Darker City Streets

Jack had watched, his sensitive hearing picking up a few things, but not as much as Joss would've. If it were Joss here, she would've heard every word inside that building. If it were Josselyn, there would be the world of information for her to capture. But he was just drifting in and drifting out, only catching one important glimpse of something. And that was a vampire, racing off. The first thing that happened was Jack snapped his head in that direction.

Josselyn... He thought, feeling fear in his gut. Although she was a vampire just as that man was- but apparently this man was seeking attention. If he engaged Joss, then he might start a-

"SPD-" The voice broke his concentration, making him turn his head sharply back towards the building- and the man. Jack didn't looked surprised, but the stern look on his face read that he wasn't pleased by the surprise. He was rarely snuck up on, especially at human crime scenes and whatnot...

"What?" Jack said, missing the question. He closed his eyes and played back the man's words in his head, catching them this time. Opening his dark eyes, he grinned and nodded. "Yeah yeah, questions, knock yourself out." He said, folding his arms over his strong chest...






Josselyn had done what she had needed to do. She had taken the young man and murdered him, after a slow play of 'innocence'. It wasn't what she wanted, but it was what happened. She had done it- most literally- in utter silence. Her lips had turned a glossy raspberry tone with the blood that pulsed into her body now. It was a feeling of relaxation, soothing the anxiety and tension created when she was hungry. Her blue eyes watched the body as she shoved him into the water- a large rock on his chest as well as a smaller one shoved into the back of his mouth, watching him fall underneath the water.

She sighed, sitting back on a rock and licking her fingers. She finally dried her clean fingers against the hips of her jeans, moving away from the rock. Joss brushed her fingers through her hair, straightening the soft silken mess before moving away. She tightened the strap of her messenger bag over her shoulder, and set off, ready to get away from the park and the murder she had just commited. . .




The woman had gotten away from the park, and was walking onwards down the road, somewhat close to her home now. But the sidewalks were dark and the city streets darker. She was a predator, thus she had no logical reason to be afraid. But there was always a small well of fear in her gut. Especially now.

Because the scent of a vampire was in the air- the scent of a stranger, a predator like her . . .

Henley kept his eyes trained on the young man after he asked the question. His intense eyes were startled now that Henley had spoken. He quickly regained composure under Henley's gaze. As Henley watched the young man, he revised his earlier theory. Probably this wasn't the Shadow. Though, as the young man turned a grin to the detective, Henley thought, he certainly could be.

"Yeah yeah, questions, knock yourself out." The kid folded his arms with cocky indolence.

Henley could think of any number of questions, though his previous excitement that this might be the guy was waning and he remembered that he needed to have Sam work with a sketch artist back at the station. She would know if this was him. The night hadn't been a totally bust. Just like Henley had suspected, the Shadow had either become over confident or wanted to get caught. Tonight, he had samples of blood. Tonight, he had a live eye-witness. Tonight, Henley probably wouldn't sleep.

"How much did you see of what happened here tonight?" Henley pulled out a little pad of paper from his jacket pocket and a travel sized pen. "Could you tell me how long you've been here and a rough run down of what you observed?"

He lifted his eyes to gauged the kid's reaction.

* * *

“Every man has his own destiny: the only imperative is to follow it, to accept it, no matter where it leads him.” Henry Miller

He skipped lazily from rooftop to rooftop like the ancient fairy tales of his kind, like a rock across the surface of a lake. Somewhere downtown a woman would be dying soon.

The drizzle from the sky slowed as he leaped further and further away from the latest crime scene. His sense of self similarly dwindled. Somewhere--in a daydream?--he had known the feel of humanity. He had known the taste of emotion and conscience and life. The Shadow paused on a shingle and stood suspended in space. He found he wanted to do something heroic. He raised his arms toward the dark sky and let air fill his lungs like balloons. He would scream, he decided. Scream and beat his chest at the sky. He would announce his existence and his essence to the universe, in primal fashion. And lightning would herald his declaration and everything would be right once more.

No. Deflated, he sank into a gargoyle-like crouch and watched the odd car or taxi swish through the puddles of the streets below. Heroism, like humanity, is saved for those who want to be dragged by their destiny, he thought. The ones who will be be pulled kicking and screaming--he paused. But wasn't he also just like that? It wasn't as though mastermind had ever been a career choice. It was his destiny. One cannot avoid destiny. Just like the girl's death had been unavoidable, right. Sam's escape from death had been just as unavoidable.

A mini-scream barked from Shadow's lips. "What do you want from me?" he asked no one in particular. He didn't believe in God or gods or divine being. He might as well be asking the streets, the city, the dead . . . or Sam.

He inhaled, the scent of vampire was on the damp air. He quieted his body into perfect stillness and let his eyes and ears and nose speak to him. A female and young--for a vampire. She smelled warm and red and slick in the cool, pressurized air. She'd just fed. His eyes skimmed the street below until they found her stopped and trying to spot him first. A malicious and angry feeling crowded into his chest like a balloon pushing on the inside of his sternum.

Without a second's hesitation, the Shadow detached from the roof and slipped to the asphalt in the alley. He began to walk towards the female, full of purpose that was still resolving itself to him. Lead on sweet Destiny, he thought, I'm following.

((Hopefully this is alright. I'll be back later tonight.))

Italy Countryside, 0300

A black Maserati flew down the winding road in wine country. The birth place of the Mafia, the home of some very dangerous men, and the current hideout of a certain "other" who had made a lot of unwanted noise. Sy sat in the plush, dark leather interior, the heater on, and his Iphone on giving him second by second directions.

The countryside was dark. The few wine houses that dotted the land were all closed up, the owners sleeping, and their gates locked tight. This would be the time Sy's target would be hunting. Trying to feed his addiction. Thoughts went through his mind, Sy was level headed, he never over thought situations. Almost living a thousand years gave him an ancient view on most things. He had learned to control his emotions. This was a time he had to control himself.

The phone call he had gotten days before from "father" had cause him to feel angry towards the idiot that had let his want and urge to run wild. He had been told a man in Italy was making people disappear. Their bodies would turn up with cut arteries, dried of all blood, and bite marks from what seemed to be human teeth where their windpipe should have been. The chain of murders, almost all identical, had brought way to much attention to this buffoon. He knew the rules set up by the order. Never kill, only take the willing, and if they can't find one, make sure the body never popped up and make sure the body was never found.

The black European luxury car slid quietly in front of a long driveway. The lights had been turned off a few miles back. Looking down at his phone, Sy nodded. He placed it into the case on his belt, hit the trunk button, and quietly stood up from the drivers seat. Walking gracefully, like a predatory cat, to the trunk. He grabbed his favored weapon, a katana. The legendary Amakuni Yasutsuna, the first recorded man who forged the curved blade favored by samurai, had specially made this sword for Sy. He had spent time in Japan learning the deadly sword art. With a slow inhale, Sy walked towards the house.

The steps were long, ornate, and weaved left to right as it went up to the large villa. Sy was a typical looking male. His shoulder length hair had been pulled back in a tight ponytail, his leather jacket covered his t-shirt, well fitting jeans, and boots made up his clothing. His hands were covered in fingerless gloves. The man wouldn't have been remembered in a crowd unless he had done something amazing. Even than, he would have been forgotten about in hours. His soft eyes slowly searched the house. The plaster walls, red tile roof, and expensive windows. Sy took the steps two by two, he slowed when he reached door, standing to the side, he pounded on it loudly.

There was a scuffle that could be heard, even through the large hardwood door, and the door knob rolled. With a grin, Sy kicked the door open, the man behind it took the heavy wood to the face. The smell of blood instantly permeated the air. Two steps inside, Sy turned a full 180 degrees. His right shoulder leaned forward, his hand gripping the handle of his sword. The left hand grabbed the case of his katana and held it at his waist. He pulled the blade out, striking the man in the throat. All of this happened within a matter of two seconds. The movement would have been hard to follow. Sy didn't stop working. He was systematic with everything he did. Deliberately, he brought the blade down and across the mans chest. Striking from the left collar bone and through the torso exiting bellow the hip bone. Blood poured from the halves.

With a look of satisfaction, Sy flicked the blade, blood sprayed from the edge, and was replaced. The job was done. This vampire wouldn't be able to grow himself. Sy sat and watched him dying. The house would have to be cleaned, he body burned, and Sy would even put the place up for sale. These types of jobs weren't cheap, the Order had expenses, and selling the properties of derelict vampires was a perfect way to finance their missions.

"Yes?" The phone on his hip vibrated. The call was from his "father". The voice on the other end was heavy with an ancient accent. Something Roman, Sy couldn't exactly tell. The orders were simple. Finish up quickly, than gather a private plane and head to Seattle. Information would be waiting for him there.

Sy nodded to no one, the nod was almost a bow, he slid the phone back into it's case, the "Cleaner" set his weapon and jacket up against the wall and he started to work. He would be up longer than he had expected, and to complicate things, his hands started to shake slightly from the lack of feeding.

Jack didn't listen. Didn't, or couldn't. Either way, the man's questions only seemed to pick at an anger that rested within him. He could only think of Josselyn, out there somewhere... He shook his head, and drew his eyes up to the investigator, or whatever that man may be. His dark eyes were hard and glass-like, staring almost through the man. His lips formed a thin hard scowl.

"I just got here, and I haven't seen a thing." He turned then, and began to walk away, slowly, but surely. And when he rounded his first corner, he might as well have disappeared completely; bursting into a hasty run to carry him away. Jack had one thing on his mind, and it was returning to the peace and quiet of the place they now called home. But it meant finding Josselyn. Though she was a vampire, he still thought her... well, weak. She had no voice. And though one may underestimate the sound of spoken word, it meant something. Josselyn, should she be in trouble, could not scream. Could not cry, could not call to him. It was annoying, and Jack hated playing the babysitter. But he couldn't say that he would surrender the position. No one else was going to take care of his sister if he did not...







Joss could smell him, nearing. She searched for him, swirling blue hues endlessly traveling, fast across the area. She stayed on the street side and watched, until finally, he made himself seen. He was walking for her, fast. His eyes spoke danger, and she knew he was one of the bad vampires. One of the ones she tried not to run up on. Josselyn tried to exist without much complication, but here was an obstacle in the road, most literally.

As he neared, she began to step back, walking away from him while never turning her back to him. She parted her lips as her body hunched into a lithe position, somewhat like an animal. Her now red lips curled back and unveiled her fangs, as she wished to say something. Some warning, but she could not.

Josselyn moved her lips, no sound breaking from them. But if he could read lips like most vampires, he could at least make out some of her words.

"Stop moving..."


She finally stood hard, holding her ground. She was young, but she could survive, she finally decided. She'd prove to Jack that she would be fine, and even now, she did not know if this vampire meant her harm.

She stared up at him, her long dirty blond hair tossing gently in the wind as she stood. Her red lips quivered, her body and senses heightened with the blood pulsing through her. She was at her strongest point, the peak of her abilities.

Joss reached towards the messenger bag over her shoulder, and pulled out a small notepad and a pen, and held it in her hands, straightening up. She waited for his answer, his response, before she herself would return with one, a written one, of course.

There was silence. Sean didn’t turn the radio on as they made their way back to the station, escorted by two cruisers. Whatever song would be playing on the radio, he didn’t want it burned forever in her memory as ‘that song when my sister died’. He knew Samantha, he knew how she grieved; inside she was always grieving. Silence would follow for a time, she’d enclose herself, try to sort it all in her mind. She’d cry in private and be distant in company; and after a short amount of time she’d begin to work herself even harder than before, occupying every possible second with a project that wouldn’t allow her mind to think too closely on what happened.

She had picked up singing, playing the violin for when her father and brother passed away. When one of their mutual friends at the police department died of cancer; Sam picked up running. She filled her spare time with basic self defense classes he had purchased for her once for Christmas. There were no more hours in the week to be filled, and already his partner didn’t get enough sleep.

Sean’s hands tightened on the wheel, and he grew ill with worry. From the corner of his eye he could see her small frame hugging herself, eyes intent out the window but starring at nothing. But her spine was straight, her face a blank mask, as if hugging herself prevented everything from crumbling out.

“Stop watching me,” Sam spoke up softly, the sound of her voice surprised the man enough that he actually jumped. It was too late to deny it; and she had been right. Sean flicked his eyes back to the road, struggling to find the right words.

“Sam, I-“

“Don’t apologize, either.”

“I-… It can’t be easy-“

“It’s not. But you’re not the one who should be saying ‘I’m sorry’. You didn’t kill my sister.” There was a brief pause as she swallowed. “You didn’t have a hand in it. Don’t apologize. I don’t expect you to say anything, Sean, so don’t flutter in a panic about finding the right words.”

Inside Samantha wanted to scream. She didn’t want condolences, from anyone, especially now. She had important information; critical to the case, and the sooner she gave her statement the better. Emotion corrupted facts; people may not mean to, but during a trauma they tend to favor themselves over the reality of what happened; even if they were the victim. She knew, this wasn’t her first police report, and she’s eased enough victims in her life…

Samantha closed her eyes, focusing. It didn’t come easy, and still the first moments of the event were blurry, surreal, as if taken with a poor quality camera for a bad horror flick. Creases wrinkled softly in her brow as she broke her frame; pressing the pads of her fingers against her forehead. They were cold, numb, and clammy. In the back of her mind she knew her body was going through shock; but there was still clarity in her mind, and she clung to that like a drowning woman to a life preserve, with no intentions of letting go.



The only way you knew the building was a police station was from the signs posted up front; and the swarm of police cars parked in one lot. Not to mention the parade acting as escort to the station, though Samantha thought it silly for such a display. Either they were showing off for the media, seeking a reprieve from the harsh judgment from the press; or they actually believed that Sam’s life was possibly in danger, being the only live witness to these crimes. Either way, they were led to the back of the station, parking along the back guarded doors usually reserved for the worst of the criminals who couldn’t be treated at the front of the station.

Sean’s red truck parked behind the first cruiser that stopped, shutting the engine off and allowed the ticking of the vehicle to fill the cabin. The silence soon broke as doors began to close; and Sam’s opened by an officer offering her a hand to step out of the tall cab. With no glance to Sean or pause, her smaller hand slipped into his, and she allowed herself to be aided leaving the seat. Walking felt like a challenge, her knees felt like wet noodles in passing, but she was able to keep from stumbling too much or looking like a fool as she was escorted into the building.

Sam was led into a small room; the sort normally seen in movies or on the TV. One wall had a glass window that showed her reflection, though she knew that if anyone was standing on the other side –and there probably were – then they’d easily be able to see her. A steel table sat centered, a chair on one side, two on the other, with a series of halogen lights up high on the ceiling. The room was cold, and the woman shivered as she stepped through, but she wasn’t as intimidated as she thought she would be.

She sat; an officer brought her a blanket; and it was only then that she realized she was shivering. Gratefully, the fleece was wrapped around her shoulders, and all too quickly she was facing another woman, pretty in a plain way, with eyes that spoke of focused excitement, though sympathy was buried deep there. This is business… Samantha thought to herself, you both have a job to do.

The questions came; Samantha answered them with a stumbling calm that spoke of determination. She was aware of what happened, what was happening, and had an unwavering resolve to get this through not as quickly as possible; but as accurately. A couple times she stumbled, having to pause, struggling more with the beginning than the middle or end. It was fuzzy, incoherent and didn’t seem to fit the chronological order; but she was honest of her uncertainties.

The woman occasionally jotted down notes; nodded, making soft sounds to show she was listening, interrupting in a rare moment to ask for clarification on one detail or another. An officer brought in coffee that Samantha never drank; only curled her hands around the ceramic mug to take what heat it offered, watching the ripples as she spoke. Time passed; she wasn’t certain how long, until eventually the woman stood from her chair, and offered a hand on Sam’s shoulder. It was supposed to be comforting, a ‘hang in there’ or ‘it’ll be alright’. She had to resist the urge to shrug the hand off her shoulder, more afraid then that the woman would be insulted. She allowed it to remain, until she stepped pass to leave the room.

Caine smiled to himself, as he went through his travel equipment. There was a reason he never flew, and it had nothing to do with either the fear of flying, or of plane malfunction. Instead, it was the weapon restrictions, and the near impossibility to get a permit for anything to go on a plane. Even his back-door connections with the government didn't want to touch the FAA. Had he had to fly, he might have sighed at leaving all the beautiful packing left before him. The short bag for traveling was already packed with the mix of outfits needed to blend in to the environment he was penetrating for information. Some old habits died hard, and this was one of them.

Today, he went for casual. The long sleeved shirt was a plain light blue, and he wore some standard jeans, slightly baggy with a black leather belt worn tight. Whistling aimlessly, Darion quickly stripped and checked anything that needed to be checked, and examined everything that didn't. The ritual was almost compulsive as nothing was as bad as having a gun not work when you needed. Then have the blade break. He shook his at the old but still terrifying memory.

The kukri was strapped to be unnoticeable underneath his left fore-arm, the long inward bent knife itself a gift from a Gurkha whose neck had saved. The K-bar was nestled in the same position under the other fore-arm. The slim emergency dagger was strapped the chain holding his old tags, and hung down the base of his neck. The black 9mm Beretta was deposited into a snug and concealable holster at his side. Three clips went in a holder around his back, and a dull silver .45 with a matted black grip went on the over hip. Three clips for that went in the same area. the emergency revolver was strapped to his left ankle, and no extra rounds were carried on person for that. The black leather jacket lined with kevlar was the next addition. While he was not expecting any trouble sniffing around this time, it was better to be safe than sorry, especially with the kid tagging along.

