The week since the riot had turned Lucy into a regular human in every way that didn’t matter. She sat spread-eagled in a chair, wearing nothing but her drycleaned jeans and a bathrobe she’d found. Her eyes had the hallmarks of not enough sleep, her fingers the aching of too much work at a keyboard. Unable to do anything else, she watched TV coverage of the horrors going on in the world outside. The FBI had been called in, which Lucy assumed was likely Livia’s doing. Local police had been swamped, their jailhouses positively groaning from the arrests they’d made. With a pang of sympathy, she remembered that the woman with the fades hadn’t been wearing a mask. Her eyes flicked to her laptop, sighing as she decided against looking up the arrest records. She’d been using Cavendish’s account to aid her work. Fat lot of good it did. Whether back home or in the USA, the world seemed to be a fountain of corruption. Selfish bastards screwing over everyone else for their own ends. The Brit reached down and defiantly took a sip of her vodka. Safiya had warned her against drinking, especially in a hotel full of humans. And here she was thinking the world was just vampires and their flunkies.

With a groan she remembered her first encounter with Amy, something of a freelance donor. She was a cute alternative woman with a septum piercing and a smile that spread to even Lucy’s dour ass. She’d only ever drank from bags like the vampire version of a Sippy cup. Unlike with the nurse, Lucy felt a deep disgust the second her teeth broke skin. And she didn’t need to be a psychologist to know why. She briefly considered a career as one. God knew vampires fucking needed them. She supposed it wasn’t unexpected. Centuries of life, decades-long messy relationships, grudges older than nations.

It was only when the news made mention of their mysterious serial killer that the mousy woman perked up, expecting news of his imminent death. He was a liability after all. And Cavendish didn’t strike her as the type for loose ends. But no, it was only the local news’ breathless hope that his spree was over. No new victims.

She closed her eyes in a semi-drunken haze, desperately trying to axe a few more hours from her night. But there was no daylight strong enough to force her to sleep now. She looked to the east out of her window with a sigh, bones aching from the cold. It was all in her head. At least, that was what she kept telling herself. But the rogue’s gallery of sireless paraded through her mind and the chill they left in their wake felt real enough. The painful, empty tugging in her chest whenever her mind wandered to Safiya’s words or Sulis’ memories. The stories Sam had told her about his brothers. Ivar’s lands were probably fenced with bones by now. But that wasn’t the worst part, oh no.

The worst part was the temptation. The arrogance of immortality. The news would show her the face of an awful dictator or criminal and her mind would slip into fantasies about what she could do to them. The worst offenders probably had bodyguards by the dozen, loyal soldiers by the thousand. But the nasty pieces of work in prison had a few underpaid and overworked security guards. She could ‘accident’ a few of them. Then the guilt would emerge, reminding her that every life had value and all that other guff. It just struck her as odd how often good people would allow others to die in the name of moral purity.

She crushed that thought in her fist, the bottle of vodka shattering in her hand. She wasn’t Sulis. She didn’t think like her. She didn’t act like her. She wasn’t an executioner.

“Fuck” she swore as the pain lanced up her arm. She cradled it in her other hand, making her way to the bathroom where she began the unenviable task of pulling glass shards from her wounds. Taking tweezers from Safiya’s beauty kit, she dug the tips into the flesh of her hand. With a few more curses, tiny shards began to fall into the basin. She struggled with her revulsion as her flesh visibly began to mend itself, wriggling like tiny worms back into shape. Her head began spinning, forcing her to steady herself with her one good hand. Her stomach clenched as she saw the glass began to emerge from where it’d been hiding, the muscle fibres passing it upward as they healed. Almost like a ghoulish Mexican wave. It was only when she looked up to avoid seeing it for the rest of her life that she wished vampires really didn’t have reflections. The eyes and fangs were there again. Reminding her. Her expression tensed, resisting the urge to break it.

