A heavy rain descended on the streets of Berlin, a wet chill working its way into the marrow of those pedestrians unfortunate enough to be caught in the deluge. The slick streets reflected illuminated lampposts; cars speeding by displaced water with their windshield wipers swinging like a metronome keeping time with the rhythm of life. For several months, it seemed neither sun, nor moon, shone the same way it once had, but that could have been Karl Wagner’s perceptions conspiring against him.

Either that, or he had been working too hard lately.

Digging his hands into the pockets of his heavy, wool trench coat, Karl continued walking toward a large estate nestled deep in the heart of the city. His cheap, brown loafers splashed in puddles, soaking his feet while a sigh escaped his lips. It produced a billow of steam which mingled with the rain. As Karl lifted his eyes from the dirty sidewalk to the wrought iron gates protecting the largest vampire nest in Berlin, a frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. It might have only been months, but it felt like years since the world was the way he remembered it. He feared it would never be the same way again.

Karl couldn’t be sure when it started, because the earliest reports all formed a steaming pile of conjecture on his desk. It wasn’t until an injured seer sat across from him weeks later, cigarette dangling from his shaky fingers, that Karl realized some of the rumor was truth. “They were old vampires,” the seer said, his hands continuing to tremor, his emerald eyes wild as they took in everything and nothing all at once. He drew from the cigarette again. “All congregated together. I swear one of them resembled a vampire I shot through with my crossbow five years ago, but that’s impossible.” A wild laugh escaped his lips. “Vampires don’t coming back from the netherworld. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, right?”

The thirty-five year old sorcerer frowned, assuring the younger man that vampires, in point of fact, did not return from the grave no matter how old they were. As the next few nights passed, however, he found the limits of his imagination being tried. Another seer carried in on a stretcher screamed of the world ending. His watcher’s body had been found mutilated three kilometers away. Spray painted on the wall next to where her broken, bloody remains were deposited was the ominous message, ‘Though many died, many yet remain. The Grim Reaper awaits.’

The Supernatural Order began to panic.

Never, in recent history, had they faced such a surge in antagonistic vampire activity and with each wave of death came the call for all available personnel to report to Europe before the situation got out of hand. The full might of the Order descended on the continent like a flock of eagles with wings spread in valiant glory, bearing weapons and wielding supernatural powers. Karl himself a sorcerer, he looked at each young, eager face with jaded eyes, imagining one of them sitting in his office, a cigarette shaking in their hand and a story of the dead walking drifting past their lips.

One night, Karl did the unthinkable. He left the office with little more than the coat on his back and walked up to the gates of the oldest vampire coven in Berlin.

Karl had nothing rehearsed when he approached the front doors, escorted on two sides by vampire guards who glanced at him every thirty seconds as though this was some kind of a joke. Karl shot them a half-hearted smirk and took a deep breath, entering the halls and gazing at the largest collection of immortals he had ever seen under one roof. Flanking a long corridor, they watched in solemn silence while Karl marched the entire length of the house, toward the back where the master’s private quarters laid. He felt each set of eyes along the way.

The guards looked him over one final time before opening the door and motioning for him to enter. Karl nodded, hands digging into his pockets and his heart racing with sound and fury while he stepped into what could only be deemed the lair of the enemy. The door shut behind him with eerie finality. Karl swallowed hard and walked a few paces further into what appeared to be a comfortable office, bereft of windows, but lit with a sparse collection of lamps and lined with bookshelves.

Standing beside one bookshelf was a tall man with hair so blond, it almost appeared white. His blue eyes scanned the spines of volumes, one hand lifting toward Karl with one finger held aloft. “Hold, one moment please,” he said. “I am looking for something.”

Karl raised an eyebrow and nodded, walking toward a desk. The moment his hand settled on the back of one chair, the vampire standing by the bookshelf interrupted him. “No, one of the other chairs. There is a cravat of brandy on the table if you would like to pour yourself a drink.”

“Very well.” Karl glanced at the other side of the large room, seeing a couch and two brown, leather chairs separated by a table. Situated on the table was a crystal cravat and two matching glasses. Karl strolled past a floor lamp en route to one of the chairs and settled into it, reaching for the brandy and filling the glass two fingers full.

He swirled around the contents, eyes fixed on the amber-colored liquid before tipping it back into his throat. The moment he lowered his hand, though, the tall vampire appeared before him, causing Karl to jump from the sudden appearance. The look in his eyes unnerved Karl. There was curiosity present, the rest of his body still while his gaze raised and lowered, studying Karl from head to foot. Finally, the vampire extended his free hand, the other hand wrapped around a old, leather-bound book. “Simon Kaufmann,” he said. “I am the master of this coven.”