Caine sighed, and remembered he had never trained the girl how to use a gun or a blade. He walked around the workshop and added a taser and bear repellent to the duffel bag. The issue was that Paul hated guns, and despite the good will and friendship between the two men, some lines were just not meant to be crossed. Personally, Caine thought the second Amendment should have required everyone to know how use a gun. It became much less scary to a bystander when he knew the limitations of weapons rather than panicking. The keys to the Subaru jangled in his hand as he locked up.

The place had been expensive as hell to build, despite the fact that he had low-rent manual labor. The stone and wood blended in well together, and good be used as a decent bunker in case the country went to hell. Also, it would last forever and more. The dark blue SUV was smaller than average one, but had also been heavily modified. More protection was installed in the form of bulletproof glass that was UV resistant, and limited plating reinforced by phone books to make the care bullet proof. The tires were the kind that were puncture resistant, and filled with a compound that would temporarily bind to rubber in the case of a flat. The treads were nothing special, just typical winter treads. Colorado could get swamped with snow just like any other mountainous area. The duffel bag was tossed in the trunk, but the laptop case was treated with much more respect.

The car engine purred comfortably, and Caine glanced at the clock. It would take about thirty minutes to get to Elaine's school, and he would be about five minutes late. The extra weight would have made the SUV manuever like a pig in stuck in mud if he hadn't dropped in a more powerful engine. Gravel sprayed as he peeled out of the drive-way and began speeding about ten over any given speed limit. Outside the city, the cops were more strict, but also more predictable. It made for some interesting contests, given that he knew Sergeant Bayler was always out to catch him. The old army vet had never won yet. Of course, it didn't help that Caine had hacked into the low jack tracking systems recently installed by the county.

If you ain't cheatin', you ain't trying. He waved at the persistent sergeant in his new spot, carefully going exactly the speed limit. The man ground his teeth and waved back with one finger. Caine laughed at that, knowing the man just owed him a beer for that loss of control. He burned rubber, going about twenty over speeding into town. Thankfully, no police had showed up on the small GPS unit installed to the right of the dash. The city cops were not all low-jacked, so he carefully maintained the speed limit. A ticket would waste close to an hour, and might include a trip to the local precinct. The concealed carry permits had to handled carefully.

For once, the DoT had made a system that worked to the speed limit, cruising through a streak of lucky greens. The congested traffic outside of Bellmont High School stymied his smooth progress through the city. It seemed that the parents were frantic to see their kids at least once before they disappeared into parties, vegging out, or going off into the world with their friends. Poor world... God knew how much trouble he got into with half the stuff the kids had now. Cell phones, for instance, were now ubiquitous and great way to speed communication.

Slowly going through the motions of start and stop made Caine grit his teeth in the unconcsious reminder of D.C. traffic. It was a fate worse than death, but not worse than paperwork, the bane of his existence that lay at the end of those seemingly endless lines of cars. Blue eyes still scanned the surroundings carefully. Stalled amongst many other cars, this would be an excellent spot for Dizarri's goons to try for an ambush. Most of them had a shred of decency, and that would result in pure carnage. Some were straight pyschopaths, and wouldn't care. Neither would he, but with a sniper rifle, only one person dies, compared to a sub-machine gun in the hands of a spray and pray moron.

Despite the ghosts of Christmas Past haunting his mind, the pick-up lane rolled by without anything but boredom. He slid into a open space, cutting off a furious mom in mini-van. Caine smiled at was no doubt a hurricane of invective, totally inaudible between the two vehicles. The middle finger of the road raging mom was still visible though. Caine grinned harder, baring teeth. Aside from getting his car keyed, or possibly rammed, there was nothing she would do.

Now came the predictable waiting. The nagging of his security conscious mind continued as he scanned professionally for people that didn't belong, and of course, Elaine. Some of the bizarre styles sported by the youngsters clashed horribly with the stodgy older parents. The popular look of 'emo' always confused Caine. If life really sucked so bad, find or steal a gun or a knife and end it. Whining about it wasn't going to change anything but increase contempt for the pathetic losers. Or they would get hopelessly coddled by an over-protective society, infantilizing the complaining kids. Considering either were supposed to be outside the 'non-conformist' ethos purportedly held by this group, Caine just considered the entire thing a bullshit ploy for attention. The funny thing is most of the boys flinched from his gaze but the girls seem to plead with him to do something about their plight. Chivalry is dead my sweets, you lost that response with equal rights. What you get now is curtsy.

He almost lost himself in a mental rant on the deluded idiots parading before him, when he spotted Elaine with her group of friends. An effort with his memory decided the plump red head was Alice, and the tall statuesque blond was Tina, short for something or other. He spotted her, chattering and giggling with her two best friends before she spotted him. One of the goth kids stared challengingly at him. A smirk and the sunglasses were removed, letting the callow youth get the full effect of the resulting amusement. The right metal side of the sunglasses tapped the scars trailing around his eyes, and seemed to say, you know nothing about suffering. Caine slid the glasses back on and rolled down the windows. The boy continued to stare stupidly at the uncaring ex-special ops killer. Elaine finally picked her head up enough to scan the cars waiting to find his distinctive dark blue Subaru. The red head he decided was Alice blushed suddenly at the sight of him, and fell silent. Tina started chattering even faster.

Caine sighed and turned off the engine. He sidled out of the car, and leaned against the hood of the car. Mr. Barnes had even come out of his hall, wiping his elegant silver rimmed glasses. In an act most of the students considered the dried up old stick incapable of making, the old man smiled. Barnes was considered a permanent fixture at this place nearing sixty-six and having worked here for over forty years. The old man also steepled his fingers in a gesture that indicated an A. Caine waved discreetly, and shot him a thumbs up. The older gentleman waved good bye and vanished back inside to grade more mid-terms.

Elaine dropped her bags and sprinted into a hug. Caine grunted, swinging her slightly to attenuate the impressive momentum. "Christ, girl, I am a fragile old man." She smiled and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. Caine put her down and shook his head, striding over to the bags she was semi-struggling with earlier. Caine reached down and grunted slightly in surprise, the back pack itself was about forty pounds, and the duffel bag was about twice that. They probably weighed as much as she did. The other two girls clustered together, and began giggling again, for a reason no man would ever understand.

Tossing the bags into the back with his, Caine turned to Elaine and her friends, lined up for an introduction. Alice and Tina were indeed the people he pieced together. Tina gushed, and Alice stumbled quietly over her words. What had the girl been telling these two? Despite the urge to shake his head again, he simple shook their hands and introduced himself briefly, before clearly indicating it was time to go.

Sliding back into the car, Caine started the engine, signaling that it was, in fact, time to leave. Elaine hugged both of them goodbye and practically bounced into his car. Was she on something? Were the other two on something? Drunk, maybe? For God's sake, it looked like Alice was about to cry.

Caine rolled away, and blanked out the idle gossip Elaine was no doubt considering life shaking. The lights still cooperated with him, and Caine silently blessed Tyche. The entire drive went without anything noticeably wrong, and Darion nodded or said some kind of interchangeable phrase to indicate, that yes I am paying attention, and yes I do want to hear more at the right times. It could have been worse, no one was whining.

The train station came into hazily into view as it began to rain. Despite Elaine's boundless energy, he felt old and tired, and that is was time for his nap. The two tickets were accepted wordlessly, and few tense moments with a security guard let him through without going through the metal detector. Darion had no interest in showing just how much weaponry he normally carried with him to Elaine. Paul knew, and was vaguely comforted by the fact that his wrath would be nothing compared to the hardened killer his innocent daughter had befriended.

Sliding into their car, Caine slipped the baggage into the proper places, and fell asleep. It was morning when he woke up trembling, jaw tight. Another nightmare. Elaine had even left him a note and covered him in one of those cheap airplane blankets.

Breakfast did indeed sound good. Caine found Elaine snoozing quietly in the food cart, several desserts devoured around her. Ahh, to be young. He left her in their car, tucked into a bed. Breakfast was a simple mix of eggs, yogurt, hash browns and orange juice. Roling his shoulders, Darion walked up and done the train for a while, before turning on a T.V. MTV blared at him, the face of a young girl plastered across it. Reaching for the button to turn the channel, it had been noted that she had been murdered in Seattle, by a serial killer called the Shadow. A few reporters had managed to get the details of some of the crime scenes somehow.

Caine stopped as the world halted as a few things percolated through his brain. The girl looked familiar, and not just because her mother was Isabella Adams, a well-known reality star. Soon Mei. The pencil he had been unconsciously playing broke in a swift motion. Caine trembled slightly, memories from the past surfacing. Another part of his brain recognized the distinct lack of good reporting over the subject, and that Elaine watched this crap all the time. Another face superimposed it over a ruined body of a small Asian girl. The shadowy figure had been a young boy inducted into some cult or gang and hopped up on drugs. Why else would bite another person's throat out. The entire trouble had started there. Caine still remembered the killer, and the ethics agreeing in complete harmony for the first time in his life. The gory mess that was left beside the girl could hardly be determined as human by the villagers who later came to see what the noise was about.

"Leave not your bough, my slender song-bird sweet,/But pipe me now your roundelay complete." --"Companions" by Siegfried Sassoon

At the first scent of vampire, Shadow had thought it one of his. The second sampling of scent made that impossible. Now, as he strode across the wet ground in the drizzle, he knew he had never seen her before. She bent her frame as she backed away, warning him to stay back. It was animalistic, like the crouch of a hissing cat. Her lips peeled away from her teeth as if she planned to do just that. Instead, no sound issued from her open mouth.

Shadow had seen this effect before, especially in the newly turned. The legends of vampires infected their heads with all kinds of animal dreams. Cal had been like that for years after he had turned her--the first of his coven. The vampires of legend were nothing so much as blood sucking fiends, fallen humans, and beasts. To some extent he felt that it was true. It had been so long since he had truly felt anything remotely like the compassion, empathy, and liveliness of the human soul. Until tonight that was. He focused on the task at hand, ignoring the implications of his very human behavior.

She began to form words, "Stop moving" but she did not voice those words.

Voiceless. She stopped moving herself and pushed her feet against the ground.

Shadow did not stop. As he advanced, the young vampire tensed, she was ready to spring, but also ready to listen it seemed. He slowed his pace, but did not actually stop until he was two feet from her, just out of arms reach. Her blue eyes, wide like a threatened kitten's, latched onto his. They were searching for the answer to a question. What did he want?

The bubble of malice seemed to roll under the skin of his chest and his pulse quickened. She was young, fresh, just fed (if the rosy pink of her cheeks and lips were to be believed), and utterly corruptible. Seconds passed as he deliberated. He continued to stare at her taking in the make-up piled--grotesquely, he thought--on her eyes, the punk style of her clothes--just on the edge of dirty--, and her hair long and dishwater blonde straight framing her face. She must have felt strong, he later mused, or she would not have stood the proximity.

He made up his mind to wait and see for the moment and opened his mouth to speak. Suddenly she turned and pulled a small notepad and pen from her bag. She straightened up from her crouch and, flipping open the pad, waited in a much more civilized manner for him to speak. The changed sparked his curiosity. He wondered just where her lines of reality fell. The contrast of her feline preparation and her school-girl like readiness made him smile. It was delightful.

He could not stop thinking of the red and blue lights swirling around the room like lights in a pinball machine.

"Well," he let the smile fill his voice, his accent vaguely foreign and light, like a brit whose lived in america far too long, "this is a surprise." It seemed as though they had been have a conversation for several minutes already. Albeit the conversation had been silent, an exchange of information about who they were. Shadow stepped back a little to let her know he did not plan to hurt her. "My name is Edward Laughlin. What's your story?"



* * *



The kid's eyes slid out of focus like he wasn't even listening. Henley scowled, "Hey, did you hear me?"

His eyes returned to the detective's, hard and somehow still far away. Henley shifted a hand to his gun and waited. The kid's mouth turned down in a look that said disgust.

"I just got here, and I haven't seen a thing." With a sharp turn, he walked off. No, it wasn't him. There was something off about the kid, but he didn't seem to have anything other than an extreme dislike for cops and maybe a drug problem. Henley sighed. Canvassing was the worst job ever. So many people did not want to talk, and those that did usually had very little of value and a lot of garbage to contribute. Luckily, he was not on canvassing duty here. The detective leafed the pages of his note pad around as he stumped back across the parking lot to the building.

Ramos was loading up the SWAT truck with his team and Henley stopped to thank him.

"Hey, I'm just sorry we didn't skewer the sucker." Ramos smiled and offered Henley a hand. The two men shook on it and left it at that.

The SWAT truck pulled out of the lot several minutes later along with the evidence units. Grant and Henley locked up the building. Yellow tape cordoning off the area from curious people. "Crime Scene" Henley felt a knot of anger in his stomach. He would get this guy. Before anymore Crime Scene tape went up around another grave.

The drive back to the precinct was long. Rainwater swishing across his windows. Once he could have sworn he saw a man on a rooftop staring at the sky. But he blinked and it was gone. He rubbed his eyes and turned down the heat in the car.

When he entered the precinct he heard the TV and walked in on everyone gathered around to hear Taryn Miller's special report.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I hate to say it but has our Seattle PD lost it? Tonight, in a building surrounded by police men, the Shadow openly killed, in front of a witness, Heather Adams, Celebrity Isabella Adams' daughter. The Adams family has had it's share of sorrow. They lost two brothers and a father some years ago in New York to mindless violence. A young car crash, a mugging gone wrong, and an unsolved strangulation. Now this," A decent photo of the body and the room flashed on the screen--slightly grainy like a cellphone photo--but the mutilated body was clear. The news anchor leaned forward. "The girl was bitten in the neck and apparently drained of blood. Deliberately and brutally slaughtered by a psychopathic killer that continues to evade capture."

"Who took that?" Everyone's eyes flicked to Henley, some shook their heads and looked back at the report.

"Disgusting," Taryn spat. "And tragic. No one is safe in Seattle anymore. The Shadow was cornered, and SWAT was coming up the stairs and he still was not caught. The witness involved appears to have been the victim's sister, Samantha Adams." Footage of Sam being run though a gauntlet by Sean and driven away momentarily replaced the image of Heather's body. "There is no information about what happened while she was in the room with him, but that won't stop us from trying to figure it out." She turned her head and the camera angle widened to take in the reporter's guest psychiatrist again.

"Today is a terrible day, Taryn. The Shadow is a serial killer, plain and simple. The police are having a tough time tracking him down because his murders are coming in so quickly. In order to follow it, the major crimes unit will have to discover his pattern, where is he finding his victims. But his victims come from all over the city and suburbs."

"Tell us about tonight's victim, Heather Adams. She flew into Seattle this morning at SeaTac with her mother. What does that say about the Shadow?"

"His plans are flexible." The psychologist took off his glasses and leaned forward significantly, "This makes it more difficult for the SPD. They have to deal with a brilliant, psychopath who is flexible enough to change his plans and incorporate new data."

"In addition to his seeming ability to disappear into thin air. Do you think the police actually have a chance here?"

There was a sickening pause.

"I don't know, Taryn, I don't know."

Henley let out a loud sound of disgust. "Turn that shit off!" He stalked off down the hall towards the coffee machine. Everyone in Seattle would be watching that bitch. Which meant that now, everyone in Seattle would lose faith in their police department. What a cluster fuck! Henley watched the dark liquid dribble into his cup. And grabbed a single packet of sugar. He looked up and Laura walked in. She smiled a grim smile.

"Hangin' in?"

"Yeah, so long as Taryn Miller is the Shadow's next victim." Henley ripped open the sugar and let it fall into the coffee in a lump. He grimaced and began to stir it with a little wooden stick.

"Yes. Well, I just finished taking Samantha Adams' statement. She's still here if you'd like to question her. But I'm warning you she's on the edge of falling to pieces. You know she's already lost two brothers and a father?"

Henley stopped stirring. "Yeah."

"Helluva life." Laura walked out with the sandwich she'd retrieved from the fridge.

Henley took his coffee over to the interrogation rooms and into the viewing room. From through the glass he could see Sam wrapped in a fleece blanket, holding on to nothing and staring into the table like it was the faraway memory of someone else's life. For a moment all he could do was stare.

No time to waste, he finally reminded himself. He'd have to get the sketch artist up to talk to her too.

He set down the coffee and pulled his notepad out of a jacket pocket before walking into the room.

"Hey, Sam . . ." He offered a low smile and sat down across from her.

Josselyn watched him, stared endlessly into his eyes. Her blue hues drove then down his figure, absorbing every particle of clothing, every inch of skin, every hair on his arm or seam or button on his clothes. Her eyes returned to the top of his figure, and she blinked, watching him as he stared, standing there silent. This silence, to her was comfortable. She didn't like being unable to know what he was thinking, but she did like the rather quaint silence that came with it. Finally, this man stepped back, and he spoke. Softly, with a faint accent that she spotted out immediately. When Josselyn had lost her voice, she had trained herself to hear better- so that she would never miss a chance to make statement, even with pen and paper.

