripes designating my department and rank within the U.S. government's top secret Immortal Affairs Division, and my breast was adorned with the various pins I'd earned throughout my service. The accessories symbolized a lifetime of sacrifice and merit.

I went through the motions of dressing and tying my hair into a regulation tight, professional bun, finding the routine comforting as I eased back into a life I understood that existed far away from fragile human normalcy. After each pin was polished and placed in correct order from date of issue, I locked a slim black band, the COM field device, onto my wrist, engaging the agency's secure communications network, utilizing technology far advanced to anything available to civilians. The holographic display projected a glowing set of letters and numbers that served as my hunter’s tag, HL21-31-7677, and an automated message welcomed me back into the fold.

A ping from the admiral's office arrived as soon as I'd activated. I projected the memo to a hologram and noted the time and place arranged for my meeting with the director of the agency. Wasting no time, I reported to the admiral at the scheduled hour, completing another series of security checks to gain a higher level of clearance. Once I was inside the war room I noted I was the only one there, which meant no other hunters were joining me on the mission.

The admiral was a former decorated military officer who'd survived combat in several wars, first as an ensign during World War II and later serving his title in Vietnam. Although the hair and beard had long gone gray, there was an incredible amount of force still present in him, enough that talk brewed within the agency that he‘d modded himself with hunter-quality V-cells. I saluted the admiral, standing to attention, until he ordered me at ease and gestured for me to sit.

"Coffee?" he asked as I settled into the spot across from him at a black lacquered table. "Only black. Columbian."

"Black's fine," I replied. "Columbian too."

"You can smoke for this. Consider it a thanks for cutting your vacation short. I'll have the PA bring your Luckies."

"Thank you, sir."

He pressed a button on the table's control panel, activating the intercom to order an assistant to serve us, and we waited until steaming cups of dark roast were set down for us both and for my first cigarette to be tapped into the ash tray, before we jumped to the task at hand. The lights in the room dimmed and a projection filled the wall behind the admiral. I glanced at the title of the report on the display, the document displayed beneath an intelligence seal that signified few people had seen what was inside.

COVEN FORTY-EIGHT

The next slide displayed a bullet list of horrendous crimes, all of which were attributed to the group, which was what made them jump to the top of our most wanted list. Our first encounter with the coven came in the form of rumors spread by vampire informants, the bloodsuckers who helped us hunt their own, most of whom were a bunch of criminal traitors eager to gain leniency in exchange for their information. Anything except termination after working so hard to become immortal. We laughed at the time at the mention of the coven, because we thought the stories were lies and assumed the criminals were covering for themselves by telling tall tales.

Coven Forty-Eight, if they even existed, were supposed to be a joke. Generic name, no legacy, zero clout--even shitty amateur outfits like a coven I'd dismantled last winter, a group of nihilistic teenagers named Blood Fang Gang Bang, made more of an effort in branding their mischief than the nobodies of Forty-Eight.

Our laughs stopped, eventually, after the master of Forty-Eight beat one of our own, a star-level hunter--my dear Duncan--to near-death, snapping Duncan's spine and leaving him in a coma. Nothing was funny to us about the mysterious coven after that. No one smiled while we watched Duncan struggle to stay alive.

"It's time" said the admiral, turning aside to gesture at the projection. "Our CIA partners were able to twist arms, and they obtained intelligence from the FBI and the DEA on the tendrils of this organization--just had to keep pushing on the drained corpses to get past the pissing match over cooperation. Narcotics trafficking and cartel warfare is involved, which is their work, but we've overlapped, and the true core of this problem belongs to us. Hunter-Duncan met that core last winter and we've been warned. This is our catch and we're taking over."

"The master of Forty-Eight," I said. "Finally. It's time."

"Affirmative.”

“Can’t wait.”