“Karl Wagner.” Karl touched the cool hand, shaking with a firm grip before pulling his hand away.

Simon nodded, walking to the free chair and settling in it. He placed the book beside him on the table and leaned his elbow on the armrest. Karl remained silent, regarding Simon while the coven master spoke. “Herr Wagner, I have to say that in my four hundred seventy years on earth, I have never entertained a member of the Supernatural Order in my private quarters.”

Karl blinked. “How did you know I…” His words ceased abruptly when Simon raised an eyebrow at him. Karl nodded. “The eyes give it away.”

“They do, indeed.” Simon’s brow relaxed, a grin surfacing. “I found it alarming when my second-in-command came to me, telling me one of the ‘green eyed demons’ found himself on our doorstep. When he told me you said you come in peace, I thought you might possibly be asking to be turned, but I can clearly see this isn’t the case now.”

The chuckle sprang from Karl’s lips before he could stop himself. He forced himself to regain his composure, drinking back another swallow of his drink. “No, no…” He shook his head. “Not here to be turned, Herr Kaufmann.”

“Simon. And don’t worry.” Simon’s grin broadened. “I wouldn’t have turned you anyway.”

“Comforting to know.” Karl finished his drink and set the empty glass on the table. His fingers itched for a cigarette, but he forced himself to refrain. “No, I’m here on personal business, so I don’t even come representing the Order.”

“Oh?” Simon settled back in his chair and folded his hands on his lap. “Why do you find yourself here tonight, then, sir?”

Karl indulged in a deep breath before sitting back in his chair as well. He glanced away, then looked at Simon again. “My people are dying,” he said. “Brave young men and women who have had nothing but respect for the natural order. I report directly to one of the elders on the Berlin council and oversee the seers we send out into the field. Something is happening and I want to know what.”

“Something happening?” Simon tilted his head, examining the mortal spellcaster again. “Explain, if you can.”

Karl nodded, another draw of air settling in his lungs for lingering seconds, expelled once he had enough chance to organize his thoughts. “There are more vampires causing trouble than usual. The men and women on the field have been seeing strange things and there have been haunting messages left with the corpses of our watchers.”

“And you come to me wanting to know if I have any idea why these things are happening?”

“Yes.” Karl frowned. “I’ve been unable to figure out what could be behind this. Rumor has it this is happening across Europe.”

A frown settled on Simon’s face. He looked away, his eyes focused on the other side of the room for what seemed like interminable minutes before his gaze settled on Karl once more. “I say this to you only because I, too, respect the natural order. One does not live as long as I have without realizing the way things are and the way things must be.” He nodded, an eyebrow lifting again. “Have you heard of the dead walking? The spectres of vampires visiting from the grave?”

Karl blinked, then nodded in response. “Yes,” he said, his voice a whisper. “How did you know… ?”

“I, too, have heard of this.” Simon paused as though orienting his thoughts. “Several other masters around Europe have been having similar problems, demands being exacted to aid these other vampires, threats when one refuses. Sometimes only reports of encounters with olden ones or ones known to have been killed.” He sighed. “I didn’t want to believe it and neither did so many who have brushed shoulders with this phenomenon, but if they are causing trouble with the mortals as well… .”

“Where did they come from?” Karl sat straight, leaning his elbow on the chair’s arm rest. “Does anyone know?”

Simon shook his head. “You would have to ask the vampires causing trouble themselves… and I would wish you luck in that endeavor.”

Karl nodded, sitting back in his seat again with a frown. His eyes traced across Simon, a fledgling notion springing to life the longer he regarded the aged vampire. Karl knew when he walked up to this building that night, he was risking both his life and the distinct chance he would be turned away from their doorstep with a laugh. That he hadn’t been threatened might have been a miracle, but the fact that he was speaking so candidly with a vampire – a vampire, for the love of all things – left him with a distinct sense of awe. He raised an eyebrow, his posture relaxing a little. “Whether… or not this is the dead walking or the coming of the apocalypse, I must admit I’m very… surprised that a vampire would refuse to help a vampire.”

An instant smile surfaced on Simon’s face, followed by a hearty laugh. “Herr Wagner, while we care for the plight of our own kind, we don’t necessarily accept everything they do. I, like you, don’t know whether to believe these are creatures who were brought back to life, but as I told you before, I respect the natural order. I as much care about it as I do the well being of the vampires under this roof and would not help anybody trying to disrupt it.”