When he asked her her story, she was left to contemplate. Her eyes dipped downward onto the blank paper of her journal, and she thought. The pen in her hand was heavy for some reason, when it was usually light as a feather. She bit her lip, her tongue rolling coolly over the thin skin there, tasting the tiny remnants of her latest meal. Her stomach curled at the man's presence. Her story, her story. What would he want to know that for? What was the use?

Finally, she returned her eyes to his. Josselyn took one step closer, returning to the two-foot distance just out of arm's reach. And she began to write on her blank page, slowly putting words upon it...





Jack was running. And Jack could run fast. There wasn't much middle ground. The world around him was a blur as he bolted down the streets, around the corners, passing their home and heading towards the park. All that was in his mind was faster faster faster. His legs coiled and expanded, the muscles bursting into action faster than any human's could. Just going, going, going. Cars, even heading in his direction, were but a tiny speck of color in his world. In, out. Just like that, because he had a place to go, a person to check up on.

Finally, he caught the wind beneath his nose. His nostrils flared, his pupils widened. What was this? Why, he smelled Josselyn clear as day, for she had been with him so very long that it was hard to not recognize her, even from this last mile of distance. But another, strange and foreign, but vampiric nonetheless. And yet, it was familiar. Familiar- as in who? His eyes darkened and his fingers curled into his palm. His knuckles turned white with fury. Josselyn was speaking to the vampire who had just fled the crime scene. He knew it. Her frail female mind and cutesy silence- he thought- would make her a perfect victim for some pity killing of another vampire.

He fucking hated that he had to take care of her. Like her own damned father! Jack growled, viciously so, but quietly as well. He took off again, and raced like hell...





Josselyn had written down her name, and paused. Her story? She began to contemplate it, and was going to begin with why she wasn't speaking to him. His name echoed through her head, etching itself into her memory. Edward Laughlin.

But it was then, she took in a deep breath and caught a familiar scent. Her eyes widened and she looked about, searching for the angry blur that would be her brother. And before she could truly even take a step back, she had spotted him, and he had spotted her.

Jack almost appeared beside her, the back of his hand coming up from his waist in a hard crescent that knocked the journal and pen from her hands, sending them a few feet away and onto the pavement. Josselyn parted her lips to begin her silent side of the argument, but it was discontinued when Jack brought that same hand across her face. He did not mean to hurt her, but he was angry. And this was what happened when he was angry.

"What the hell are you doing?!" He hissed loudly, staring down at her before turning his eyes to the vampire before him, the one at the crime scene. "I told you Joss, to go home when you finished feeding. And what do you do? Chase down trouble? This psycho vamp is fucking dangerous, I swear that much to you..."

His eyes twisted, as though the hues were loosing color and turning black. He snarled at the vampire, Edward, who's name he did not yet know.

"Who the hell are you, you stupid asshole? Going and killing like that, did you see all those damn people, didn't someone make it out? What is wrong with you? And how dare you stand here, before my sister, like someone civilized?! You are a monster, and you will stay away from my sister, at all costs. Understand?" Jack was standing with his shoulders drawn back, in a very proud yet angry manner. His teeth were grinding together, his fingernails digging into his palms as his fists tightened.

Josselyn had stayed down. She hated when her brother got like this. She knew he only wanted to protect her. Jack only wanted to keep her safe, but his rage was one thing that got way out of hand, and she knew why. Because when she was handed off to him, like an orphan, she ruined his lifestyle. No girls wanted to come over to his place and screw him with his mute little sister hanging around. None of his guy friends wanted to come over and play, and those who did wanted to play with his sister; who couldn't even force out a cry of help. It was all up to Jack to stop his own friends from doing what he would have possibly done to some other girl in an act of drunken stupor. So his life was ruined. And then Josselyn went out, ran away, became a vampire, and came back. And she turned him to. Damn her to hell, must be what lingered on his mind at all times. Josselyn had ruined his life. So obviously, she thought, he had to constantly hate her. But he carried the burden.

She pushed against the ground with her hands and somewhat gracefully recollected, coming back to her feet and turning around. She went to grab her brother's arm and pull him away, but he turned his hand and took her wrist, yanking her down to her knees and causing her lips to pull back as though she were crying out in pain. The only sound heard though was the soft 'pop!' that was her wrist breaking beneath the tight grip. She turned her eyes back up to Edward, and let the words 'I'm sorry' dance over her lips. Jack pulled her up and shoved her behind him again.

"Go home Josselyn. Right now."

She obeyed, moving slowly away, never taking her eyes off of Edward. To his side she went, and behind, heading slowly towards the house, though she did not plan to leave too far, for she wanted to assure that Jack didn't engage the stranger. Ah, and she had left her notebook on the ground. Open, with the words;



And the rest was not yet written.

The air, the feeling, the smell of the Seattle was different. The people moved about their days, no one looked up and stared at the others they were walking passed. Everyone kept looking behind themselves, staring into the alleys, and didn’t want to venture off alone into the darker parts of the city. Sy had noticed the paranoia and tension when he had landed. This was semi-amusing. If these people had only known what had actually happened across the centuries of history this “event”, however tragic, would never had been so catastrophic.

It had been close to three weeks since Sy had been in Italy. The “clean up” had been left in the hands of very capable family members. They would take care of the home, get it ready for sale, and the money would be placed in the correct place. Sy had reached the continental US by a private jet. Private jet meant there was less security. Less security meant he could always bring his “tools” along with him. The family had placed him in a suite in downtown Seattle. The hotel was something that wouldn’t be recognized. The hotel wasn’t expensive, nicely adorned, or even remarkable. It was simply a place where he could work from. Store his tools, rest at, feed at, and eventually leave behind.

“This…Shadow,” Sy pressed a cigarette to his lips, inhaled, and exhaled, “an animal of nothing but pleasure or wants. He wants nothing more…” His monologue trailed off as he took another drag from his cigarette. Every time Sy had to do this sort of work, he studied his case. Watched the "subjects" patterns, if they had any, looked at the areas they ‘hunted’ in, and what they ‘hunted’. The table Sy worked at was simple, made of oak or maple, and had cigarette burns. The previous patrons had obviously not cared about the room. The vampire sat, stripped to his waist, papers, new paper articles, and police reports he had gained from several different contacts in Seattle were spread out on the table in front of him. A white board stood off to his right hand. The board was covered with notes written in Latin, arrows connected each piece of information, and pictures were often attached to each piece. The practice of evidence gathering wasn’t a new one. It had been around for years. Sy had seen the emergence of it happening in New York City when the Special Investigations Service was first formed.

“He likes women. Rape than he drains them. Son of a bitch.” Sy grunted around the cigarette. The trail all led to a dead end. There was only one witness, the sister of the most recent killing, a Samantha Adams. She was a paramedic, a damn good one from what he could extrapolate off the information he had gained off of her, she played the violin, ran, and did a lot of other things. She had also seen a lot of tragedy in her life. He father and siblings all had died. He mother would no doubt milk this most recent tragedy until she earned another couple of million off of it. And where would that lead Samantha? Sy tried to wrap his mind around these thoughts. It was difficult, even living as long as he had, to anticipate every move, every decision of a human who had only live 20 to 80 years.

“Alright, Miss Adams. I think it would be appropriate for you to meet…. Detective Sanford,” Sy had stood up, walked over to a briefcase containing multiple IDs, back ground stories, and the works, “from the Special Federal Investigative Services.”

Sy took the file, ID, and everything with him as he walked into the bathroom to get ready.


It had been hours since Sy had perfected his cover ID and walked almost all of the way to the police station. “Detective Sanford” wore a typical Fed suit. Dark colored, white shirt, and dark tie. The shoes were dark leather, comfortable, and capable of doing foot work if necessary. Even the watch he wore spoke of being a Fed. The Federal Agent Badge, ID, and side arm were standard United States issue, the side arm was a Sig Sauer P226. The only thing most government agents didn’t have was his hair cut. But that would be easily dismissed by his extensive “undercover” work.

The variable that Sy hadn’t planned on were muggers. Three of them. They approached in a sloppy fashion. He couldn’t tell if it was their scent, the smell of adrenaline, or if it was how they moved. Sy had been in enough situations like this to know that normal people walked different from those who wanted to spring into action. As quick as Sy recognized them, his plan of action was decided. His movements would be easy. The center mugger would be kicked on the inside of the knee with Sy’s right foot. The momentum would push him into the mugger on the left. A strike to the side of the neck, where the jugular would be, would disable the second target. Sy would swing his left foot around to spin his body, he would be facing the final mugger. He would easily disable the final target with a strike to the side of the temple or a blow to the sternum.

The drama unfolded. Sy moved with devilish speed. The sound of the first muggers knee shattering from the stiff kick reverberated off the concrete and pavement. The man screamed and crumbled. Moving as planned, Sy’s fist connected with the second muggers neck. A pop, the sound of a something breaking, let Sy knew the man wouldn’t get back up. The final mugger was met with a dangerous look from the cool eyes of Sy. Instead of attacking, the man stumbled away, fearing what the average looking man could do. Inhaling slowly, Sy waited for his pulse to drop, than exhaled. He readjusted his suit, making sure if still looked like he was a Fed, than kept on his way to the Police Station where Samantha Adams, witness to the Shadow, would be held.

Darion Caine stood locked in place, his mind lost in old memories. Given the subject matter that provoked such musings, it would be unsurprising to find that it was about violence and death. This girl, Heather Adams had torn open a window into his path. Besides, that deluded nut-job on drugs, there were only a few people left that were still crystal clear in his memory. Most were just a series of hazy faces, but Zheng Lei, and Ellis Holl were two people he would never forget.

Zheng Lei had been a seventeen year old boy of mixed Eastern descent. Lanky black hair, lean, short, and had guiltless soulless, hazel eyes. That particular psychopath was greased lightning, the fastest person Caine had ever seen, let alone fought. His right hand rubbed the meat of his left shoulder, shuddering at sensation’s memory. Darion never wanted to be in a situation where being stabbed was a good thing. He still remembered the knife blade plunging into his shoulder digging for an artery like an oil rig does for liquid gold. Still, it allowed him to catch the weaker, younger man’s arm and break it. Hold on to it, shake it, and use it to grab and break the slick boy’s neck. Had he been any older, any stronger, Caine would be dead. The other person was he remembered was the man who put him there with Zheng.

Ellis Holl was honestly the most terrifying thing he had ever seen. The ink stained fingers, the weak limbs, pale skin, and large horn-rimmed glasses over watery green eyes gave the mistaken impression of a banker, or a writer. While Ellis did write some successful novels about spies, of all things, he lived for the contracts. The man figured out how to kill people from a world away, people that had survived all else. Then he would have someone do it, a second person frame a third, and make the fourth person make it look like a botched job by a fifth party. No one knew better, too busy killing the primary targets in the cross-fire. If Ellis wanted you dead, you were dead. The mess with Zheng should have had the man strung up or shot, or at least jailed. But, Ellis was the perfect weapon, and government bureaucrats were to sociopathic, too wrapped up in their own little worlds that Ellis did damn well what he pleased, and moved people around as pawns a hell of lot better than they did.

Still, he had managed to get Holl installed in some shithole of a hidden prison, but the nagging sensation that Holl wanted it that way remained.

“Shit.”

Caine trembled in the wake of old emotions staring sightlessly at the T.V. now going about some rap star making an ass of himself in front of the entire country again. One of the train attendants had noted the scarred, hard-faced man glaring at MTV, and the cursing made her hurry along. Best not to get involved with some of the people around here, the man might snap. Best for her just to keep her head down. Darion thought about Ellis some more. This entire thing stank like one of his little masterpieces, one of his games. His palms itched to draw a weapon, and his shoulder blades itched like there was something headed for that spot. Paranoia had been a survival trait after all.

“Shit.”

He reached up and turned off the T.V. It was time to go talk to Elaine, and he wished that he would have pushed the gun issue with Paul. It would be better for her to know how to use a gun and a blade against people like that than a can of pepper spray or a taser. Hell, pepper spray didn’t stop him, and 50,000 volts was possible to deal with if you were determined. He had done it under the influence of that much juice. The frightened woman was ignored, and he turned to leave.

He mentally rehearsed the conversation in his head on the way back to his car. How should I start this? Dave is great for self-defense, but there is a reason it is self-defense for women. There are some things she has never heard about me, doesn’t know about the world. Christ, uh… you need to be protected? That sounds patronizing and demeaning at the same time, despite the fact that it is true… There is a serial killer after young women like you? ‘Sounds paranoid, why would he target me?’ Fuck. Security conscious on the job? Hell, that might be it. She can certainly find out that is true on her own.

He slid the unlocked door and stared at the small empty room for a minute. She was gone. He felt an irrational surge of panic, followed by spike of fear and anger. Adrenaline rushed into his body with a jolt. His hands trembled for a second as his brain caught up to his racing heart. …Way to over react. Shit, get control of yourself…
He walked over to where his bag was stowed, plopping it down on the nearest space, a bed. He unzipped it and began feeling his way towards where the taser and pepper spray where stored, calmed by the calm and muted susurration of water. He stopped rummaging; noticing another bag, already open. Despite the nagging misgivings he was feeling, there was no reason to be alarmed. Elaine was probably wheedling another dessert out of the cook on duty, a particular talent of hers.

There was two driving emotional forces in Darion Caine. Both were quite simple. Winning was one, and the other was common enough to forgive. I mean, who doesn’t get curious?

The thirty-six year old was a successful investigative reporter less from his toughness, and lethal experience, and more from his intense desire to learn. A trembling hand lifted out of the bag, and its distance from the starting point indicated the internal war. Inches back and forth, I am an adult man in my mid-thirties, there is no need to look in a teenage girl’s bag. The hand went back into the duffel bag, carefully pulling the pepper spray to the opening. Still, she can’t blame me for lookin’. What is in there that is so damn heavy?

Slowly the lack of a sound made its way to a still functioning part of his brain. Dropping the pepper spray on top of the bag, Caine whirled around cat-like fast. Only to see something, someone, there…

Oh, shit. Murphy’s law was working overtime with today. Elaine…

She blushed bright red at the proximity of him, and almost dropped the towel. His jaw hung open, and arms ready for… well, combat, though the gesture might be misinterpreted here. He dropped the arms, closed the jaw, and whirled back around, facing a wall, stone faced. Well… this could have gone better.

Elaine jumped slightly at the sight of Darion, heart rate stumbling into a sprint. She squeaked slightly, and noticed the small black cylinder on the top of his bag and went dizzy, not reading the large silver letters naming its function. Everyone knew what pepper spray was, but this discreet little aerosol can said something else, in French. It was bear repellent, and the assailant who got sprayed with that would have a little more than temporary blindness and disorientation to be worried about. However, an over-active imagination still persisted.
Despite a potentially horrifying or embarrassing answer, especially clad in only a too-small towel, she asked.

“What is that?”

The reply was a bit sheepish. “Uh… It’s for you.”

The momentary pause became awkward, and some words began to tumble out.

“It’s a… bear repellent. I have a taser in there for you. Security conscious, you know?”

Elaine was very happy about Caine being unable to see her flush up to the roots of her hair and ear tips.

“We can uh… talk about it after… you get dressed?”

Caine trailed off hopefully, wanting a way out. God, that was smooth. Elaine nodded, mutely, at Caine’s back. She snatched the bag and darted back into the bathroom. It clicked loudly.

Caine carefully blocked the sight now burned into his retinas and brain. How embarrassing. Instead with a practiced determination and calm that the man was unable to force during his fear, a scarred hand found the taser where it was also secreted, and brought that to the surface. The Elaine that emerged a few minutes later was much more… presentable. She was sensibly clad in a warm long sleeve shirt, and the standard women’s jeans. Her cheeks were still pink, but more from being scrubbed with face wash than residual embarrassment, or so Caine hoped. Who can know the mind of a woman? Caine then steadfastly ignored what just happened and began talking. She took it well, and began to read the instruction manuals.

He moved his bag from her bed, zipped it back up, locked it, and stowed under his bed. A few hours passed in a blessedly dreamless nap. The train pulled into the station, and Caine grabbed most the luggage, except for Elaine’s backpack. He moved slowly and deliberately under a weight nearly equal to his body’s, with the oddly distributed masses. Elaine followed close, still a bit worried from the talk, reassuringly feeling the bear repellent and taser.
Elaine hailed the cab, and slid in while Caine was putting the luggage in the trunk. The action caused him to wince. Despite the soft drizzle and cold, she still wasn’t paying attention. He slammed the trunk closed hurriedly, still paranoid. He slid into the back seat behind the cab driver.

“Where to?” There was a slight foreign accent to it. Caine struggled to place it and failed. It didn’t matter, he was in the best position to control the man in front of him if it came to that.
“1352 Coal.” Caine’s voice was distant and slightly cold, but commanding. It was time to go see Evan and find out what he knew.

It was a little startling to hear her name; Sam blinked, coming out of her reverie, and lifted her chin as pale blue eyes swiveled towards the source. It took a moment before she recognized him, the memory of the man whispering “good job, Sam” while taking the swab of evidence off of her cheek. Sam lifted a hand as she spoke, feeling the crusty remains of dried blood still there. She had forgotten all about it. “Detective Henley… right?”

"That is my name." Henley watched her hand go to her cheek, where there was still some blood. Jesus, no one had cleaned her up. "Name is Conan Henley. Coe or Henley is fine." He glanced down at his notepad and pushed it to the side before leaning forward, his elbows on the table. "Are you alright?"