It was the eyes. The one aspect her attention was drawn to. Their featureless appearance, like raven’s. It made her uncanny, almost human. Her mind fixated on a mystery that had bothered her since she’d learned of the sireless as Clara. Why were their eyes different? What did Tallas mean by giving them six fangs in place of two?

Snarling to herself, she wrapped her hand with bandages from the first aid kit. More to be tidy than out of actual need. With the delicate grip of two claws, she picked the glass fragments from the carpet and began wrapping them in a flannel. The poor staff. First the bloodstains from Amy’s rejected donation, the bottles next to her bed and now glass in the bin. It seemed she was settling into the vampire lifestyle of being a pain to everyone that came into contact with her. She still wasn’t sure what Safiya was after. And she’d not planned a way of finding out when she returned from her date with Anthony. It didn’t seem all that serious for either of them. Then again, perhaps that was what being happy did for you. Not every date had to start with a deep and abiding passion. They’d be together for centuries if it worked out, after all. And here was lucky Lucy, condemned to be alone for an endless existence. Unless she fancied seducing a goat. She sighed. Hopefully Kariwase’s god wasn’t a literal goat.

Stomping on any thoughts of him and his preaching, she returned to the TV. The news had been replaced by a show about zombies. Ironic. She watched it in a daze, mind slipping into comfortable emptiness as her buzz wore off. The thirst came back but she was expressly forbidden from leaving the hotel room. For the second time, her thoughts turned to the rioter. Curiosity began to needle at her, demanding she check up on the singular kind soul she’d encountered so far. Reluctantly, she picked up the hotel phone and dialled the number that had been pinned beneath it since her first night.

Her mother answered. Like any good protestor, she’d left her phone at home. Lucy felt her breath catch as she heard the hurt in the woman’s voice. She sounded like her daughter was already lost to her, never to be seen again. Steeling herself, she attempted some form of comfort. Nothing seemed to help and the weight of it almost crushed the mousy vampire.

“I’ll get her out, don’t worry!” Lucy blurted out almost to stop the tide of tears on the woman’s voice. She was given the golden opportunity to say she misspoke. But it died as the older woman asked how it could be done. “Oh I know a guy. He owes me a favour. And she was nice to me. What’s the full name?” the vampire asked in a taut voice as she scrabbled for the hotel stationary. Stupid idea, reckless idea. “Linette Anne Maginot? Lovely name. I’m Lucy. I’ll see what I can do Mrs. Maginot.”

Lucy hung up then, a look of disbelief on her features. She pinched the bridge of her nose in thought. What was the point of being this connected if she couldn’t do one nice thing for one person? But it meant dealing with that unsavoury little snake. Perhaps even his master if he was feeling extra spicy. It was his fault Kariwase had been at the manor, his doing that so many had died. And there it was again. The temptation.

Praying he hadn’t changed his number since her time as Clara, she picked up the phone once more and hoped the recipient didn’t appear on the receipts. Against her better judgement, against the probable advice of Safiya, she dialled what she hoped was the phone of Edward Cavendish. With a hunger-stilled heart and anxiety rising in her chest, she listened to it ring.

“I told you not to call me on this number,” the voice of Edward hissed. Deducing that he wasn’t expecting her, Lucy pressed on.

“Edward!” she greeted him in a sunny voice. The deathly silence on the other end told her that her deduction was sound. “Yes, old chap it’s me. I was hoping you could do me a favour with your boys at the precinct,” she continued in a facetiously polite tone. She wasn’t sure where the line between pretended anger and the real thing began. Curiously, he didn’t ask any questions. He simply waited for her to continue. Perhaps he was afraid of a call trace. “Send one Linette Anne Maginot home with apologies. Perhaps a complimentary coffee” she requested in the same saccharine tone he would likely suspect. But hey, every second he felt at ease was a second too long.

“I’ll bite. Why save some random human girl?” he eventually asked with a deadly serious tone. Lucy’s mind raced. He would never believe the truth.