“So then, the question remains,” Karl said, a pensive look in his eyes, “Who are these vampires causing such a stir and what is it they want? If this isn’t every vampire in Europe, we have to be specific about who we target.” His gaze returned to Simon. “We have to find the source.”

Simon nodded. “And you… might find others willing to help you,” he said. The look in his eyes remained grave. “Other vampires. Other covens being troubled by this phenomenon themselves. Be careful who you trust and you could foster talks between your kind and mine for the first time in centuries.”

Karl raised an eyebrow. Simon grinned at the response. “Think about it, Herr Wagner.” Glancing at the table, Simon plucked the book from where he laid it and extended it toward the mortal spellcaster seated before him. “A gift of good faith, my friend. I have responsibilities I must see to, but so long as you continue coming in peace, you may continue asking me questions. You might find our two worlds are not so different at all.”

The book found its way into Karl’s hands just as the vampire master stood. Simon strolled toward the doors of his private quarters while Karl remained seated, eyes tracing over the cover and recognizing the English title printed on the front. A Tale of Two Cities. “Thank you,” Karl said, looking up, but the surrounding room was now empty, as though the wind picked Simon Kaufmann up and dispersed him to the four corners of the world. It might have, for all Karl knew. The universe as he knew it had become completely redefined.

Karl returned to the darkened confines of his small office that evening more confused than he had been before. It suddenly seemed like he was asking the right questions, though. No more than a few days later, he approached the Berlin council with an idea. “Why don’t we find the covens we know to be in keeping with the natural order… and request their assistance? Offer to assist them in return?” he asked. He scanned across each skeptical face. “Why haven’t we before now?”

Nobody had a viable answer to the question. In fact, each elder looked, one to the other, for some proof such a thing had happened and everything went horribly awry as a result. As Karl Wagner stood his ground, he saw seven befuddled expressions glancing back at him when nobody issued any such argument. “You mean to say this vampire master spoke freely with you, without any threat of harm?” one female elder asked.

Karl nodded. A reluctant smile surfaced on his face. “He gave me a book and told me to be careful who I trusted. But he seemed more than willing to share information.”

The council members nodded. The female elder spoke again. “Then, I grant you permission to continue your talks with him. We will explore the possibility of speaking to other willing coven masters.”

With that, the meeting adjourned. Karl returned to his office and spied the book situated at the corner of his desk. Picking it up, he began to read, thankful for his fluent English as he thumbed through page after page of nineteenth century prose. By the time he went to bed, he felt settled enough about the situation that he slept his first sound sleep in what felt like an eternity. The next day dawned with the promise of peace on the horizon.

Peace, however, was to be fleeting.

At first the concept caught fire and ignited across Europe. Members of the Order, from seers to spellcasters, convened with other coven masters and elders who were once regarded enemies and nothing more. Karl returned to Simon’s coven several times over many weeks and one time in particular found himself relaying favorable reports to the vampire with whom he had started to forge a friendship.

Simon grinned. Standing on a ladder in front of one tall bookcase, he rifled through each treasured volume and recited a quote. “So does a whole world, with all its greatnesses and littlenesses, lie in a twinkling star. And as mere human knowledge can split a ray of light and analyse the manner of its composition, so, sublimer intelligences may read in the feeble shining of this earth of ours, every thought and act, every vice and virtue, of every responsible creature on it.”

Karl recognized the words from the book on his desk and grinned. “You love your literature, Simon,” he said.

The vampire master chuckled. “Books are history, even the fictional accounts. They are time frozen in the form of words.”

“I suppose you are right.” Karl sighed, sitting at the edge of Simon’s desk, looking up at him. “Never, in my wildest dreams, did I think there was any chance our races could convene together under an olive branch.”

Simon nodded slowly. His facial expression sobered. “Sometimes, it is far easier for foes to remain foes even when they forget the reasons why. I’ll make no excuses for my kind; we deserve the strong arm of the Order from time to time. I cannot begin to tell you how hard it is to oversee one coven full of immortals and keep them in line. An entire race…” Simon tsked and directed his attention toward Karl. “When things are running as they ought, with the spellcasters doing their appointed tasks and my kind minding the natural order, there is harmony. When either becomes too incensed with power and blindness, then all the world suffers for it.”

A frown settled on Karl’s face. Never before had he thought of what happened when the Order itself stepped out of line. Raising his hand to his head, he scratched his scalp and nodded. “I suppose the natural order does suffer when the spellcasters themselves are out of line.”