Physically, she only ached and felt chilled to the bone. Now and then, when shock faded enough, and reasoning was able to surface through the cloud of her mind her shoulder continued to the throb and ache, but she welcomed the pain. The pain felt justified, real while everything else was taking fuzzy tilts. She tried smiling, to be reassuring, and only managed a twitch of her lips before the effort died completely. “I’m alright…”

"That's what I thought." He rubbed a hand across his face and looked at his watch. It was late and she'd been awake for who knew how long running a gauntlet of reliving and retreating in her mind. She'd done the basics of the statement but he was about to ask her to dig deeper and relive the feelings, the moment in a way she hadn't had to before. Brutal. Fucking Shadow. I'm not a psychatrist, he thought, don't try to be one. "I'll try to keep this short and I know it's not easy." He paused briefly and dove straight in, "Tell me about him."

Tell me about him… that was certainly a new question, one she expected, but never truly knew how to properly answer. Sam’s eyes left Henley’s face, her brows furrowing as she focused, collecting her thoughts, trying to provide him with the best answer. Finally, “…surreal.” A slow blink of her eyes before they seemed to focus on a memory, determined to recall every detail for him. “He moved… like a tiger, graceful but beneath each movement screamed power, even if he himself didn’t appear so strong. He… he was kneeling there when I arrived and I… I was foolish; I hit him. I’ve never actually hit anyone before. He… told me to do it again. Almost as if he was surprised he had felt it.”

There were traces of awe in her voice. It sounded as if she were describing some kind of fallen angel. As he listened he felt the hair on the back of his neck standing up. "Hold on for a second. I have two questions for you." Her eyes snapped up to his face as he called her back to reality for a moment. "How did you get close enough to hit him?" Everything Henley knew about the Shadow told him that the man wouldn't accidentally let anyone sneak up on him if he could help it. What was the weakness here?

Sam blinked, her eyes coming back into focus as she looked at Henley again. It took a moment longer to turn the question around in her head, but really there was only one answer. “I walked up to him; he didn’t flinch or fall back.” Sam’s eyes flickered again as she tried to recollect everything. “He had been close enough to touch a number of times, he smeared his blood on my cheek, it was from that splinter I gave you before; it cut his palm. I pulled it from his hand… and pocketed it.” Because at that point she didn’t think she was going to make it out alive, and wanted to give them some piece of evidence, at least, to hunt the Shadow.

Henley frowned. Why would the Shadow do that? Why open himself up like that? Sure, Sam wasn't a big person--he glanced at her little blanket wrapped form--hell, she wasn't even a medium person really. Alright, perhaps it was some kind of crazy arrogance. And this, Henley reminded himself, would be a good thing. The arrogance was what would get him caught. But the more the thought about it, the weirder it was. Sure he might be arrogant enough to let the girl come with striking distance and even strike him. But why leave a survivor, why let there be an extra unit in the equation to begin with? "So he saw you approach him and allowed you to strike him?"

She actually blushed, though the reaction seemed uncalled for. Forcing herself to break from clutching the blanket, she instead rubbed at the back of her neck. “Sean… my partner, bought me lessons from a dojo. I’ve been taking classes for almost two years. I’m fast, but… not that fast, you know? I didn’t think about it then; or what I was doing, I just wanted to hit him. That was the first time I hit anyone; he could have moved away, stepped out of it, but he just stood there.”

Henley smiled. "Self defense is excellent, Sam. And I'm glad you hit that son of a bitch. What I'm getting at, is did he see you approach him?"

Again, with an endless patience she thought back to the situation, but nodded before she even finished the brief moment. “He couldn’t have missed it; he didn’t even fight it, just took the hit, dropped, and asked for another. There was no way he missed my approach.”

Henley couldn't understand it. "And then he asked you to hit him again. Did he say why?"

The frown tugged her lips as she shifted in the chair, her eyes intent on the Detective. Was she missing something? Slowly, she shook her head, and so they’d have it on record with whatever recording she was sure they’d have; she gave a verbal response as well. “No… should he have?”

"No. I'm just trying to get at what you remember. Sometimes there's things that we pick up just beyond the normal and then and then of the moment." He waited for the words to sink in a little then he asked, "Do you have a theory about why he would ask you to hit him again?" Besides that he's an egotistical, masochistic, sadistic bastard . . .

She didn’t like these questions, but Samantha wasn’t certain why. Recalling the events had certainly been more difficult, draining; but these ones made her feel feeble, confused, and worried that she was going to say the wrong thing; even if it was the truth. She rubbed at her temples, tugging the blanket off of her shoulders with one hand and looked for a more comfortable spot on the chair. She gave up and slowly stood, feeling the ache in her muscles as if she had been in a car accident. “I… no. I don’t know. He didn’t seem too surprised I was there; though I don’t believe he expected my presence. The man… almost seemed confused. As if me hurting him pulled some cotton from his eyes. He… he said something, I remember now. ‘I am not heartless. I don’t kill without feeling’.” Samantha stopped her pacing with a sudden jolt, turning her head to the side though again she didn’t look at anything in particular. She frowned, and then shook her head slowly, side to side.

Henley felt like a jerk. Until she repeated what she'd heard the Shadow say. "He said that? Was he trying to convince you of that?" He leaned forward, "Was it important to him?"

Sam lifted both palms to cover her eyes, pressing them there as if trying to force the memory back into existence. Why were her eyes prickling now? Why did this push her to the edge more than her report with the woman? Sam swallowed, fighting the tears, and paced the small room as if trying to walk away from the surge or emotion. “Uhm… I… He said it; I don’t think he’s the sort of man to waste words. Like a poet almost; there’s the impression of literature every time he speaks. I would believe it was important to him.”

"Ok," Henley realized he'd pushed to hard as he watched her pace and fidget. He sat back a little. "What else did he say to you?" He asked quietly, trying to calm her down.

Sam pulled her hands away from her eyes, the white’s red, the dark circles beneath seemed to have grown deeper; but there was still the spark there, and as long as she’s been awake, fighting to keep people alive, fighting to survive, she had a little more to go. Her throat was tight, and she swallowed to try and loosen it up. “My sister… called me.” Her voice cracked and she forced herself to stop. Slowly she lifted her chin, and clenched her fists so tight her nails began to cut into her palms. “She… have you heard it? She was calling him a vampire; and he called it an ‘overwhelming irony’. One I’d apparently not understand, and wouldn’t it be [i]wonderful[i/] if he was as… what was the word? Undead? He used ‘undead’. Then there was rambling about how he could turn me as heartless with one bite.” Another swallow, and her chin lowered, the first tear escaped but it was small and ignored as the pearl made it’s slow path down her cheek.

"Vampire." Henley's eyebrows rolled together across his forehead. He'd heard the rumors in the medea and on the streets. Some many of the victims drained. "But he said he wasn't undead?"

Well obviously he wasn't undead, Henley thought, there was no such thing. But what did he mean? Was it some kind of cult? Henley slid his notepad over and quickly scrawled vampire cult across the bottom. He'd look them up later. That could explain all the random killings that seemed to put the Shadow in two places at once.

“Just as I told you,” she spoke softly, stopping now when she reached the wall, and pivoted to make her slow path again to the other side. Walking help, it distracted other parts of her mind from the things that were so hard to remember.

Henley waited an extra minute. The question he was about to ask was a tough one. "Did he touch you?"

Touch? There were many ways that could be taken, and for a moment Sam was too startled for any angry reaction. Anger felt better than sorrow; but it made her insides twist and her body takes a turn as if she was going to be ill. “No.” There were no secrets hidden in her answer. “No, if you mean ‘touch’ as in a form of sexual assault? No, he did not touch me. But did we have physical contact? Yes; I still have the bastard’s blood on my cheek! He cut himself; and what did I do? Henley, I [i]pulled[i/] that fucking splinter from his hand… How could I have done that?”

Henley kept still as she began to yell. He was glad she hadn't been assaulted, but it seemed that she had helped the Shadow with an injury. When she quieted a little, though she was still clearly agitated, he said. "If you hadn't we may not have had the very clear DNA link to him that we now have." Another mystery, why would he leave such a trail? "You were following your instincts and your instincts led to a discovery."

"It may be the case cracker, for all we know"

His attempts at comfort were hideous, he thought. His mother would have smacked him with her rolling pin.

That helped… but it still felt wrong. Why? She was a medic, it was in her nature, her blood, and she hadn’t wanted to be anything else. Ever. The only clear moment this evening had been then, and once more Sam quoted the monster as if it were some poem that spoke to part of her soul; she sounded disgusted. “’Working for such a souless system as you do won’t help anyone any more than CPR for your sister.’ Is it so apparently that we’re related?” She mused to herself, turning again but back towards the chair to sit and try and calm her restless spirits. “Do you speak Italian? He said something in Italian…”

Henley leaned forward, if he'd been a dog his ears would have perked up. "No, but I can find out. What did he say?" His pen was ready on the notepad

“He had been laughing… I think he was calling me ‘mia cara’? Mia cara, mia cara, Mi… something, spirito been…’” Slowly she licked her lips, taking a drink of the cold coffee simply to take the bad taste from her mouth. “I’m sorry; I don’t speak Italian. If I heard it again I would recognize it.”

"It's good, it's good. I'll track that down." Henley smiled at her a bright smile. "This is good, Sam, real good. I think we're just about done, is there anything else that you can remember that seems important?" It was a stock question but sometimes people did remember things.

Sam pushed the cup away with the pads of her fingers, wishing she could be encouraged by that bright smile; she believed that Henley meant it, that it wasn’t s fake. But she couldn’t find the energy. “The only other thing is how he left; your officers made the announcement you were coming in. He moved about picking up his things as if in no rush or worry… he was confident in his escape. He asked if I wanted him to surrender… I told him I did. He didn’t, obviously, but it amused him and he offered to give me a couple bruises to ‘make it look as if I tried’.” She waved a hand in the air, as if to wipe the subject away; clearly the act of violence towards her didn’t bother her as much as anything else. She finally sighed, weary. “He asked for my name… And again like a fool I gave it to him. He told me “Arrivedercie” and went out the window; he was fast, Henley… It only took a moment before he was gone.”

He nodded, all traces of the bright smile sank beneath the grim reality. "I understand." The information rolled around in his head and he saw a horrifying new possibility emerging. Not only had the Shadow been confident and prepared in his escape, but he'd made it with Samantha's name. "Are you afraid he'll come after you?"

The thought hadn’t occurred to her; not really. She had thought that was what the police were thinking, but there was no fear inside for another encounter. Should there have been? Sam considered it, and her gut began to twist again though she wasn’t sure why. “I… don’t think so.”

"Ok, would you mind if we assigned a protective detail anyway to watch your house? Just in case he does show up?" Henley saw her uncertainty and recognized it as a true feeling, but he knew that the only really link they had to the living shadow and now just his victims was the woman sitting across from him. There was no way he could let her leave alone.

She knew the question was a curtsy; and while one part of her wanted nothing more than to be left alone; that wasn’t feasible. Sam sighed, slow and heavy, slumping back against the chair as if she had given up the last of her energy to the Detective. She wanted to make him feel better, to please him. “Please… I would appreciate that.” And she did; even if she didn’t like the idea of being watched and followed. Then a horrifying thought crossed her mind; and she flinched. “Oh god…” it was a breathy whisper, and her hands lifted to her face. “Please… can you keep this from the media? Please? My mother… “ Would suck up the attention, and while Samantha ached for her mother and her sister; she’s been hounded from the media before. She couldn’t do it again.

Henley remembered the news clip he'd seen coming in and felt his emotions turn dark. On top of everything else, Sam would now have to deal with the media. "Sam, we will do the best that we can. But they already have the story. It's been aired while you were here." He watched her face fall with heavy feeling. He wished this kind of thing never happened.

That had been the last thing she wanted to hear; she stiffened as if he had slapped her across the face. But, slowly, inch by inch her muscles relaxed, forcing herself into a calm she wasn’t truly feeling. She gave a slow blink, and the slightest nod, before curling her fingers against the cold metal table in front of her in an attempt to keep the room from spinning. “That’s alright… thank you, Detective.”

Henley was ready to leave and start researching the SOB Shadow, but he felt like he should stay or give her a hug. Something. "Sam." He lost the notion of anything that would be helpful to say. There was a moment of silence, then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his card. "If you need anything." He looked her straight in the eyes, "anything. Give me a call. I'm on call all the time." He slid the card across the table. "You can hang out here until you're ready to leave if you'd like." He offered her another sad smile and stood to leave.

And here… they could relate. Sometimes you wished there was so much more that you can do, but the job, reality, life… it all had rules and ways and a human could only do so much. Samantha couldn’t save everyone; Henley couldn’t protect everyone. She understood his will and desire to do more, and it was a flood of relief she wasn’t expecting. He cared, he wished all of this would stop; some officers distanced themselves from others simply to look at human nature as a machine, to make it easier. Some people, like Sam, loved utterly, and only wished that there was more of themselves they could give. It wasn’t easy to see someone else suffering. Sam wanted to smile, to give Henley that hope that she was alright, and she was safe now. A hand reached out, fingertips catching the card as they drew it across the table closer to her. She looked at the card; most people don’t, and finally offered a small, fleeting smile, the rare and infectious thing that made her pale blue eyes sparkle and shine with life. “Thank you again, Henley.”

"You're welcome." He returned, catching the glimpse of life in her eyes. Thank God someone out there still had some. He put his hand on the door knob and walked out.

Sy had walked from the scene of the attempted mugging, leaving two bodies disabled. He knew for certain one wasn’t dead, the other he hoped was still breathing. If not oh well. One more body wouldn’t matter in this city where the body count is continually piling up.

As Sy walked, he went from the humble, quiet man, and transformed back into Federal Agent Sanford. Arrogant, authoritative, and all knowing. That was him. That’s what he had to be right now. Sy had to be put away for the time being. Agent Sanford had to question the “Shadows” only living witness. The police station was the typical Metro-type station; an older building, over crowded with offenders, and officers bustling around trying to make sense of everything. It also didn’t help that a swarm of reporters and their cameras were trying to surge past the few officers who stood guard. Walking up to an officer who looked older than the rest, often time age meant a higher rank in departments like this, Agent Sanford flashed his Federal Badge, nodded to the back, and was allowed entrance. He slipped passed the unknowing reporters. Thankfully they were all to worried about getting information on the witness. Samantha Adams, the tortured paramedic. A twinge of compassion shot through him. He felt sorry for the woman who had seen so much death in her short existence. It had been different for him. Living almost a thousand years, he had grown used to having people taken away from him. But people that lived only 80 years, if they were lucky, never got used to that. With a blink, Sy was once again buried under the persona of Agent Sanford.

”I am Federal Agent Jared Sanford from the Witness Protection and National Special Investigations, I’m here to question the key witness Samantha Adams concerning the serial rapist and murderer known as “The Shadow”,” Agent Sanford’s tone wasn’t exactly asking if he could see Samantha. It was a demanded. An order coming from a higher power. The old officer that had led him past the ravenous pack of reporters looked befuddled. He didn’t know what to do. With a look to the badge, than to the serious face, dark suit and tie, and the general arrogant asshole-ness of the man standing in front of him, the older fellow nodded. Following closely, the pair made their way through the maze of converted office space where detectives swarmed around trying to get their shit together. The new information gathered from the witness had been a top priority, no doubt. They would be trying to compile it all and make a more effective profile of the killer. Trying to mimic his movements and ultimately catch him before he killed again. Unfortunately, they would never catch him. Years of experience was on the side of the poetic killer The Shadow. Years upon years would aid him and hinder the police. Sanford could only guess how old the vampire was.

“Right in here, Agent Sanford. Oh, can I have you ID. I would like to call you office just to make sure you are who you say you are.” The older officer had redeemed himself, even though he had led him right to where the witness was. Agent Sanford nodded, he drew a card from his breast pocket. On the card would be his personal cell phone number and a number that would connect the officer with a dummy phone line that would act exactly like an obscure government agency. A member of the family would answer, give the correct information to allow Agent Sanford a golden pass. Never had Sy worried about that. His family was well connected in all levels of the government. Never once had he been questioned after a phone call like this.

With a nodded as the older man walked away, he quickly adjusted his suit, took his badge and hung it on his suit jackets breast pocket, and opened the door to the interrogation room. Walking in, Agent Sanford was no doubt shocked at the woman he saw. She was beautiful. Delicate. And yet stronger than the table the stood between them. She looked like hell warmed over after being humped up and down a rugby field for half the night. He felt sorry for her. But he also knew if this nightmare would ever end for this city, she would have to go through more questions.

“Samantha? I’m Agent Sanford. Jared Sanford from the Witness Protection and National Special Investigations.” His hand wasn’t offered in a greeting. He knew she was sick and tired of the “niceness”. He wasn’t going to play the good caring cop. He didn’t have that much capacity. What he would do was play the typical Fed. Cold, calloused, and business like.

“I wish I could say it was nice to meet you but the circumstances don’t allow this to be nice. I understand that you have been put through hell tonight ma’am. I am sorry you have to keep reliving this experience. But I must ask you to do it one more time. For me, for you sister, for all of the past and future victims of this sociopathic bastard called “The Shadow”,” his tone was all business. He wouldn’t let her mind slow down, even though she had been through a meat grinder. No, he wanted her almost delusional state to stay there, he wanted her to explain everything in almost every little gritty detail, this way he could really know if this “Shadow” meant to let her live or not. “Before we start do you have any questions for me ma’am?”