“I saw her at the riots last week. One of your boys picked her up before I got to snack on her,” Lucy replied with what she hoped was an easy tone. “Consider it a bribe. Repayment for your bullshit. If I’m going to be away from you all for a while, I’d like my own donor.” She hoped her tone was just unhinged enough for him to consider it genuine. His silence returned as he considered the request, probably pondering whose behest it could be at. “Edward, just do it for me will you? You know what I’m like. And despite all else, you’re the only man who never lied to my face,” she said in a small, helpless voice. He sighed and spoke briefly to someone away from the receiver, quietly enough for a vampire’s hearing to fail. Or human technology. Can’t hear what the mic didn’t pick up.

“Alright. She’ll be released at 7AM. No charges or coffee” he conceded with such smugness it travelled over miles. She began to bid him goodbye, only to be stalled by his voice once more. “I’m proud of you, Ms. Devereux. From scared fresh one in a swamp to this. A true vampire. One of us” Cavendish teased before wishing her a good evening and hanging up. Typical. He wanted the last word. She put the phone back gingerly before standing, breath coming from ever-heavier heaves of her chest. Finally, her fist cracked against the table.

Lucy grappled with her anger for a few moments, struggling to push it back into the icy black hole that had come to occupy her chest. He was the one who saw her as a helpless little girl. He should be scared. Every vampire worth a damn wanted his head on a platter. If she were so inclined, she could deliver his number to the sireless and they’d hang him by the balls. Probably not now, he was liable to change or destroy it. But that was alright. Her ends were served in the very least. She called Linette’s mother to give her the good news, hoping that Cavendish would honour his word. Did he really want to make himself a bigger target in the vampire world? Giving the distraught woman instructions on how to reach her, Lucy wished her well and returned to her doldrums.

It should have felt good. Sacrificing the upper hand on a man who’d so wronged her to help a perfect stranger. But the same voice that had been telling her how vile vampires were reminded her that without him, Linette would not have needed saving. The voice turned inward, cursing her for her stupidity. Her lack of foresight. Her cowardice. Sulis should have killed him, true. But a great many others should have. Including her. Then up the chain to Monmouthshire, his master and his master after that. Keep the axe falling until the sorry bastard who’d started it all fell. And there was her shadow again, the voice of God herself. The woman who’d held Europe in her palm and by extension the world. Lucy didn’t know much about history but didn’t need to. The heat from the flames Sulis had kindled was hot enough. Sigrun, for all her faults, was at least consistent. Vampires deserved to rule, had the might to rule and the lifespan to guide the fate of nations. One nation under the master race. Lucy’s face split with a derisory grin, a bitter chuckle escaping her. A people so powerful they couldn’t keep their shit together for a century without mummy. Imitators, pretenders to greatness. A greatness, fittingly enough, bought with blood. Lucy had to wonder whether Tallas had intended it all or if it had just been a happy accident.

She supposed she could assume the role her tattooed spectre had vacated. Sit on that ancient throne and give the orders with just as much zeal as its previous occupant. What person didn’t daydream of being in charge? It wasn’t for her. She didn’t have the face for a crown.

The Brit’s sensitive ears flicked their attention to the hallway outside as the lift arrived. As usual, her claws dug into the upholstery of her chair until the silky tones of Safiya’s voice drifted to her. Sharing an anecdote about the Mughal Empire, if her fuzzy second-hand knowledge was right on the names. That had been the beginning of the end for India, Lucy imagined. Weird men in powdered wigs started showing up around then. Sulis had only been to India on her way to what would become China. The mousy vampire’s bitter smile returned when she remembered the sireless’ bewilderment at the lack of a Sky Father. Forced to reckon with her own trauma, she’d fled back to Europe. The poor dear, always running.