“When either of us forget our place, there is disorder. Man or vampire.” Simon sighed, brushing his hands off on his pants before climbing down the ladder. He alighted onto the floor and strolled closer to his desk. “This is why our races never speak. One or the other refuses to see the blood on their hands.”

Karl snickered. “Blood. Ironic.” Nodding, the slight curl of his mouth evened out. He looked away. “I hadn’t ever thought of it that way, Simon.”

Simon remained silent for lingering moments. Karl glanced back at him, raising an eyebrow at the vampire’s stillness. His eyes appeared to be distant, someplace decades and miles away from there. “So many of us fail to, Herr Wagner,” Simon said, speaking just above a whisper. He sighed, his gaze returning to Karl. “What matters isn’t how many of us fail to think of it, but how many come to realize it themselves.’

“Perhaps.” Karl sighed. “But is it the fault of the ignorant when so many conflicts might have been resolved had they come to understand the truth sooner?”

A soft smile touched Simon’s lips. “It isn’t the fault of the ignorant for not knowing what never has been taught. It is, rather, the fault of the learned for not teaching them.”

Karl chuckled. “Perhaps so, Herr Simon.” Situating both feet on the ground, he grinned. “I should get back to my office. I’m behind on my paperwork and the elders get irritating when things aren’t done in a timely manner.”

Simon chuckled. “Good night, friend. I hope your reports continue to be favorable.”

“So do I.” Karl nodded respectfully to the vampire master and turned for the doors to his private quarters. Rounding a corner, Karl dug his hands into his pockets and strolled for the exit, exchanging glances and pleasant words of departure with each vampire he passed along the way. ‘Who would have thought, truly, a mortal spellcaster could stroll through an entire coven without so much as an ill glance directed his way?’ He chuckled. The world seemed on the verge of a revelation and there he was, standing on the front lines to witness it all.

With a smile and an a whistle on his lips, Karl walked to the Berlin offices of the Supernatural Order and approached the front doors. Whimsy left its mark on each footstep and coated his fingers as he swung open a glass door and took his first few steps on the tiled floor. The moment the door swung shut behind him, though, the weight of the world came crashing down on to his shoulders.

The office was a flurry of activity. Karl raised an eyebrow. Everywhere, there were personnel running this way and that, each focused on a task as though the coming apocalypse had been announced while Karl was away. He stood frozen in place, eyes tracing across several seers who were armed to the teeth, swords, bows and stakes adorned on their person and a litany of watchers shuffling around beside them. Karl swallowed hard, his heart sinking. One seer raised his head from its bent position and looked at Karl, daring him to engage him in conversation.

Karl inhaled deeply and strolled to the seer, his feet suddenly feeling fifty pounds heavier than they had mere minutes ago. His facial expression turned serious, his eyes never leaving the seer the entire trek from front doors to halfway down the corridor. “Why are there so many of you here?” Karl asked once he was within earshot. He stopped just shy of the seer.

The seer furrowed his brow, brushing aside his long, black coat to reveal a sword by his side. He slipped his hand into a pocket. “You don’t know?” he asked. “Haven’t you been told yet?”

“No, and I will have somebody’s job before the night’s out for this.” Karl folded his arms across his chest. “Tell me, since I seem to be the last person to know.”

The seer sighed. He looked away, toward a dark-haired woman Karl could only assume was his watcher. “The London office demanded all of us return to our home councils. Several seers have been sent from the smaller cities with more promised on their way. The situation has become dire.”

Karl blinked. “I wasn’t aware the situation had changed at all.”

“This was just decided upon last night by the High Council.” The seer sighed and looked back at Karl. Karl saw genuine fear in his eyes. “The covens are turning against us. We have been given orders to infiltrate each coven and demand the capture of their masters and any antagonistic immortals they might be sheltering.”

“What?!” Karl struggled to maintain his composure. “You’ll start a bloodbath that way. You know these creatures do not take kindly to ultimatums, guilty or not.”

“Yes, but they’re going to have to comply. We’ve been given clearance to execute anybody who stands in our way.” He furrowed his brow. “I’m surprised nobody has told you about this.”

“As am I.” Karl’s eyes became distant, thoughts swirling around the impossible notion that such a heavy-handed order would go unannounced to him. He oversaw the seers and was the one responsible for knowing where each man on the field was at any given time. The more he turned around the absurdity in his mind, the more his stomach sank, until one of the council elders emerged from an office and shot Karl a look of distrust.