His hands slipped from where they had rested inside of his pockets. He walked over to the table, pulled the chair out from under it, took his jacket off, and neatly put it over the back. His sleeves were quickly rolled up, and his arms crossed as he watched Samantha intently. Several scents could be smelled. He didn’t know what it was. Anger, fear, and wanting? He didn’t know. He never really knew what he could smell. And what he did smell were those scents truly emotions? Could a man like him truly smell fear? Could he truly taste rage? He didn’t know. It was a nice thought but there was no concrete evidence. With a blink, Agent Sanford stared hard at the woman. He had a lot of admiration for her. Shewas definitely strong.

There had been a ray of hope as Detective Henley left; Sam could shut down for a little while, close herself off, grieve in privacy, and simply be alone. It was exhausting; as if she wasn’t tired enough already, but the workings of these cops reminded her of bees in a hive. Always they were buzzing, flocking through one passage and out the other with some intended goal to attend to. She had taken a few seconds of silence to collect herself, and was preparing to stand when the door opened again. She looked, half-expecting Sean to be leaning in the frame, offering a ride home, or one of the officers assigned to watch her and her apartment.

She knew he was Fed the moment he walked in, but there was also a prickling… something at the back of her mind that made him seem almost familiar. Not his face; that was new to her, no mistake, but there was something itching to be recalled. With emotions being as raw, as they were, she had less control over her face, and felt the frown tugging at her lips before she could stop herself. Whatever that something was she felt suddenly afraid, as if the table between them wasn’t long enough. Silently she prayed for Henley to come back, as if to rescue her, before she berated herself for being such a fool.

If this man was supposed to be assigned to her as some sort of guardian… she was going to have to ask for someone else.

Eventually she was able to school her face, locking everything away into a placid ball she tucked away into the pit of her stomach. She was still uncomfortable, tense, but why wouldn’t she be? Why would anyone expect that she found this man intimidating? But then cold anger flooded through her as he continued to speak, as if she needed a reminder of why she was here. As if she was willing to hold back information after everything that happened, or didn’t understand what she could be withholding.

Sam stood abruptly, clattering her chair across the floor, eliciting a loud groan of metal on stone. Her heart raced, she could feel it fluttering in her neck, her fingers and her chest, erratic and aloof, as if some trapped bird were fluttering about, looking to escape. For a moment there was a terrible tilt to the world, part of her was half afraid that this would be it; she was going to make a fool of herself and faint; but there were some good graces by whatever was watching over humanity, and she didn’t fall. She found courage to turn around sharply, making for the door, stopping only when her hand was on the knob before turning around to glair at the man, her eyes cold as ice. “How dare you; do you believe I don’t understand this situation? As if I haven’t been involved enough already? I want these crimes to stop more than you do! I’ve carted the bodies away, one by one, until they’ve surfaced to haunt me at night; and you make the implication that I need more incentive to talk? As if I haven’t divulged every truth already? Read the reports, you prick, all the information is in there!”

Perhaps that had been too hasty; but with everything Samantha had endured over the last fifty odd hours with no sleep, she felt entitled to. She wished she could have said she walked out of the precinct with her head held high; but the moment the door slammed closed behind her tears blurred her vision, and she was left stumbling through the hall, momentarily alone, looking for the women’s bathroom. Maybe there was some sense of security about the place; like rolling into the fetal position when trying to hide from your attackers. She would have rather had the luxury of her own home, a place with her things, a hot shower, and the security of familiar rooms, sounds and walls.

She instead had to find comfort in the ladies’ bathroom, feeling the door swing closed behind her, her shoes squeaking against the linoleum. Her sanctuary became the handicap unit; and somewhere between crossing the small stall, to locking the door, to pushing herself into the furthest corner the first muffled sob broke past her lips, before Sam buried her face into her bent knees, and allowed all of her carefully collected pieces to crumble apart.

The reaction was semi-expected. She stood up, screaming at him, and walked out. She rushed down the hall possibly to the bathroom. Agent Sanford stood there, with a sigh, he folded his arms. He wasn’t sure what to do now. Never in his experience with the “modern” woman would he have expected her to react like this. He had dealt with people, when the suit and arrogant air came into play, they would have never just walked out of the room. They would have screamed, stood up, paced around, and tried to leave but never had he seen this. Never had anyone in his experience simply blew past “The Fed” persona. But Sam was different. He admired her courage and strength.

With another sigh, Agent Sanford turned around and left the interrogation room. He walked down the hall, pulling out his cell phone, he clicked the number of his “boss”. The man answered the phone speaking Latin, a language almost exclusively forgotten by the Americans. Sy answered back quickly, he explained the situation and allowed for his “boss” to give him the okay. Sy walked down the hall to the bathroom. He slipped his phone back into his pocket. The thought of this job taking longer than he thought frustrated the normally calm man.

Heading out of a side door, Sy reached into his breast pocket of his jacket. A pack of cigarettes were produced along with a very expensive silver lighter. With a flick of his thumb a flame was sucked into the small cancer stick. Smoke eventually poured from the nose and mouth of the Vampire. Closing his eyes, Sy thought back across the many years of his work. He had done a lot for his Family. He had spilled a lot of blood, both Vampire and Human, at the expense of keeping their Societies secret.

France; April 1944

The country side of France had rolling hills, streams, rivers, and hedgerows that chopped up the landscape. A constant drizzle never failed to dampen the already bleak mood. A patrol of 20 Nazi Germans trailed down a dirt road. Their brightly polished leather boots, neatly trimmed uniforms, and the lightning bolts of the SS spoke of Hitler’s Elite military unit. A smaller unit, of 8 men, hid in the surrounding hills, underneath bushes, covered in camouflage netting, and even one up in the branches of a tree. Their formation was text book for an ambush, a half circle facing the oncoming unit. Their weapons were aimed precisely at the commanders, communications, and medic.

Sy’s cold eyes glared down the sights of his Kar 89. The bolt action rifle felt natural in his hands. The weight, the hard wood, everything was right about this weapon. It was his second favorite weapon next to his prized sword. With a slow inhale, Sy smoothly squeezed the trigger. Thunder exploded from the muzzle as an 8mm round struck the commander in the chest sending him tumbling into the muddy earth. Sy’s hand moved, reloading, aiming, and firing…..

Present Day
Sy came back to the present. That ambush had went well. The 20 or so SS Officers were killed quickly. Sy had spent a lot of time during World War 2 helping the French Resistance combat Hitler and his Nazi's. That was just another one of his many assignments given to him by his "Family". With a frown he flicked the cigarette butt into the street. Opening the side door Sy instantly became Agent Sanford again. His walk, the way he looked down his nose at the officers that were buzzing around, everything spoke of him being a Fed. Agent Sanford found the bathroom Sam had ran to. He opened the door slightly, his acute hearing picked up her sobs, with a frown he let the door close softly. Turning his back to the door he leaned up against the wall. He would have to wait until she came out. Unfortunately he was running out of patience. Who would have thought that could happen. A man who had lived hundreds of years was losing patience.

Darion Caine scanned the streets casually as the cab driver continued to ramble along a long commentary. With a skill usually developed by husbands, Caine dropped in and out of the conversation at the appropriate times with the appropriate agreement, all the while ignoring the annoying hoarse voice. Elaine was all but pressed against the glass, gawking like a back-country rube in the big city for the first time. A phrase managed to catch his attention despite the mind-numbing monologue. “Seen a bunch a weird lookin’ folk clusterin’ ‘round this Shadow reports…” The tone was dramatically different even if it barely was differentiated in the monotone speech. It contained befuddled anger, and the strange thing was that the emotion was faked. He was practicing for something, and the arrogant body posture, slight ironic tone… Interesting.

The few people he had seen on the streets were sullenly afraid over buried smoldering anger. The good people of Seattle were losing faith. Despite the well publicized long string of murders, Seattle was big enough to have a couple of spectacular serial killers every few years. Even the more horrific ones didn’t kindle the potential riot brewing in these people unless the victims were widespread and seeming random. Tense, hunched shoulders, rapid-eye movement, and spastic reaction of even the most wary people spelled fear.

If the killing wasn’t random, the perpetrator was extremely well-prepared. Then the serial killer was quick thinking, motivated, and good to dodge the police at the last minute like the reports were saying. If it was random, hopefully it was the more probable scenario. The killer would be the leader of a cult, a cult that was organized, wide-spread, and devout in their belief. Caine hoped it was a cult. The other option was even more terrifying. If it wasn’t a group, the police were screwed, the FBI wouldn’t be much better, and even black ops would not have a positive ratio for catching the guy. If he was alone, the guy was a brain, a high-level genius like the Zodiak killer, or Ellis Holl, and the true scope of his plan wouldn’t have even started to unfold.

Caine noticed the silence drawing out; he missed a question. He shrugged, and guessed. “Not a Seahawks fan. Wouldn’t know one way or the other.”

It was the right answer, and the cabbie grumbled to himself about tourists the rest of the way. The street yielded a three story building, and the car slowed to a stop. Caine slid quickly out of the cab, and strode over to the trunk, pulling out some cash as he did so. He stuffed it in his pocket and knocked on the trunk, looking at the cabbie, who started slightly. Caine snarled slightly as he followed the cabbie’s eyes. Caine grabbed the luggage, and hastily slung it over his shoulder before stalking over to the window.

It rolled down, and Caine let a bit of the killer, the jungle into his eyes. He met the weak, watery hazel of the cabbie, who flinched at the promise of hell in Caine’s eyes. Caine shoved the appropriate amount of cash, rounded to the nearest dollar through the window, and shook his head slightly. The cabbie interpreted the look properly and rolled out, fast. Caine glanced at the tastefully decorated building. The zen rock garden was a nice touch, as was the vines creeping up one side of the building. Ariel strikes again. He smiled at that and walked up the smooth steps, into the foyer area. The immediate entrance held a locked door that led directly to the workshop. There was a set of stairs that led up to the gallery, with an elevator.

Despite the time, Evan would still be working tonight. He always did on the anniversary of his father’s death, a memorial for a figure he could never quite connect to in life, and never would now. The glass blower would be working on something unique, up until 1 AM. Depending on the result it would either be given away or broken. “Something sublime must be contained for it to be allowed to live,” Evan once told him after he got deep into his cups of wine. Caine smiled slightly, and breathed heavily out before opening the glass door.

It clicked shut behind him, and Caine stared balefully at the stairs, his current bane. The elevator was looking extremely tempting, but that would be giving in to weakness. A soft sigh, and a grunt, and the man trampled his foe. Reaching the summit, Caine looked around the gallery. It was dotted with paintings and sculptures as well as Evan’s creations. It looked like Evan got smart, and well known enough to start sub-letting space in his gallery for other artists. A discreet cork board was stashed near the exit.

Caine wandered over, and started reading. There were five bios, a picture of each artist, and contact information for each. A corner held some newspaper cut-outs of local awards and several good reviews from different sources. He smiled at the building code inspection verification nestled beside the cork board. Caine turned around and spotted Elaine, who looked like she was enjoying this place. Feeling like a blimp in a cityscape, the man carefully navigated through his obstacle course of expensive objects to the second entryway. A recessed door was half-hidden in the small hallway led downstairs.

“Elaine, I’ll be downstairs.”

She called back her agreement and continued gawking. Caine shook his head and stomped his way downstairs, hopefully signaling his presence by sheer volume. The downstairs floor was neatly divided between storage and work space. The storage area held materials, racked tools, some works in progress, and buttressed the stairs leading up the second floor from the front entrance. The work area was larger, and divided, but not by walls. The furnace and actual work place took up most of the room, but a small desk and table held requests, designs, bills, and other random paperwork necessary for a business. The furnace was blazing hot, and heated the entire complex when active in some bizarre environmentally friendly way. It was beyond mere mortals like him.

No dice, Evan was working with his headphones on. The attractive blond haired man was oblivious to the outside world, focused entirely on his work. Caine put the bags down near the design table and slid into Evan’s peripheral vision. It could be very dangerous to interrupt the glass blowing process. Despite the safety gear, Caine knew there were burn scars dotting Evan’s arms. A compressor, a tank of helium gas, a few heavy duty hoses lay near a machine that would interface with the glass blower somehow lay near the working artist. It wasn’t in use at the moment, so Caine would be forever curious to how exactly it worked. He shrugged; it happened all the time when he was in the military.

Evan was a master at his patented forge, manipulating it in arcane and mysterious ways that seemed just as incomprehensible as a magician’s tricks. Caine had absolutely no idea what he was doing, or what the thing would end up like. The project looked huge, but he just watched like a curious bystander near a demolition site.

It took about five minutes for Evan to finish whatever he was doing, and back away from the forge. He turned away from Caine and put the thing on the work table to cool for a minute. Caine coughed loudly as Evan’s gaze slipped by him. His cousin jumped a good foot in the air, surprised witless for a second. He began to stammer, “J..J-“Caine’s eyes flashed dangerously as the older man’s brain began to function. “Jesus Christ, man. How long have you been there?” Evan slipped the ear buds off and turned off the ipod.
Caine smiled gently, “Does it matter?” Evan nodded.
“Five minutes or so. Didn’t want to mar the masterpiece.”
Evan turned and looked at the cooling abstract shape.
“It isn’t close to being done yet.”
Caine just laughed at that, and Evan glared back at his cousin.
“Fair enough, but as long as Ari is happy,” Evan smiled contentedly, “I am.” He twisted his wedding ring absentmindedly.

“How’re the kids?”
“Doing just fine, man, doing fine.” Evan shuffled over to the table, and proceeded to rummage through a stack, setting one aside for later. A few pictures were produced, and Caine did the appropriate oohing and ahhing.
“It’s been a while since you came to any of the family gatherings.”
“It’s dangerous for everyone, Evan. Some of them don’t remember that well, and I hate the picture parade. I take ‘em, not get flash blindness by ‘em anymore. I hate that sensation.”

Evan chuckled and waved his hand at the echoing stomping coming from the upper floor.
“See you brought her after all.”
Caine grimaced, and made a motion with his hands. “Ya, what about this Shadow?”
“Nasty piece of work. Still, so are you. I wouldn’t be concerned too much as long as you stay around her. Keep her close, you know.” Evan leered a bit at the end, and Caine threw up his hands.
“She’s Jessica’s kid man. That’s just wrong.”
“Long time to carry a torch, for it to be still burning so hot.” Caine shrugged, and Evan smiled gently.
“She look like her mother?” Caine nodded. “I remember Jess’s pictures, she must be pretty.”
“Ari would mount your balls on the mantel to dry if she heard you talking like this. And she is definitely scarier than you are.”
“She is five foot five and a hundred twenty pounds. You’re six something, and about two fifty!” His tone was a bit incredulous.
“I don’t sleep with her.”
His mouth opened instinctively for a good retort, then closed slowly. “Uh… good point.”
Caine grinned smugly at the point and Evan was silenced from responding by the bounding girl coming down the stairs. She was smiling ear to ear.

“It’s all beautiful!”

She threw herself into a hug with Caine who twirled her around slightly to attenuate the momentum and impact on his ribs. She clung tightly for a moment, and Evan looked meaningfully at Caine over her shoulder. He rolled his eyes in response, and dropped her back down to the ground. Elaine unwrapped herself elegantly and gravely extended a hand, the entire mien ruined by the impish grin. Evan rolled out the welcome wagon, losing twenty years with long practiced debonair charm. He gravely took her hand and kissed. Elaine blushed a bit. Caine started speaking, alleviating the nausea in his stomach.

“Evan, you just met Elaine, and Elaine, this is Evan. Don’t pay too much attention to him, the shameless flirt is happily married.” Elaine blushed a bit more, and Evan bowed slightly, inclining his neck, and extending his elbow.

“Well, my dear, would you like a guided tour?”

Caine waved his acceptance, and walked over to the stack of papers put aside. Evan was more worldly than he appeared, and the stack of papers were good beginning leg work. Caine pulled out his note pad and a pen and began flipping through the pages. He had always been a fast reader; blue eyes scanned through most of the notes, and highlighted print outs, occasionally jotting a few things down. Dezzari did indeed have some business interests here. Caine bared his teeth in a vicious grin. The ‘Italian’ was a vicious rapist of a pimp, drug dealing pedophile who liked extortion, black mail, and bull dog tactics for take overs. Caine was going to bury that fucker forever, with this shit. FBI would be taking over the case, and no senator or congressman was going to touch this without also being eviscerated in print. Dezzari would die, just like his inaccurate pet psychopaths that the PD refused to investigate any farther into. A few knew Caine, knew that he was still angry.

Caine paused at the second half, flipped the other direction. The Shadow. There was all the normally available information, along with some more that looked like hacking, which was interesting. Who did Evan trust to do that? Still, Byron would be able to give him some names, and the money launderer was always happy to help the man who kept him out of prison. Arnie, an ‘old buddy,’ who was heavily into the import/export business could tell him the rest.

Still flipping, Caine noted a few names. This state’s foremost forensic pathologist seemed to be incorruptible. The two coroners on the jobs weren’t. More teeth came out. The notepad smacked closed, and he quickly, but neatly, slid the sheaf of papers into a business envelope. More speed was needed to put it into his loaded bag, and get back to ‘watching’ the glass cool.