Safiya entered with Anthony on her arm, greeting the reclining Lucy with some quip about not having moved for four hours. The extra posh chair upholstery lifted her middle finger defiantly before rising to toss the broken shards of glass into the bin. There was an attempt to be casual, but the glass chimed as it hit the flap, snapping both the older vampires’ attention to her.

“Did something happen?” the witch asked with a firm stare. Lucy attempted to pass it off, hand rising without thinking and exposing her even further. Within seconds, Safiya was fussing over the bandages and directing Anthony to look for any other bottles. “I told you not to drink,” Safiya sighed with exasperation. “Look, it’s already affecting your healing!” she added as the final layer of linen peeled back to reveal a shallow cut that should had been gone an hour earlier. The vampire body liked to prioritize, and a booboo wasn’t up there.

“It’s fine, it’ll be healed by morning” Lucy grunted, almost snatching her hand back. “I’ve been in here a week there’s not much else to do besides drink and watch TV.”

“You are not a prisoner!” Safiya reminded her in an irritated voice, hands flying skywards. “Though if you continue to starve yourself and drink, you will be. One night you’ll be eating some poor maid!” she ranted in what Lucy assumed her secondary school friend Satya’s childhood was like. “I’m phoning Amy,” she decided after a moment or two of thought, sending the Brit’s hackles right up.

“You absolutely aren’t. I couldn’t do it sober, forget with a hangover!” Lucy refused with disbelief etched into her words. Anthony, returning after finding no additional bottles, asked why live donors were a problem. He’d been using a guy named Harry for a few weeks. “It’s just different now, alright? It’s harder when they can talk back.”

Both of her more experienced counterparts shared a look before Safiya appeared to come to a conclusion. Whipping her phone out, she phoned Amy. Lucy attempted a protest only for her boytoy to press her into the chair gently. He looked concerned but allowed his date to finish up her conversation before strolling out with his hands in his pockets and a merry goodbye to Lucy, who wore a look of steadily growing confusion. His car keys jingled in his pocket as he began his journey to the lift.

“I don’t know why Ansa never let you feed properly. She seems the type to demand nothing else,” Safiya mused loudly as she walked into the bathroom to remove her make up. If it was an invitation to comment, the seething and steadily sobering cynic didn’t respond. She instead propped her head against her hand, fortifying herself for another mortifying evening of failing at the one thing vampires were supposed to do. And the prying questions weren’t helping. “Rumour is you were attacked by a vampire just before you asked her to awaken you. Is that true?” she asked from the other room, needling at the younger woman’s patience. Thoughts of the attack rose unbidden to her mind’s eye. She remembered everything, even the psychotic prick’s smell. The wild red eyes, the unkempt brown hair. He’d looked just like any man she’d grown up with. In the throes of uncontrolled bloodlust, demanding hers to sate himself. She’d been powerless, thrashing against his strength and his fangs. Screaming at the top of her lungs, watching the furrows she carved into his skin sealing before her eyes.

“He’s dead. Ansa showed me his head to prove it,” Lucy answered, her face a twisted snarl of suppressed rage. “And no, I didn’t want to be a vampire because I was traumatized by some dickhead with a psycho sire.”

Hearing the tone of her roommate’s voice, Safiya dropped the issue before it turned nasty. Despite being a lying manipulative monster, the ancient witch had made good on her threats. Sire and sireling both had lost their heads for daring to attack her. But Lucy was under no illusions. If she’d been some unfortunate doing her shopping like anyone else, none of them would have cared. She would have been another nameless corpse. As facile and self-serving Sulis’ ideals of being a new version of herself were, she could at least empathise with some random victim of her world. Or maybe she was just lionizing the sireless because she wasn’t there. No instant refutation to a sunny daydream about a good vampire. Maybe it was impossible. After all, the raw material was tainted. What human wouldn’t daydream of being in charge?