Karl frowned. ‘They think I’m aiding and abetting the enemy. That’s why nobody has told me.’ He waited for the male elder to nod respectfully and disappear into another room before his eyes shot to the seer. “Come with me to my office and explain the situation to me.”

The seer nodded. Together they strolled down the corridor, the vampire hunter sighing and glancing around before lowering his voice a few octaves. “As I said, the vampire covens have been turning against us. The London office says several people have died following false information leading to traps set by the vampires themselves. Dark magicians hiding in shadows. Someone even claims they were being coerced to turn immortal before they managed to escape.”

“Coerced?” Karl frowned. “That’s impossible. Everyone knows a coerced conversion always leads to disaster.”

“I know, but some have disappeared, so these vampires might even be from the other bloodline.” The seer frowned as they paused by the door to Karl’s office. Karl fumbled for his keys while the seer continued. “We’ve never had to deal with the Lamiae before. Many of us are afraid of what might happen.”

“The Lamiae are not behind this,” Karl grumbled. “Any fool with eyes can see this. Dark magic brought some of the olden ones back to life and now the olden ones are toying with us. Just like they promised they would.” Producing his keys, he pinched the correct one in two fingers and slid it into its lock. With a hearty twist, the lock disengaged and Karl had the door opened before tugging the key from the lock.

He flicked the lights on and walked over to his desk. “Doesn’t anybody read my reports? I told the London office what information my talks with the Revenir have yielded. A prominent coven master in Berlin has verified reports of immortals labeled as deceased being reanimated somehow and causing trouble within the covens themselves. Carting immortals away and coming in with both guns blazing isn’t going to scare whoever’s responsible out of hiding. In fact, this is probably exactly what they want.”

“You might be right,” the seer said, his eyes transfixed on Karl as Karl walked around his desk and fell into his chair. He rested his hip on the corner of Karl’s desk. “But these are our orders, direct from the London office themselves. And they have clearance from the United States. Anyone suspected of using dark magic or aiding those responsible for killing members of the Order are to be killed, regardless of which bloodline they belong to or how innocent they claim to be. The coven masters are our primary suspects, especially ones talking with members of the Order.”

Karl’s gaze shot to the seer. Immediately, he thought of Simon Kauffman and couldn’t help but summon an image of the man bound in silver shackles, being beaten and interrogated while claiming innocence the entire time. He would be killed and his coven dismantled until the seers were certain none of the others were housing enemies of the Order. ‘This is wrong. This is all wrong. We’re sponsoring genocide. That’s the end of all of this. Genocide. When we have always been careful who we killed and why. How could they be so foolish? The Lamiae, the Revenir, both targets when none of us know who these creatures are causing this trouble in the first place, or why for that matter.’ Still, he remembered the look shot to him by the male council member. Karl frowned. ‘They don’t care because it’s all the same to them. Wicked beings – vermin needing to be exterminated.’

Slowly, Karl’s eyes skimmed across his desk until they came to rest on the leather-bound book given to him by the vampire master. He sighed, insane notions slipping into his consciousness, but ones he couldn’t ignore. Karl couldn’t stand by and watch this, washing his hands like Pontius Pilate. ‘Heaven forgive me, this is going to mean my death.’

Karl looked at the seer and nodded. “Yes,” he said, softly at first, until his words gained more conviction, no matter how fabricated the sentiment was. “If London and Seattle think this is the best course of action, then I suppose there isn’t anything any of us can do to change things.” He sighed and took the book in hand before settling back in his chair. His fingers slid along the spine idly, his eyes drifting away. “Somehow, I knew we were on the eve of destruction when all of this started. I suppose the last few weeks have been the calm before the storm.” He took a deep breath and stood. “Excuse me, if you will, sir.” Karl held up the book. “This was given to me by the vampire master I have been meeting with to gain information. If this is to be his last night on Earth, I think he would like to have one of his prized volumes back.”

Karl walked to the door. The seer followed. “I can’t let you go alone,” he said. “I will accompany you.”

Huffing a sardonic chuckle, Karl looked at the seer. “Regardless of our orders, I can assure you this master isn’t one you’ll have problems bringing in. He hasn’t lifted a hand against me.”

“No.” The seer frowned. “I apologize, but I need to also make sure you don’t intend to warn him.”

Karl fought hard against the scowl which wished to surface. Company men, all of them, regardless of their misgivings. He couldn’t blame the seer, he had once been like them, no matter how jaded he had become. “Very well,” he said. “You will come with me.” He forced a grin on his face, knowing it probably screamed of bitterness. “Keep me honest, if you must.”