The elevator dinged, and he heard his cousin grunt. Caine turned around to see the blond man straining with some piece of covered wrought glass. Evan hauled it up, and gently put it on the same work table as the other piece. Caine glanced at Elaine, then back at Evan. “Shoulda been a used car salesman.” Of course, he doubted either would catch that bit. The eyes rolling to the heavens were unmistakable.

“How much Evan?”
“For Family?” Dramatic pause. “Free.”
“Fair enough.” Caine tapped the table lightly five times, and Evan nodded minutely.
“Can I borrow the truck?”

Caine snagged the keys out of the air, and grunted, lifting up the sculpture. Practiced hands determined the car key by feel as he kicked open the back entrance. There was a black Audi, and battered red pickup truck with a covered bed. A brief cursing, and the bed door opened with a clang. He placed the glass sculpture securely in the corner with the tie-downs, and shut the bed. Next came the bags, which went in the small backseat.

“Elaine, time to go. I need to hit the sack.”

She giggled, and Caine wondered what he had been lying to the girl about. It didn’t matter, and he turned over the engine which roared. Elaine slid into the other seat, and promptly closed her eyes. Twenty minutes later, he rolled up the hotel with the girl threatening to drool on her shoulder. Parking, Caine slide out carefully, and began shaking her. She looked groggily at him, and noticed the hotel.

“C’mon.” He snagged the heavy bags and went to the late night check-in where the employee looked about as alert as Elaine.

“Checking in for Darion Caine.”

"The zoo was in an uproar" --Jack Prelutsky

The little vampiress looked at her paper. The wheels in her brain seemed to be turning in such a way that he was just about forgotten. It must be an interesting story, he mused. Though he not nearly the story he most wanted at the moment. It was an interesting puzzle. She bit her lip, flicked her glance back up and him and then very deliberately stepped forward.

How interesting . . .

Then she began to write.

Suddenly the scent of another vampire tickled the wind: male this time and not in a friendly way. It seemed the group of them would soon become something of a show. He wondered for a moment if the vampire was one of his. His hand struck his pocket where his phone was. Cal had not called. Then he noticed that the little bird had gone pale. Her pen stopped and her blue, blue eyes flew erratically from street corner to rooftop.

The Shadow took a second breath--this was not one of his--and slipped his foot sideways and turned just enough to see where the male sprinted into view. He looked like a bat out of hell. Or an avenging angel, maybe, racing hell and high water behind him to smite something. Shadow's eyebrows twitched. What was the male's problem? He glanced again at the girl. Did she belong to him?

Oh, for fuck's sake, he thought. Then the male was upon them. The Shadow experienced a modicum of disgusted surprise as the male knocked the pen and paper from the little bird's hands and then laid his hand across her face with a crack that echoed through their little corner of the world. The Shadow's eyes captured the space and he immediately knew that this was not where he wanted to be: visible like animals in a zoo. He was reminded of rabid monkeys he had witnessed once in a maharaja's menagerie in India. The man to whom he had been speaking said that when his animals got rabid he shot them, but the maharaja was more humane. The man's face had twisted with a sneer as he turned away from the monkeys.

"What the hell are you doing?! I told you, Joss, to go home when you finished feeding. And what do you do? Chase down trouble?" At this moment, Shad was aware that he was in fact the trouble. It gave him pause, did this male know who he was? "This psycho vamp is fucking dangerous, I swear that much to you . . ."

That Shadow decided, yes, the male did know--though not so much as he thought he did--and blew out a sigh. Rabid, he was making a scene. The Shadow vaguely mused that probably no one would come. The question was should he stay or melt into the night while the male was busy--

"Who the hell are you, you stupid asshole?"

The decision was made as the male rounded on him, spitting words like uncontrolled fire into the air. He expected the rabid male's word would die on the air just like the fire from a blow torch once the torch runs out of fuel. He could wait for that.

"Going and killing like that, did you se all those damn people, didn't someone make it out? What is wrong with you? And how dare you stand here, before my sister, like someone civilized?! You are a monster, and you will stay away from my sister, at all costs. Understand?"

Shadow made his face into a smile. Something was wrong with him. Why had he let Sam go? Because he had to. No, a little voice mocked inside of him, suspiciously similar to the male,no you let her go because you can't do it. One taste of humanity and you fall cowering, begging to get it back? That's what's wrong with you. Regression. Fear. Cowardice. On the other hand, it was amusing to be called an uncivilized monster by a raving lunatic. He hadn't been hurting the little bird. It was on the humor that Shad focused.

The little bird in question chose this moment to try to pull her brother back from the Shadow, from Edward. And her brother--for so he said he was--turned just that fast and broke her wrist. The Shadow found her eyes flicking to him and read an apology on her lips. He drew his own gaze back to the fervent, nearly crazed face of her brother.

"Go home Josselyn. Right Now."

Both Shadow and the male watched her retreat. Her eyes never leaving the Shadow's face. He felt uncomfortable. The whole situation had exploded and now she was placing an obligation on him. He wasn't sure what, but the male still stood in front of him. Shadow slipped his hands into his pockets and left his slightly foreign accent where it was.

"Well that was quite the most civilized display of ferocity and near-fratricide that I have seen in quite a while. Seems we're all monsters and thieves in the glow of street lamps." He let his eyes slide to the male's face.

The other vampire turned back toward him, murder in his eyes.

"Before you say anything, I would just like to point out that I did not in fact hurt your Josselyn--that was you, fine sir. And secondly," He let his voice turn hard, "I would not dream of it. She's not in my cards." By way of explanation, he added, "I don't play hands I'm not dealt."

Shadow had shifted to the balls of his feet while the male's back was turned, just in case he showed another impulse for the same kind of violence that dropped the pad of paper and the little bird to the ground. The male's cocky shift of direction flexed through his muscles while Shadow watched. He felt once again the absurdity of being mis-caged in the rabid monkey pen at the zoo.

It all left her feeling hallow inside; Samantha didn’t know how much time had passed. Sobs melted into whimpering hiccups, before they dissolved into silent tears, and it was only until her body had nothing left that the tears dried up and the heavy fatigue settled in. Exhaustion, she knew what that was, she was familiar with it; this seemed so much more and with a crushing weight that wished to turn her bones into dust. A demon had clawed a hole into her soul and at any moment she felt as if she would be consumed by it.

The chiming of her watch startled her from that dark corner she had found comfort in, shivering and cold as the rain fell loudly on the roof over her head. At first she didn’t know what it was, or where it came from, but as she became more aware and more awake she glanced down at her wrist. The clock’s face had been smashed, blurring the image of the time, but the watch went off at the same hour, day after day without fail. Six AM.

She was standing in front of the bathroom’s mirror a few moments later. She didn’t think about doing it, but her body was used to getting up at the sound of an alarm and moving as she still struggled to wake. At first she didn’t recognize the reflection, the dark circles under her eyes looked as if it had been more than a couple of days since she slept, and the blood shot eyes made the blue seem more pale, almost white and ethereal. But her eyes spoke of something more, things she didn’t have the words for; or wished to describe.

But she recognized guilt. And once again all of the things she had done wrong surfaced through her mind like clips from a movie.

Sam ignored it, but Sean knew how to read her, and it was impossible for her to lie; even if her life depended on it. "You alright?" They were both walking to their cars now, a sweater hanging across Sam's arm, and her messenger bag over her right shoulder. "Yeah... she's a smart girl..." A brow shot up as her lips pulled in another frown, and Sean stopped walking. "Who?"


Sam glanced over her shoulder, stopping, before slowly turning around and sighed. "Heather. She met some boy and... I don't know. She's in Port Townsend... I don't understand why the hell she decided to go all the way over there... it's just.... but she left me an address." And she was worried, because with everything that was going on, her sister was now doing something crazy that normally she might have simply sighed and shakes her head about. It was gnawing at her guts, and unable to help herself, she lifted her phone to read the message again. "I think something's wrong."

Why hadn’t she listened to her instincts? Why did she choose to ignore them, when she knew they were always right?

The cold water was turned on. Sam splashed her face several times, trying to clear away the cobwebs from her head. She ran, as fast as she could, from the ferry to the studio. She slipped, she fell, she stumbled, as if god was trying to slow her down, stop her, make it so that Samantha didn’t reach her in time… but still her memory was fuzzy, it was all a haze until she broke through the door, and found herself staring and the end.

The throb in her shoulder didn’t feel like enough.

She splashed more water on her face, and then turned the water off and used paper towels to dry off her face and hands. She needed sleep… she needed to slip away to nothing for several hours so that she could make sense with how she was feeling, and what was going to happen next. It wasn’t over with, there were still so many things to do, so many loose ends… Sam found right then that she didn’t care. Let the world turn without her for a little while, she could do nothing more until she had rest.

Over an hour had passed since she had left the interrogation room; the reason she had left to begin with had slipped her mind until she opened the door and saw him. For a moment all she could do was stand there, arm stretched out as it braced the swinging door from impacting against her. But then she blinked, slowly, and instead of snapping at him, scowling, or anything else that might have made her feel better, Sam turned away, heading down the hall where she hoped she could find someone that would take her home.

By now, Josselyn had turned away, and disappeared like a breeze. She was faster than Jack, and ran like a track star of the vampire world. But this time, she wasn't running home. No, she didn't want to return. She rarely met another vampire, and that man... After she had seen his cool composure; she was sure he was not bad. But for her brother to come and interrupt? It was right of her to turn him into a vampire. It went well with his monstrous ways. Josselyn raced past their home, and more-so towards the police station and beyond, where the mute vampire would find herself amidst the returning detectives and officers.

Jack, on the other hand, was not giving up. Edward's words spurred a fire in his depths, but he did not speak of it. The young vampire smiled and nodded to the older one, and waved his hand off.

"You're lucky. Lucky I don't hurt you." He growled, baring his fangs like an animal. He felt the sudden need for blood, sex, violence, and drugs. Urges that compelled him when he was human, only a hundred times more intense. He moved past the other vampire, standing still once he reached his side.


"I came here to avoid vampires like you."

He then disappeared, walking off into the darkness, before beginning to run softly towards his home...

~Josselyn~

She had run for about five minutes straight, able to run about two miles a minute. That was probably the equivalent of 120 mph. She was fast. But Josselyn had begun to slow down, hearing the sirens and seeing the lights' faint flickering. Police cars coming. She came to a corner stop, and listened to the police cars, rushing back to the station she'd passed a few seconds ago- about a mile back now.

Suddenly, she turned at the shine of a flash-light.

"What're you doing out here?" A cop said. She parted her lips and her eyes glinted a sweet green sheen that mimicked an animal's eyes. The cop's eyes widened and he began to stammer, reaching for his radio. In an instant, Joss had turned for him and raced forward, jumping at him. His back hit the pavement and her lithe body pressed his own down, and he was literally at the point of shitting himself. She gripped his radio and tossed it into a tree, causing it to shatter.

She parted her lips, and let a sweet breath pour over him as she stepped back. No more, no more being contained. When she was human, she was always told to stay away from everyone, because she was different. Because she couldn't communicate with everyone else, and no one knows sign language; it was a waste of time to even learn it. She turned and began to run in the opposite direction, farther from the police station. She turned sharply on the corner.

No more.

Then, a bright flash came. She stopped and covered her glinting eyes, staring trying to create a figure. A horn broke the silence as the blue, red, and white lights suddenly broke so that she could see. A car! It was too late then though. Her body had been hit by the police car.

Josselyn fell back, her legs holding without breaking. The front bumper was torn completely off as it bent into a 'V' around her, and the hood crunched up slightly. The car had to have been going like 60, and her body was now distorted on the ground.

The other cop was really about to shit himself now, as he looked to see his previous assailant now dead. But she only appeared dead. Josselyn whimpered; her arm was broken, and just when her wrist had healed from its break. She pushed up and saw where the grate on the front had torn the knees out of her pants and caused deep gashes. They'd heal soon. She was not going to worry. Josselyn stood, and looked at the cops inside the car, staring wide eyed as she made a low hissing noise, the most noise she could afford to make, simply by bringing her tongue up and blowing air out between her fangs; much like a deep whistle.

She then pressed her hand into the hood and pushed the car back a bit, and began to move again, not as fast as before, but pretty damn fast. A human track-star's rate now, and seen by the cops as she fled.






He had made it close to home. But he stopped. Outside of his home he saw a car. It was broken down, with a beautiful young woman standing before the hood as smoke rolled out of it slowly. She waved her hand and cursed, staring into the engine with a misunderstanding gaze. It was obvious she didn't know anything. But it was also obvious that this wasn't where she wanted to be- the middle of the night in a place where she didn't see anyone else.

Jack smelled blood. Two scents. One of a deer, and the other of the woman. Ah, the sickly pitiful smell of a galloping creature, and that of a gorgeous woman, who's body could cure his ails. Jack let his eyes roll down her body once more from his hidden position, before walking forward. He approached, and assured to step on a twig or two to gather her attention.

The brunette turned and smiled at him, thanking God he was there. She waved off the smoke and began to explain.

"I hit a deer and thought I was stranded." She said. "My name is Anna." The woman stretched out a tan hand for him to take. Jack took it and grinned. "Name's Jack." He said. He looked at her car and grinned rather darkly.

"It looks bad. I don't think that's a quick fix babe." He said smoothly. Jack had a way with the ladies, regardless of his extreme manic phases. His dark eyes settled upon hers and she bit her lip, checking her phone and watching the screen remain black.

"My phone is dead, can I use yours?" She then said. "Maybe I can get someone to tow it."

"I don't have my cell on me." Jack retorted in a rather sly way, pointing then to the small gravel road that lead down to his and Joss's cabin. "But my house is just through there. A bit creepy at night, I know, but it's a rather nice crib when the sun's out." He turned towards it and began to walk, stopping and looking back.

"Do you want me to go call for you, and come back when I'm done? Or would you like to come with me? I can put on a pot of coffee for you if you like."

The woman nodded, and came forward, taking Jack's hand as he led her to his home...

"They rights are empire: urge no meaner claim,--
Felt, not defined, and if debated, lost;
Like sacred mysteries, which withheld from fame,
Shunning discussion, are revered the most."
--Anna Letitia Barbauld "The Rights of Woman"

The rabid male vampire vanished into the streets. The Shadow stood still in the resulting silence. He had been warned, he mused.

He stood still in the street for a moment, pondering his own passivity. He might have done something. Further evidence of his lack of humanity. He remembered the feeling he'd had from Samantha with a viciously real shock. So powerful was the memory that he seemed momentarily blinded and gasped for breath like a drowning man. When the street lights came in to focus again, he saw the notebook lying face open on the concrete. The yellow light washed over the white pages, making them look old or plastic. The Shadow inhaled deeply and drew his long body straight. The words etched across the page were the same Josselyn Stone. And I don't really have a story, I'm just

"And here the words stopped coming." He approached the little book and looked at it for a moment before bending and lifting it off the pavement. The little bird's scent clung to the edges of the pages and the ink in the letters. Definitely, he thought, a very 'little' bird. He recalled the scalded look in her blue eyes when the male had approached: Jack, a distasteful name, her brother. Briefly the mystery of this girl-child--ratty, make-up'ed little vampire--seemed to rise before him like a sacred thing, spoiled by the raging of her brother. But the Shadow resisted rifling through the diary, for diary of sorts it was; a record of her conversations, if not thoughts as well. The Shadow lifted his eyes and scanned the scene of battle once more.

Why hadn't he acted? He could have easily put Jack in his place, saved her in a sense. Samantha--Sam would have stopped Jack. The thought of the human paramedic's puny strength being thrown at the vampires made him smile. She also probably would have had that self-righteous rage in her eyes, like some kind of female goddess enacting rightful vengeance. Speaking goddesses, the little one could be one of those statuettes covered with offerings, for all the crap she was wearing on her face, and stuck solid beneath the thumb of unholy priests.

The Shadow closed the little notebook and let his hands slide across the covers. Sam would return it. Josselyn would be wanting it back.

He set out at a pretty quick walk, following the direction Josselyn had fled.

He reached the scene of the car accident quickly enough to hear the accident from a couple blocks away. He wondered what could bring her so near the police station. As he passed it and the decimated car, he looked at the windows. He could have sworn he'd just seen Sam pass a window. Watching the next one, he saw her again. For a moment the Shadow was torn between staying where he was or continuing after the little bird. But seconds later he took off down the alley after the vampire. He would see Sam again, he was sure. She could handle her own empire for now.

He found the vampiress in an alley.

"Josselyn."

* * *

Henley stared into his watch. For Godsakes, six am?? Talk about an all-nighter. He scrubbed his hands over his eyes, leaving the heels of his hands in his eye sockets and leaning on his elbows. He hoped for the upteenth time that Sam had found someone to take her home.

The phone rang. He picked it up: "Henley"

"Hey, there's a report from just outside the station that one of our cars hit someone, a girl. She dented the whole damn front of the car, got up and ran off."

"What the fuck?" Henley grabbed his coat and headed for the door. Six am or nothing, off he went.