Then she arrived. Dressed in baggy black jeans and matching tank top, Amy appeared at the doorway with her usual smile and a bag of supplies. Lucy expected her to be bandaged from the last botched attempt, only to find the intricate tattoo on her neck unchanged. Her eyes followed it, the swirling aquatic design reminding her of Japanese art. Unfortunately, it disappeared into her jacket before Lucy could identify what it was beyond water themed. She averted her eyes before she could be accused of staring. The Brit prepared herself to avoid small talk, her plan going up in smoke as Safiya began to pull her coat on. With panic on her voice, she asked where she was going. She wasn’t safe around humans.

“You will have to learn to control yourself eventually,” Safiya answered coldly before wishing them both a goodnight and leaving. Lucy listened to their footsteps and the lift’s doors open before her terrified expression turned to Amy. That made no sense. She said as much to the near-suicidal donor.

“Don’t worry. Safiya gave me a ripcord” she beamed. Slipping a hand into her pocket, she wiggled a small glass phial of red substance.

It was insane. More than insane, it was cruel. Giving someone vampirism just because they were willing to risk it all on a jumpy biters’ discipline? That decision alone should have been disqualifying!

“I’m not going to be party to this,” Lucy stated with her hands held up. “So we’ll just pretend you used whatever miracle fixed your neck and you can leave in a few minutes. Booze?” she asked, hand holding a bottle of tequila she’d hidden in the chair cushions. It was a bit warm, but it’d do the job.

“Saf’s a bit old to be fooled by that, don’t you think? ‘Specially since she makes the oil,” Amy noted sceptically while sitting herself on the bed. She crossed her legs, palms resting against the mattress as she seemed to think things over. The cork had already left the tequila, Lucy spitting it from her lips. “So what’s the deal? Do I smell awful? Heard some vampires are really fussy eaters.”

“No you smell delicious don’t worry,” the vampire grunted after guzzling a decent mouthful of burning relief from her own thoughts. Checking the bottle, Lucy noticed that ‘mouthful’ had been about a quarter of it. “And no it’s not ‘woe is my immortal soul! Surely, I am damned!’” she corrected the sympathetic look the alternative woman was giving her. “I’m just having buyer’s remorse. I’ll get over it.”

The two women talked about more ordinary things. Lucy hoped to run out the time Safiya had paid for. She hoped Amy was just a friendly, chatty person. More likely, trying to get her chance at immortality. Though if that were the case, Amy could just neck the blood. Not like the Brit was going to stop her if she tried it. Let’s see those dreams crumble!

“Where are you from? That’s not a Louisiana accent,” Lucy asked after a lull in the conversation. Her hunger was beginning to addle her wits. Only then did it occur to her to ask.

“New York. Used to work for the vampires up there,” Amy answered with a shrug. “Beats being a line cook, I guess. Had dreams of being a chef. Reality screwed that up” she sighed before seeming to compose herself. “What do you do? Stock trading or something?”

“I’m…I guess I’m still a journalist. I had a friend from New York,” Lucy answered, trying to compact the last few months of mayhem into normal conversation. It seemed that from the moment she woke up in the swamp, her life had been decomposing. For both of them, really. “Screamed about a black goat when she woke up and attacked another mate. Could be worse I guess,” she added with a somewhat drunken lilt to her voice. Amy laughed at the absurdity, settling into a disarming smile that charmed the vampire somewhat. She took up the bottle, looking at it briefly. “Alright, fuck it” she seemed to decide. “I’m sick of being in here. Fancy a walk?” she offered with a light tone before sauntering over to the door without waiting for an answer.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea!” Amy blurted out, rushing over to block the exit. Lucy gave her an amused, if sceptical look before moving her gently to the side. She was delicate after all. “What if the wives see you?” she asked in a hushed tone. The slightly tipsy vampire found it odd she’d know about Livia and her necessary restraints but guessed there was some community gossip flying around.

“Fuck ‘em,” Lucy smiled foolishly, opening the door with a casual air. “It’s not like that family can do any worse to me.”