The seer nodded. Not a single word was exchanged between the two men as they left the office and strolled onto the streets of Berlin, headed for Simon’s coven for what would be Karl’s last meeting with his new friend. As they approached the door to the coven, it swung open and a perplexed guard studied Karl, then glanced at the seer standing beside him. “What seems to be the problem, Herr Wagner?” he asked.

Karl sighed when the brown-haired vampire looked his way again. “Please summon your master. I only need two minutes with him, to return something of his.”

“Very well.” The vampire shut the door and slipped inside the confines of the coven estate, leaving Karl with his guard and the silence of the night. Within a few minutes, the door opened again, and this time Simon appeared on the other side.

“What is it you wished to return to me?” the vampire master asked, offering the seer only a quick glance before looking to Karl once again.

Karl extended the hand with his book toward Simon. “I needed to return this to you, Herr Kauffman. If you could please take it so I can be on my way?” A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth when he saw the way Simon regarded him. Karl fought hard to figure out how to send a warning to Simon, but what could escape the notice of the seer? If he knew English, Karl would be unmasked and even if he didn’t, he would at least be wise toward the covert message being relayed. Karl frowned, then decided upon the only course of action he could conjure.

At once, his eyes met Simon’s. Karl’s thoughts summoned a whisper he hoped the seer would not pick up with his telepathy.

“Get out of here immediately. Your life is in danger.”

Simon blinked, then nodded slowly. Confusion filled his eyes, but his gaze indicated he received the message loud and clear. “Thank you, Herr Wagner, for returning my book to me.” A melancholy smile surfaced. “You know how I like my books.”

Karl smiled in much the same manner. A quote straight from the book in his hand drifted past his lips. “It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done.”

“Yes, it is.” Simon nodded, taking the book in hand, both men clinging onto it for a few lasting seconds as though exchanging a handshake. “Good evening, Herr Wagner. I hope to see you again soon.”

Karl nodded, but said nothing else. As the door shut, the night seemed to swallow him whole, Charles Dickens his only companion as he stared at the closed door before him.

“The wind is rushing after us, and the clouds are flying after us, and the moon is plunging after us, and the whole wild night is in pursuit of us; but, so far we are pursued by nothing else.”

‘Here comes the storm,’ he thought to himself. Then, Karl Wagner turned and walked into the cold embrace of Armageddon.

Story Beginning | Next Part

The evening started as most did for him. After a shower and a fresh change of clothing, his fingers raked through the hair of the woman he kept as a pet. Her gaze met his expectantly – a pretty little blonde thing he picked up in Texas (fuck, but those women were feisty before they were broken) – and a sharp moan punctuated the prick of his fangs into her throat. Mitch only stole a few sips from her, but he knew the day was coming soon when he would have to end her. Her large, brown eyes indicated the lights were on, but the resident was vacating the building.

With a sigh, Mitch settled into his chair, noting how quickly it seemed those pets met their expiration date. The vampires of his bloodline – the Lamiae, according to the Supernatural Order – often supplemented kills with quick feeds and the keeping of pets. The problem being that feeding from a human too often eventually reduced them to a mindless zombie. Granted, he had held onto this one longer than her predecessor, but even the strongest of mortals could not avoid the inevitable. And Mitch had no desire to blood bond with her to keep her rational beyond a few additional feedings.

Other than that, things seemed to be quiet. Mitch reclined his leather office chair and oscillated from side to side on it, pivoting this way and that while his feet remained planted firm on the floor below. His eyes scanned across the pictures hanging on his study walls, seeing visual reminders of a long, accomplished life. A landscape of Britain reminded him of where he had been born and the painting of Austria served as a recollection of the first nest he oversaw. Prints of Romania, Hungary, and Germany each placed markers on one rung after the next up the political ladder. Mitch turned to face the large windows overlooking Portland, Oregon, seeing the lights of downtown from his posh penthouse. One step further, and he would be a king.

If the current one ever abdicated, that is.

A cold, cruel grin curled the corner of his mouth while Mitch’s thoughts ran wild of further conquests and loftier titles which might await. Granted, the current monarch had only ascended to the throne a few decades prior and kings and queens could retain their power for centuries if they could manage to beat back the long list of rivals who often amassed. Assassinations were commonplace, but Mitch feared none of that. He knew how to force his opposition to crawl before him, was ruthless enough to demand they lick his polished black dress shoes. For years, he had managed to keep his bloodline underground despite the explosion of the Internet into the public consciousness. It was his idea to employ human hackers in the quest and other kingdoms knew by now they had him to thank for remaining underground.