If there was such a thing as an adrenaline rush for vampires, Josselyn was going through it. She ran almost a straight ten minutes at a rather fast human-speed. Her knees throbbed, her body now burning up what little human blood was left from her meal twice as fast. She finally felt it happening though. Her stomach was burning, her knees aching. She turned off into an ally, racing to its end and settling quietly into the darkness of a shadow. She inhaled deep hissing breaths, her fingers touching her gashed knees, drawing the blood to her lips and licking at it- her cold tongue's tip wrapping around her nails to draw the blood off. Thoughts tore through her mind like the fangs of her sire had done to her body, long ago. She closed her eyes, resting her mind for a moment and shifting into a dream of such a man, while trying to recover...

Darkness occurred around her mind, and she was devoured by this memory...

She had run away. A long hard push on her human legs- nimble and frail. She was torn with scrapes and oncoming bruises from falling down clumsily. Usually, she didn't get out the house much. Josselyn was thin- a slender physique bearing the luscious curves of an oncoming woman. Her hair had become matted with the rain, and her make-up had run and been wiped away by her hands until her face was pure and void of such paints and things. Her blue eyes searched the distance, but she found nothing. She had secretly decided she was going to kill herself. But she just wanted to lay down for now. She was so tired, and the run had been so vicious to her feeble human body. So finally, Josselyn had settled along the outskirts of town, resting in a small open stretch that overlooked the city when the rain had stopped...

She laid down, her eyes heavy, but her chest quivering. It was cold, and she was far too upset to sleep. But finally, Josselyn slipped into a state of light sleep...

An hour or so later, her eyes hazily opened to feel the unshakable feeling of death. It wasn't an explainable hunch, but it was knowing you were in the company of a killer. She rolled onto her side, and saw behind her a crouching man. How gorgeous a man, staring out over her body at the city she faced. Josselyn looked up at him, staring at his crystal eyes of a hazy topaz. He had smooth straight hair of a dull blond with brighter blond highlights that fell in razored edges that framed his face. He wore a black tank top beneath a white jacket. He turned his eyes down to her, reaching up and rubbing the bit of stubble that grew along his jawline. The man smiled, bow-shaped lips forming something so soft and gentle that it lured the aching human in like a moth to a flame.

"You woke up. It's about time." He reached down and pulled her body up as though she were made of feathers, and not thin muscles and limber curves. He stroked his long bony fingers through her hair and pushed it aside. He didn't really feel like one for conversation. She looked up at him and moved her lips, but no sound emitted. Suddenly, he was kissing her neck. She felt her eyes water. Who was this dark angel? She felt his fangs graze her neck, her sweet blue eyes opening wide. Then, he sank those fangs deep into her neck. Pain swarmed through her. The moth had been burned. She parted her lips in a full stretch to express a scream that would not come as her throat closed up. Her back arched, legs trembling as her feet pushed against the ground, pushing her farther into his grip. She stretched her arms in an erratic struggle, her fingers curling as she finally relaxed.

It burns... Please stop... I beg you, please stop...


Her name rang into her ears, and her eyes opened slowly, a bit moist as she looked up at the man before her. It was Edward. She looked up at him, feeling her throat tense and thick- her scars aching. She reached up and pushed aside her hair, touching her nimble fingertips to those two little scars, and sighed. Josselyn looked down at her knees. They were a little better, but still bloody and throbbing with the dull pain of a barely active heart. She stretched her legs out and parted her lips, wincing.

Josselyn stood up though, ignoring it when she was on her feet. She leaned against the wall, staring over at him as she rubbed her eyes, now wet. Rubbing her wrists back and forth over her eyes several times caused the majority of the make-up to smear and remove. She looked at her wrists at the dark streaks there and sighed, rubbing her fingertips under her eyes to rid of any excess smears on her face, cleaning up well from many years of knowing what rubbing her eyes did.

She then stared ahead at him, slowly parting her lips and moving them as though she could speak.

Why ... did ... you ... come ... here?

"Chronic remorse, as all the moralists are agreed, is the most undesirable sentiment." --Forward to Brave New World Aldous Huxley

"I thought you might want this." He lifted the small journal, which he had resisted the urge to rifle through. "Though few people understand sign language, I believe even fewer actually read lips." Turning a smile towards the little bird, the Shadow extended his arm with the book. From his words it was unclear, though kindly unclear, whether or not he had actually read the question she asked.

He waited patiently while she watched him. The make-up that had before so caked her face was rubbed to mere smudges around her blue eyes. He briefly wondered what would happen were he to take her home with him. Cal would definitely be thrilled. Ah, but she would doubtless have moral issues with his rather singular and disturbing line of work. The Shadow himself had decided long ago that chronic remorse could not be tolerated. It was unhealthy and slowed down any kind of progress he was making. Progress at what? Meeting the quota of deaths ascribed to his soul. She needn't have to know, he mused.

Though Sam certainly did. The look on the girl's face as she realized her sister was dead sped through his mind. A certain grim pride filled him, there had been no sickening memory causing him to fall to his knees or be unable to see the stunning little vampiress in front of him. Her blue eyes continued to pierce his, searching for his intent.

"I suppose if you don't want it, that's your business," He offered as a delicate mist began to frost the silver morning. "I just thought that I would return it, in the event that you did."

* * *

"Jesus Christ." Henley croaked out as he stared at the dented, no demolished cop car. "What the fuck did you hit?"

"A girl." The stunned cop-driver shook his head.

"No fucking way."

"Yeah, she jumped me before taking off into the street." The other cop broke in. "I swear, like seventeen years old, blonde, dark make-up and clothes. She fucking hissed at me or something, shiny eyes, like a wolf or something."

"What the hell." Henley kicked the tire. "Are you fucking positive? And she just ran the fuck away, huh?" There was no explanation that worked in Henley's mind.

"Yeah. but she pushed the car back first." The driver muttered, staring into the gutter.

"What a load of shit!"

Silence.

"Vampire." Said the witness cop.

More silence.

"What?" Henley's voice was low and tight.

"Hey, I just said it." the cop threw his hands up. "The whole city's been thinking it."

"We're cops, Smith. We know better." Henley stared him down. The silence was nearly palpable.

"Do we?"

Fuck if he knew. All Henley could think right now was that 'vampire' was what Sam's assailant had called himself. What was this, some kind of half-baked, silence of the lambs, zombie thriller, nightmare? Shit. "Hey, get the paper work and photos on this and send them up to the Major Crimes office. I want copies on the director's and ever investigating detective's desk by 8 am." He growled and stalked back to the building. A light mist was beginning to sift through the greying morning air.

Henley stomped to his desk. A steaming cup of coffee was planted on the desk with a little pink "A Call Came for You" slip tucked beneath it. Susan's round handwriting covered the sheet.

An informant called for you, declined to state a name.
Message: Darion Caine is in town asking questions about Dezzari's local business

"For fuck's sake." One more thing on a plate piled to the ceiling. Darion Caine was someone that Henley would be happy to not have in town. He was ex-military turned journalist. This set off alarm bells for the cop. Possible PTSD and the power of information sounded just a little too much like an unstable science experiment to Henley. But then, most veterans he was all for giving a job to. They even had several vets working in the SPD office. But from everything he'd read on Caine, since the last time he was in town, the guy sounded like one bad ass mother fucker. A thought occurred to the exhausted detective: maybe Caine knew something about the current "Shadow" case? Was it connected to Dezzari?

"Hey, Susan?" Henley called across the office. She looked up, dewey and expectant, "uh, thanks for the coffee. Could you pull the files on Dezzari and have them sent over to me?"

The ancient vampire sighed deeply. "Troubling indeed...." He remarked, to no one in particular. There was another in the car, though she was used to him speaking his mind. Kether, the vampire, sat in the back. He wore his black leather trench coat, as always, with a simple red dress shirt underneath, and black dress pants. His boots came halfway up his shins, with beautiful designs along the sides.
The Mercedes stopped, with a slight creak of leather, as the woman in the drivers seat pressed on the breaks. "Your stop?" Was all she said, in her firm voice. Kether didn't even respond. He instead reached over, pulling the lever with his black gloved hand, opening the door. The night air was cool, even to one such as himself. He stepped out, glanced around the area, and walked into the building.
The first room was large, and mainly white. Something of importance seemed to be going on, so he took a seat. Normally his charisma, whether because of his age, personality, or vampric 'powers', attracted attention. He could, however, use this to not be noticed, which was what he did. He sat in the chair for a while, waiting. From his seat, he thought for a moment he could see who he wanted to, and was re-assured he was in the right place. The smell alone told him there was another vampire here. Most vampires would have troubles picking out the scent from that of so many busy humans in a small area, but that was one of the perks of being an ancient. That, and the fact that only someone extremely observant could tell Kether was a vampire, from smell.
'My family seemed to place a lot of hope with this vampire. A killer they called him. A form of....cleaner. Yes, that is what the word they used.' Once again, he saw a glimpse of the man, one called 'Sy'. 'What an odd name. Or is it a nickname? He fascinates, and disgusts me at the same time. Certainly hope he co-operates.' He thought, regarding him and the humans coolly. And there he sat, waiting until he noticed him.

"Agent Sanford" saw the door open. He smiled lightly at Sam's stare but she turned away walking down the hall.

"Miss Adams," he moved quickly so he walked right next to her,"please, I'm sorry. I... Sometimes us Feds forget that the people we deal with aren't always exposed to the harsh things we deal with everyday."

The reporters had disappeared from the front lobby, obviously they had realized Samantha wouldn't be coming out any time soon. The lobby was still packed because this was a metro police department in a fairly large city. People were always getting arrested for something. Than he smelled it. The scent tickled what felt like his cerebellum. His palms itched, his lips slightly parted and curled into a glare, and his eyes instantly searched for the other 'Vampire'.

"Miss Adams, I've been assigned as your temporary body guard until this issue is resolved. I'm sure you need a ride home." His voice had went from compassion to urgency. Sy realized that happened but he didn't care. Another 'Vampire' meant someone who wasn't from his family. It also meant that the only witness who knew who the "Shadow" was is also in danger. His right hand brushed the semi-automatic pistol on his hip.

As they moved through the crowd, Sy saw the other Vampire sitting on a bench. He looked at the other male. He looked like a Vampire and smelled like one. With a slight glare, Sy turned towards the door. He hoped Samantha would follow. He had to keep her alive. At least until "The Shadow" was taken care of than he could give a fuck less if she lived or die.

Alsmot watched as the agent escorted a girl towards a door. She seemed tired, extremely so, and 'roughed up'. He stood, a large smile spreading across his face.
'This one is cautious. Sort of a, trust no one motto.' He thought, walking slowly towards him. He knew one wrong move could cause an explosion of violence, in the middle of the police department. Alsmot looked him up and down, scanning and categorizing the man in a few seconds.
"Excuse me." A police man asked him, placing a hand on Alsmot's shoulder. "Can I help you?" He asked suspeciously.
"No no, I'm fine. Simply going to go meet my friend here." Alsmot answered, gesturing towards 'Sanford'
"Really? You know him then, do you?" At this he nodded, now slightly annoyed. "Then what do you need to see him for? Can't it wait?"
"No, as a matter of fact, it cannot. I am here to speak with him of funeral arangements, something very personal. Now, if you wouldn't mind." He answered angrily, stepping past. The man mumbled an apology, allowing him to continue.
'Silly humans. I for one don't quite understand their misplaced respect for death, or the dead for that matter.'

Cal
Ever since the 20's, Cal had been devoted to him. Him, who she called Sir.

She had been the third daughter of a Greek fisherman in Boston. When her older sisters were married, she began working in her father's office. She helped him organize and sell, kept the accounting records--after night classes. Men still scoffed at her so her father had to deal with customers, but she helped keep it organized for him. He could neither read nor write, only pen his name. So when she figured out a deal or helped him understand, he would tell her, "Kala koritsi, kalais, kala koritsi." He always smiled when he did too. It was a play on her name, the greek words for good, girl and her name all began with a kappa.

Her father had died at sea when she was eighteen. No husband or brothers in sight. the business was still fine, but she was forced to rely on the other men to help her with the customers. Many of them resented being told what to do, especially by her. One night, several of the men had come to her office. They appreciated her work in the business but could no longer take orders from her. She simply didn't know what she was doing, they said. They guaranteed her a share in the company and told her to take her mother and move in with one of her sisters. Or get married, one of them joked and elbowed one of the younger men. That had been it. Not one of them had laid a hand on her. Not one of them had even looked at her lewdly. The young man the joke had been leveled at blushed crimson and looked away. The men had all, however, been serious about her leaving. And so the office was taken from her by non-violent political coup. Instead of returning home, she had run into the rain that night, intent on taking her failure into the harbor.

He offered her another way, another life, soon after her father died. But she had refused, six times, until he found her near the harbor that evening. She could not face her mother, let alone her father's grave and spirit, knowing she had lost the family business because she was a woman.

Cal, no longer Kalais, picked up her vibrating cell-phone. "Yes." She replied, without thought to how her voice mirrored her master's.

"The victim is finished. Arranged just the way he requested. She gave us a little trouble, but we subdued her soon enough." A wicked giggle on the other end of the line, not the speaker. "Shut up." The speaker quieted his friend. "She's drained, stained, and placed next to her TV set with the Emerson quotations."

"Good."

Another voice leapt into the conversation. "Hey, Cal, Cal!" It was one of the younger vampires. "Shut up!"

"Hey, ask her if she heard about what He did. Ask her if she heard about Heather Adams!"

"Shut up, idiot." His voice got on the line again. "We'll be back soon. Hey, you didn't happen to hear about--"

"I heard." she replied and hung up the phone. God, she was sick to death of this. She understood the idea of destiny and it seemed that He had truly felt destiny calling to him. If that's the way it had to be, then Cal could understand that. But lately, the Shadow--as the media had so sweetly named Him--had become reclusive. His murders--though she felt they were almost misattributed, seeing how few He committed compared to His new henchlings--were getting sloppier, less definitively his. Tack a quote on it and drain their blood seemed to be the new coven motto. She had recently even had to put down a few of the new ones for planning their own murders. Luckily she had kept Him from discovering it; the rough mercy they received from Cal's hands was nothing next to the cold death of His justice.

The culmination of His seeming lapse in judgement was Heather Adams. Cal recalled their phone call from a few hours ago.

[i][b]"Yes." He always answered in the perfunctory.

"Sir?"

"What?"

"The next victim is ready."

"What?"

"The next victim? She's on her way home from the bar. We're ready for you."

Silence. As though he hadn't understood a word she had said.

"Victim number--"

"Oh," He lapsed into silence again. For a moment, Cal though he might have hung up. "Sam." He rolled the name around like a caramel. He was a million miles away and Cal felt her shoulders contract with tension.

"Sir?"

"Cal, take over this victim. I will be gone for a few days, then we will begin the next phase." Take over? Take OVER? Cal felt as though He had cut her loose on a skiff. It wasn't her inability to handle the situation. If called upon, Cal could have done almost anything. She would have committed the murder, drained the woman, man, child. But He was abandoning ship. Just before beginning another phase. As if He'd lost interest in everything He had worked for decades to convince her was necessary. She still wasn't sure what it was necessary for, but she believed Him.

"I--thank you, sir." was all she said.

He hung up.

The latest victim was dead now. And Cal sat at her desk, staring at the screen. She had pulled up the files on Heather Adams and family again. The girl's sister was named Samantha. Was this the 'Sam' he had spoken to, of? It had to have been. Cal picked up the clicker in one lean hand and set the news into motion again. "Samantha Adams, sister of Heather Adams, the latest victim, is the only known survivor of a Shadow attack." The girl looked exhausted in every photo they showed of her. But she was alive, for now. What did her survival mean?

Cal set her head on her desk for a moment. Her dark wavy hair pooled around her on the papers scattered across the desk. The house was a modern building, enshrouded by trees, perfectly fitting anything but a vampire. High windows looked over the Sound to the west and the furniture was ergonomic. The basement was large and expanded to underground holdings for the entire coven, when they weren't in the offices in the city. Throughout Seattle and the surrounding suburbs, Cal managed sixteen houses, office complexes and apartment buildings. There were humans renting from them as well, and those--Cal made sure--were not used for food. But most of the space was used to house the coven so that they were able to strategically utilize more than one location, helping to avoid detection. This was imperative since the coven had grown so large. Lifting her head off of the desk, Cal pulled her hair away from her face and picked up a hair tie, wrapping her hair into a messy bun at the base of her neck.

Apparently there would be waiting. Days, as He had said.

Her father's words came back to her "Kala koritsi, kalais, kala koritsi." And she closed her hazel eyes touching the lids with a finger each. Some days she worried. Like today. The sun began to shift through clouds in into the windows of her office. She would sleep soon. The waves on the Sound brushed the shore like lovers hands. As she watched they grew rougher. Cal had never known a lover's touch. She had never married, never kissed, never adventured beyond her desk in His service. He had asked, once or twice, if she had the desire to find herself a mate. She smiled. No, she had always replied, I am married to my job--as they say.

Turning from the Sound, her eyes caught the television screen. The broadcaster was flashing a photo. The photo was clearly Him. He wore sunglasses, which dipped below his golden eyes and a slightly sinister smile turned the corners of his mouth. My God, Cal leaned on her desk. He had obviously intended the picture to be taken. His dark hair framed his own Mediterranean features (one of the reasons she had trusted him immediately, he could have been a cousin on her father's side) and his eyes peered straight at the viewer.

National coverage indeed. She pressed record on the teevo feature and sat in her chair. Perhaps a cup of turkish coffee was in order.