“Good. That’s the attitude that’ll get this done.” The admiral nodded. “Trail's led us across state lines from Montana, where Duncan was injured, to Washington State. An undercover agent working for the DEA with access to a local lord confirmed the existence of someone much higher in the ranks, an international kingpin known as Kan'ek or 'The Chief'. Based on the information we received from reliable sources, the chief is partial to female company and has been known to accept an audience from an outsider, if the request comes from a woman. No intelligence is available of what happens after that point, but we’re sure more loyalty tests and vetting procedures are completed."

"So the chief likes attention from the fair sex." I exhaled a plume of smoke and considered the approach I'd have to take. "Something still gets hot-blooded, if he’s always looking. Honeypot’s in order, I suppose. Time to spin the web."

"If it comes to that, but it doesn't appear you'll have to interact with him long enough to get too close. We'd prefer you to keep distance. Even if you're a female, like he desires, we still consider him extremely dangerous. Perhaps more so, if that's his personal preference for a victim. No telling what he does to those who get close."

"I understand."

"Yes. We can't have what happened to Duncan happen to you. Your safety‘s a priority, as always." The admiral was quiet for a few seconds as he gazed at the screen. "As soon as you've confirmed the chief's location we'll execute a quick response for a live capture,” he said. “All you have to do is keep him pinned. However, if anything unexpected forces a termination, we'll end him without hesitation."

"Should I assume if the chief’s a vampire, there are other bloodsuckers orbiting in the lower rungs?"

"Possible. Likely. That's why we have to monitor the situation closely with our partners to make sure we don't disrupt each other's work." He lay a hand on the panel in the table. "Our CIA assets will provide your cover story and documents. You'll have to maintain a delicate balance out there to avoid burning your cover. That might mean you have to let less important targets go--no matter what you see or hear."

"Understood."

He tapped his fingers on a control, and the display behind him changed to a series of still photos. Mangled bodies appeared then disappeared, shifting form as he flicked through slides. I'd seen the corpses so many times that I'd memorized the spray patterns of blood from their ends. Prostitutes and homeless addicts, a stream of people that the world was already eager to forget, lay twisted in silent agony, frozen with silent screams.

One young male victim in the array, who couldn't have been more than five, bothered me the most. Assaulted and beaten before death, the poor boy suffered before they drained him dry. Bites all over his body, and evidence of strangulation by chain. I took a sip of hot, bitter liquid once we reached his slides and stared at the cycle of his images again.

The admiral turned to one I hadn't seen before and stopped, maximizing a blurred image that was difficult to decipher. I leaned forward and narrowed my lids as he spoke, memorizing the new one too.

"We've combed through the footage that Hunter-Duncan captured during his recon mission in Montana. The attack happened so fast that his body camera was destroyed. At first, it appeared none of it was captured, however our analysts managed to re-assemble the corrupted data. We have several still images of the target--not the best quality, but it's what we've got. Should help you somewhat in verifying you've got the right man."

Skin browned by long-forgotten sun framed a snarling mouth with two jutting, pixelated incisors. The admiral passed through the stills and the vampire seemed to move right for me, ready to jump out of the projection. I looked at the criminal, whose attack on Duncan was so brutal that it succeeded in chilling the movements of every hunter in the country for weeks. We were shocked, rattled, unnerved...any and all of the above.

"I'm ready," I said, stamping out my cigarette. "Where am I stationed?"

"You're set up with a safe house in the Palouse area of Washington. That'll help facilitate the connection. Your location’s secluded enough for you to return without issue, as long as you maintain standard protocol."

"When do I leave?"

"Flight's at oh-two-hundred. Agents are on board for the briefing and a vehicle will be waiting for you once you land. You'll be supplied with a phone chip to mask your number, voice, and communications in a variety of ways as needed." He leaned back in his chair. "Oh-two-hundred--that's a couple hours from now. Gives you enough time to check on the status of Hunter-Duncan before you leave. He's awake now. I'm sure you've been told."

I nodded, looking down at the black liquid in my cup. The master's savage attention stayed on me through the display, like he was aware I'd be entering his personal space soon.

"Yes, I’ve heard, sir," I said. "Thank you. I appreciate the news."

"I know you do, Leah," he replied. "Go see him."