Needless to say, it would prove to be useful when he made his next vie for power.

A phone rang, breaking Mitch from his thoughts and directing his attention to the black piece of plastic situated at the corner of his desk. Reaching for the receiver, he lifted it and brought it to his ear. “Mitchell,” he said simply, the only greeting he ever offered those who called.

A shaky breath preceded the sound of the caller clearing his throat. Mitch resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Nothing annoyed him more than the sound of a nervous mortal. “Um, Mitch,” a male voice said, “This is, um, Len… Len McAlister. I… uh…”

“Len, would you care to inform me why you are on the phone with me rather than doing the job we are paying you to perform?”

“Well, that’s just it, I…” Len paused. He sighed and cleared his throat again. “We have a situation you should know about.”

Mitch glanced down at his free hand, focusing on his fingernails. Idly, he picked at a piece of dirt under one of them. “I’m waiting, Len,” he said, not bothering to mask the irritation in his tone of voice.

Len failed to respond. Mitch summoned a mental image of a deer caught in the headlights and fought the urge to be the one about to hit the pitiful creature with the full force of a Hummer. “Uh, well, we have a video,” Len finally said. “A video w-which is giving us a little bit of a problem.”

“When the fuck did I become technical support?” Mitch asked. “If you have a video, pull the damn thing from the Internet. Did you wake up this morning with a diminished IQ?”

“Well, that’s just it.” Len’s voice gained more confidence. “We’ve been trying to pull it, but it had a bitch of a firewall protecting it and… and Phil, you see, he tried a DDoS, but apparently it’s not just on one server, or two for that matter. This website’s being hosted on several servers and the video’s already been up for longer than a few minutes.”

Mitch sighed. “Would you care to translate that into something other than your confounded techno-babble?”

“Basically, this fucker’s not going down without a fight.”

“Then bring it down, Len.” The cadence of Mitch’s voice remained cool; unaffected. “Fight or no fight.”

“But… um… what if it’s already been downloaded, Mitch? What the fuck are we supposed to do, then?”

“Well, I would hope for your sake it hasn’t, but it is only one video.” Mitch grinned. “Your kind are ignorant little ants who hate anything interrupting your menial marching orders. Get rid of the video. Destroy it and the little ants will think whatever they watched was nothing more than a hoax.”

“Well, alright, but you should know something about this video, Mitch.”

Mitch raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair. “What would that be?”

Len drew another shaky breath. “It’s high definition. Better quality than any video I’ve ever pulled down from the ‘net before. A-a-and it’s of an attack. Two of you guys feeding on a woman with it pausing as she screams. As far as ugly videos go, it’s pretty bad.”

“Which sounds like little more than a well-produced horror movie,” Mitch said, but he couldn’t control the downward turn of his facial expression. A fledgling form of dread knotted his stomach and for a moment his ironclad resolve sustained a wave of turbulence. Mitch recovered, speaking his next statement as much to himself as to Len. “It doesn’t matter what they captured or how well, your kind want to believe it is a hoax and this is precisely how it will be taken. That being said, I want it removed immediately. And heads will roll if it isn’t.”

Mitch hung up the phone without so much as a goodbye and reclined in his seat once more, but the frown remained a fixture on his lips. They were used to dealing with amateur photography – grainy pictures taken from cell phone cameras or jostling video captured from the shaky hand of a mortal, with cinematography reminiscent of the Blair Witch Project. Mitch himself reviewed every video pulled from the Internet and none of them ever impressed him much.

A high definition video refusing to be plucked from the public eye? Something was rotten in the state of Denmark about this one.

The phone rang once more. Mitch nearly jumped at the suddenness of this one and whipped the receiver into his hand while barking out his traditional, “Mitchell.” So help him if this was Len again. He would tear the mortal’s limbs off himself.

“Mitchell…” The moment his name resonated in his ears, Mitch closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Queen Cassandra’s voice could only be described as the sound of condescension in its purest form, bottled and poured into every word she uttered.

Mitch brought his hand to his forehead. “Yes, your majesty?” he asked, sighing. One more rung and she would be the one licking his shoes.

“Not pleased to hear from me, darling?” She huffed a chuckle. “Consider the feeling mutual. Would you care to explain to me what the hell is happening?”

“If I had the foggiest idea what you were…”

“There are videos flying around the Internet and every other monarch in this area has been calling all night asking if you fell asleep at the switch. I don’t have to remind you, do I, that our position is due greatly because the other kingdoms offer us money for their continued protection? They want to know if one of my dukes has somehow become impotent.”