************************************************************************************************************

There's a connection somewhere. There's always a connection. Somewhere somewhere, anywhere. Henley looked up at the murder board: the title "The Shadow" was in the middle near the top. His photo slot empty. Next to it, were the victims in their patterns, chronologically. There was a similar murder board in Major Crimes, but his board was plotted differently and he didn't want to mess theirs up. Besides all the information was the same and he was the one expending energy to make the second board, what did they care? Maybe Caine knew what was going on. Henley turned back to his computer screen. Caine had less than legal methods of finding things out, the detective was certain, he was probably plugged into things in a completely different way. Maybe he could see the connections Henley was missing. He was obviously in town for a reason, maybe the Shadow was the reason.

The computer screen was swimming in front of Henley's eyes. He was looking for a number for Darion Caine. Waiting for the Dezzari file. Waiting for the crime lab to run the Shadow's blood. His undrunk coffee stood cold next to his mouse. His stress ball was clenched in his right fist.

Henley lay his head down for a couple seconds. Just a little shut eye. Just a little bit, then he could get back to work at optimum speed.

She watched him with such a piercing intent that her eyes did not move from his. Josselyn had an unwavering gaze, but not exactly a predator's gaze. It was a bit victimized, a lot of confusion mixed in, and the power to create mass destruction in the right hands. Her eyes finally tore from his own, her blue hues rolling over his figure, etching his body into her mind. Like a sketch, she made him into a silhouette, shaping his size before adding the knowledge of his specific clothes. Her mind contained his color-choice before then returning to his face. Every slender pore she saw with those hawk-like eyes, was retained to memory. The lips, nose, eyes, brows, facial structure, and hair. It all stuck. Super-glued to her superb memory for the rest of the eternity.

Finally, he said something again.

"I suppose if you don't want it, that's your business," And then he paused... "I just thought that I would return it, in the event that you did."

The young vampire slowly pushed her body up, her knees having healed a little more in the passing time between Edward's arrival and now. She pushed her hand into her hair, pushing the locks of dirty blond back and out of her face. With a strange pride and unknowing ease, she stepped closer, reaching forward. When she had this walk, this look of impassivity, one would not think her to be handicapped of voice. She had a strong body language when someone took the time to monitor her body's actions.

Her arm stretched out to him, the street lights clicking off for the morning. When they did, her yellow-tinted skin was a ghostly silver/white. She appeared different when not under the tainting bulbs of city lights. Her eyes seemed colder, swirling hues of a arctic ocean's morning. Her slender fingers wrapped around the edge of the journal and she drew it back, the pen still clipped to it. She pulled the pen off, parting the pages with her fingernail to return it to the page where she had left off. There, she drew a line through her last statement that she was unable to present to Edward's eyes.

Her fingers wrapped around the pen, her left hand lowering to the paper. In a smooth feminine print, she wrote something rather simply and turned the book around for Shadow to read.

Well I would speak to you in sign language, but I don't know many vampires who speak with hand-gestures, other than myself.
Thank you Edward, for returning my journal.





Well I would speak to you in sign language, but I don't know many vampires who speak with hand-gestures, other than myself.
Thank you Edward, for returning my journal.

As submissive as she had appeared before her brother, there was a confidence in the way that she approached him. He realized belatedly that she had categorized him. During the time she was not speaking--or responding otherwise--he had been neatly packaged and his presence found to be benevolent. It was a unique contrast to be truly thought benevolent by another vampire. The vampires in his coven all knew just who he was and what he was capable of, even those that adored him. But this pretty bird felt safe. True, he thought, he had encouraged that notion. But it was something and a half to feel--at least in part--that she had come to this idea on her own steam.

The words in her message the Shadow caused warm glow of irony to his soul. Nice to have someone respond back with a tough of tilt on his own words.

"Ta." He replied. Verbal swordplay. "True, there are few who do. What is the use? If your prey is deaf or mute, all the better. And you are the only vampire I have ever met with such a unique difference." The street lights had gone out and natural light was beginning to fill the ally. Her skin seemed to shimmer palely in the morning air. Very pretty. As he held her gaze a moment longer, the Shadow made a decision.

"I would like to ask you something, Josselyn." He thrust his hands into his pockets and inhaled, looking at the sky for a moment. The sound of the police station twittered in the distance. How long til they had his picture he wondered. Then he dropped his gaze back to the vampiress's face. "And I don't want you to get the wrong idea. Please don't. I'm not trying to take advantage or anything of that nature. I simply have the impression that you do not have the desire to be in the same five mile radius as your brother." He halted for a moment to gauge her reaction. She watched him, eyes a bright arctic blue in the morning. She had not reacted one way or the other; she could probably play an excellent hand of cards. "I am not sure what your situation is by way of a coven. But in my knowledge, there is only one coven in the Seattle, in fact, whole Washington area, of any sizable note. It is mine." He paused again; she was listening. "I wondered if I might invite you to share the accommodations, at least until you are prepared to once again see your brother, Jack, I believe." He then back pedaled, a moment he played to perfection, "I'm sorry, I don't mean my particular accommodations. I apologize, if I gave that intention. No, no, no, simply that I can procure accommodations for you." Thought flickered through her features and he waited.





Edward spoke again, and Joss listened intently. She watched him like a curious new species, but kept most of those deeper inner feelings unavailable on her features. She had the look of innocence about her when her make-up was washed away, her eyes open and settled, her lush lips parted just barely. Her slender body would appear rather androgynous if not for some of her feminine slopes. She was a fragile looking woman, and the knowledge that she was a vampire was a rather deadly feature.

When his offer had been spoken, she nodded to it, a smile turning the corner of her lips up. She understood what he meant. A coven? She wondered what it would be like to be around others. A knot quickly jolted her stomach, as Josselyn recalled that she didn't have very good social skills. Even in the presence of other vampires, she would still emit that shy and timid nature to them. Joss didn't like large groups of people. Her eyes shut, and she nodded. It was far better than her abusive- but caring- older brother. She knew that, and so did Edward. He read it on her face as though it were written, as if he could read that one deep thought that was almost lingering in her head. How she was a burden to her brother and she was at fault for making him a monster, and now it was her turn to take that punishment. But for a short few decades, she had taken his punishment, even before becoming vampires. It was time to be free again.

She nodded her head again, as if to assure that he got the point. The woman then walked outwards, standing next to him. She stared out into the sky, her features cool and relaxed. Joss closed her eyes and opened them again, returning her soft icy gaze towards Edward, awaiting him to lead her. To puppet the puppet. It was time for a new owner. She was done with Jack.





The Shadow grinned as Josselyn nodded. "Excellent. If you're amenable taxi will be as good a form of travel as any." He waited for her assent and then lead her from the ally into the morning light. There weren't too many people awake--besides the buzzing police station a few blocks away--but the city's taxis were some of the first around. Luckily one was sliding through the pre-work traffic in front of them. He put out a hand for the cabby and was rewarded by a quick beep of the horn and the cab pulling in several feet down the street. He turned to the vampiress and smiled again.

"After you." They reached the taxi effortlessly, but as he opened the door to let her into her seat, the Shadow scanned the street once more just in case and noticed a couple cops come out of a building taking notes. Staring up the street, he noticed a couple more. Canvassing, he realized with a frustrated sigh, they were looking for the injured girl they had hit. The ones at the last building were eying him, and he realized the girl he had just handed into the cab. As he prepared, more huridly to hop into the cab, one of the policemen yelled.

"Stop! SPD!"

The Shadow merely slammed the door and leaned up to the driver, handing him a wad of cash, he gave an address.

"Fast as you can please. The young lady is in need of medication."

The driver looked in his rear view mirror and then at the Shadow, who smiled tersely. "Please, I'd really prefer not to have to reroute to the hospital. She's very ill." He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and looked back at the driver, who was merging into traffic. "Thank you, sir."

The girl then retrieved her journal back open to the spot it had been before, and beneath her previous message scribbled a little note for him.

Thank you Edward.

He grinned, returning his eyes from the young vampiress back to the street ahead as the cabi began to weave back into the traffic, and away...

====

The ride wasn't a long one, though it took them a little ways out of the city toward the coast. When the driver dropped them off, Shadow smiled and handed him a second wad of cash. Neither amounted to massive money, but he said "Keep the Change."

As the cabby drove out of sight, the Shadow stood watching. Once it was out of sight, he turned and said. "Now for a little walk. We try not to have anyone drop us off too near. But it won't be far if we run." Then he took off into the trees and ran them five or ten minutes to a modern looking house, with a couple nice, though inconspicuous cars in the drive.






She watched him wave down a taxi and shoved her hands casually into her pockets, the journal tucked under her arm as she stared out at the morning traffic. She was unsure of what would happen in the sunlight, but thankfully she was in a place where the morning clouds were thick now and would dissipate later in the day. So, for now, Joss felt safe. Her blue eyes caught on a cabi that had wove through the traffic, pulling up to the curb next to the two once they had left the alley. She stepped towards it as Edward opened the door, before her attention was ripped away. A policeman shouted out at the two, and she felt her chest squeeze and tense. Her lips parted, her tongue pressing itself against the the top of her mouth, her lungs quivering as she readied to create the thin eerie hiss- the only sound she could really make other than perhaps a petite whistle.

But Edward had the cabi, and she turned back to him. This wasn't like a situation with her brother now. She stepped into the cab and the door shut once Edward was inside, handing a wad of cash to the driver. They then drove off, heading towards the coven, as she wrote a simple 'thank you' to Edward. The explanation given was that Joss needed her medication. It seemed plausable too, once the driver looked back at her and she gave him her slightly frightened yet vicious glare...


The drive didn't take long at all, bringing them to a place where she could spot no house. Was it a trick? They got out and she felt a little more wary than before. Josselyn looked around curiously, before Shadow had brought up that they would run the rest of the way. Made sense, vampires might not want to be found. Of course, she thought, wiping away whatever momentary doubt she had in the vampire. Suddenly, the two took off, into the trees, her knees now healed completely...


Arriving at a house, she stopped, slowing with Edward's own pace. The house was not what she expected. It was rather... normal, perhaps? Not some dark cryptic manor or castle. Instead, it had a little lot of cars you could find on the road on an almost daily basis, and wasn't screaming eerie, dark, or creepy at all. She walked forward with him, a feeling of tension in her chest.

I have to confront others like me for the first time in... since bitten. She huffed out quietly, a little nervous, as they headed inside...

Normally Sam would have corrected him; she hated being called “Miss” and she hated being called “Samantha,” terms that her mother preferred or enforced herself. They felt… bland in her ears, too formal for the situation she had just endured, but it was Sam’s exhaustion that kept her mouth shut and her shoulders slumped. She kept walking, a slow pace that wouldn’t take more than a stride or two for the vampire to keep in pace.

There was still something about him that tingled her sense of intuition; as if there was something familiar about him… maybe he just had that face? But once again his words were cheap, hollow things that couldn’t just be rolled off of her shoulders. “What you’ve seen?” She turned icy blue eyes on him, ringed with dark circles, bloodshot from crying, and screaming of a soul that was so utterly drained, torn and full of mourning she could hardly keep it all contained. “I’m a paramedic.” In case he hadn’t been informed, “I’ve dealt with just as much, if not more grisly things as you have. Every. Day. Tonight; I stumbled upon my sister, the only sibling I had left,” her voice cracked, but she plowed on. “And you’re trying to make it sound as if you have altruistic intentions?” Samantha scoffed, the sound was bitter on her tongue but apt.

His next set of words made her come to a stop, wavering there for a moment as if stopping took more effort than normal, it was taking everything she had left to just move forward from point A, and point B was a long way away. But this time he was right. Sean was nowhere to be seen, and she suspected that her partner pulled a stunt in an attempt to lure the media away from her. Bless that man…

But him? Why him? Why not that detective from before? Why not the woman, the uniforms, the secretary even? No. No that wasn’t fair of her. Sam sighed heavily and lifted a tired hand, pressing it against her face before trying to rub the exhaustion away. It didn’t seem to be working. Maybe his job was on the line? Maybe he got an ear full from someone while she had been in the bathroom crumbling apart? Even now there was sympathy for him; but she was too damn tired to show it.

“Fine.” She muttered, dropping her hand and sighing aloud once again. “Alright. Just… take me home. I’m tired.” Sam followed after Sy, knowing that the moment she sat down in the car, she was going to pass out.

11:45 am

"Henley. Henley, wake up." Susan shook his shoulder, "Conan Henley, wake up, you jerk."

"What?! Sue, what?" Henley sat up, and papers fell off his face, back to his messy desk. He'd been waiting for the Dezzari file. It was now sitting next to him. Susan was standing beside him, he looked down at her pink, pump clad feet. She had nice ankles, but how she got in through the rain he would never know.

"Henley, there's a picture and a name." She held a file in her hand.

"A picture . . . " He came full awake and snatched the file, flipping it open. The photo was a foreign man, about so high next to a car. He was nicely dressed, black rain coat, vest and tie, pants. Sunglasses, dark hair, olive complexion. Henley flipped to the next photo. The man had pulled his sunglasses down, revealing golden eyes, and a predatory smile. "That son of a bitch." The words whispered out of Henley's mouth. This was the guy, this was the guy.

"This is him, Sue."

She inhaled and looked from the picture back to Henley. "Demitrio Mancini."

"That's his name?" Henley flipped through the file folder, very little information. All squeaky clean, Italian, student visa. "That's not his name. Look at him. I mean just look at the guy. He is not an art student. Maybe not even Italian. That's the Shadow, Sue."

Henley ripped the photo out of the file and tacked it to the board under the name card "Shadow".

"Don't you want to check with your witness first?"

"That's right, is Sam still here? She'll confirm in five seconds, Sue."

Susan sat on the edge of his desk. "It's almost noon. She went home hours ago."

Henley grabbed his phone. "What's her home number?"

"Can you let her sleep a bit first? She was up all night, just like you."

"Up all night don't mean shit, Sue, we have to catch this guy." He flipped through the papers on his desk. "Damn, this is such a mess."

Sue finally grabbed his hands and moved them off the desk before setting about organizing it. "Go get something to eat. I will clean it up for you and when you get back, you can give her a call, ok?"

Kether sat in the high backed chair, staring at the TV. He wore leather pants, with a white dress shirt, and his fancy boots, as always. The lights flashed in front of him, as the woman on the screen spoke of the, apparently, Italian man, Demitrio Mancini. They called him Shadow, the man that has eluded the police for a long while now. The ancient watched the TV intently, as he had been for the past three hours. Naya, the woman standing in the doorway, checked the metallic watch on her wrist. It was noon.
"Master?" She asked tentatively. Normally, Naya spoke, and acted with confidence. She was a vampire as well, a particularly strong one. Despite her young age, her strength rivaled that of Kether. But she could tell by his blank stare, that he wasn't very happy.
"Yes?" He answered, slowly, calmly.
"Shouldn't we.....do something?"
"We should, yes." He said, not taking his eyes from the TV.
"I'll go get the car then." She announced. He nodded, and she scurried out the door, snatching the car keys from the desk next to the door. Alsmot watched for another five minutes, before finally standing. He slid a sleek black cell phone from his pocket, and dialed a number.
"Yes, it is me, Kaz-Arack." He said, in fluent Russian. "Yes, regarding this Shadow. Mhmm, he is." There was a moment of silence. "Uhm, well.....on the news, actually. Yes, I see." He said, clicking a button on the phone, and sliding it back into his pocket. He walked to the door, taking his trench coat from the closet. Almost as an afterthought, he took the cane resting against the wall. It came to just above his hips, with a lion head as the handle. The head was steel, with the rest of it black. He opened the door, and departed his luxurious apartment, back onto the streets, back to the hunt.

She called it. Sleep overwhelmed her, there was no more fighting it. The moment Sam sat in the cab of the car and directions were given; she was out. Vaguely she recalled dreaming, part of her remembered that they reached her place, that she had walked to the door without the need of too much help but the moment the detective told her that it was safe inside all she was concerned about was sleep.

She stripped on her way to bed; the shirt was pulled over her head as she hit the living room. Boots were stepped out of; jeans were shimmied off of her hips and finally kicked off of her legs all before she reached her room. Sam was on auto-pilot, if the detective lingered or left she didn’t remember or really care. Just so long as he locked up behind himself.

Sleep came again the moment she settled on the mattress. Cool sheets, the cool pillows, mixed with the familiar surroundings allowed her that escape she desperately needed. She felt exhaustion on many levels; mentally drained, emotionally, physically, every store the woman had built for herself over the years were used up until they were dry husks of their former selves. Time was needed once again to build them, and sleep was the first step.

She knew, somewhere deep down inside, that she would be alright. If Sam was anything, she was adaptable. She would endure; it wasn’t going to be easy but the woman always knew she did well in handling death. She had the numbers hanging over her head; she had her hands in it every single day… But she ached for relief, and begged to know what she had done in some past life to have to warrant this. Or was she being selfish again, as Shadow had said? Was it? And if it was… didn’t she have the right to be for once?

How nice it would have been to escape it all, but even her dreams played those words in her head, over and over again. But why did she care? Why was it she was listening and enchanted by the words of a monster? Like a broken record they skipped and danced in her mind; sometimes repeating itself, sometimes skipping backwards to start again or leap ahead, catching one key word over and over, until her fingers curled in her sleep, reaching forward to try and smack the box. It didn’t exist, of course, and so it never faded.