Mitch’s eyes flew open. He furrowed his brow. “Videos? Plural?” He laughed. “There’s one video I’m aware of and we have a team of people working to bring it down from…”

“There are videos. Multiple. Don’t insult my intelligence, I know because my email exploded with forwarded emails containing links to these damn things. Perhaps if you could take a break from having your pet mortal give you a blowjob, you might see this for yourself.”

Mitch blinked. Turning his focus toward the laptop at the center of his desk, he slid a fingertip across the touchpad and watched his email pop onto the screen. A page’s worth of new messages screamed at him, each sender marking the subject line with some cry for help, often in all-caps. Mitch clicked on one. His eyes scanned the body of the email, then settled on the link to a video directly following the frenzied message. Directing his cursor there, he pressed a button and watched a browser window load.

“Mitchell…”

“I’m looking now,” he said. His eyes remained fixed on the screen as an unfamiliar website loaded and the video began to autoplay. A female vampire filled the small box, grinning in high definition clarity at a man lost in her thrall while she circled him. Her fangs glistened, the tips stained crimson while the mortal drew haggard breaths throughout the course of her examination. Mitch brought his hand to his mouth, leaning his elbow on his desk as he watched.

“Drop to your knees,” the vampiress said, holding out her hand and pointing toward the ground. Her eyes never left the mortal man.

He did as directed, crashing to the concrete below, matching her gaze measure for measure. Mitch noticed the fang marks on his neck, weeping blood onto the collar of his shirt.

The vampiress grinned. “Very good, little boy. Now, beg me to keep you alive.”

At once, the man burst from the glamour, indicating the vampiress herself had to have broken it to allow the man to comply. A sob rose from his throat, his eyes becoming glassy with tears as he commenced a fevered plea for his continued existence. Mitch frowned. His kind could be cruel, as he himself admitted, but those times were few and far between as they often preferred the taste of lust in their victims’ blood to the potent scent of fear. It seemed the type of video one would take for blackmail, although he couldn’t figure out for the life of him who would release the damning evidence first without issuing a demand.

“There’s something wrong about this,” Mitch said, speaking for the first time in minutes.

Cassandra groaned. “Yes, darling. It’s still on the fucking Internet, that’s what is ‘wrong’ about it.”

“No, no, there’s something more.” Mitch hit stop on the video and pivoted his chair away from the laptop. Switching the receiver from one ear to the other, he sighed, using his now-freed hand to rub his eyes. “This is the kind of thing I’d expect to see if we failed to pay somebody off. Have there be any attempts at blackmail?”

“Do you think I know?!” The queen’s voice raised a few octaves. “I certainly haven’t seen any on my desk and you know how we handle such nonsense.”

“Then somebody else has a debt.” Mitch scowled. “I’ll kill the bastard myself when I get a hold of them.”

“You have bigger fish to fry. Pull these videos immediately before somebody gets the idea they might be real. We can deal with whoever is responsible later.” The line went dead as Cassandra hung up and Mitch sighed before lowering the receiver back onto its cradle. His eyes returned to the monitor, his elbow resting on the desk’s surface again as Mitch rifled through the remainder of his inbox. Watching each video linked to in each unique petition for assistance, Mitch swallowed past a lump forming in his throat. These videos were all too bloody consistent.

All of them were crystal clear and all of them showed the Lamiae at their worst. Bereft of those times when the vampires would pleasure their victims or only drain a sip or two before erasing the memory of their encounter, they were all gristly caricatures of his brethren, indulgence which contradicted how careful to remain inconspicuous most vampires of his bloodline were. The quality of the video diminished only when security cameras capturing feeds in parking lots or at the back door of some establishment found themselves the featured pieces. Too many all at once. Something wasn’t right about this, indeed, and Mitch had lived long enough to recognize an attack when he saw one.

Surely it couldn’t be the…

Mitch cut off the thought the moment it surfaced. For nearly twenty years, the Lamiae had been in talks with their offshoot bloodline, young upstarts fashioned only a millennia ago who looked just like their elder compatriots with a few distinct features. They couldn’t be photographed; had no reflections and often got themselves into more trouble than they were worth. Mitch couldn’t deny, though, these were brothers and sisters and when their battle with a group of mortal spellcasters spilled onto the Lamiae’s doorstep, two bloodlines who often ignored each other to the point of downright ignorance started sitting at the table together. Mitch himself attended one conference in particular and worked with a coven master before being summoned to the United States.

“Are you bastards selling us out?” Mitch murmured underneath his breath, his frown becoming more pronounced. One portion of his brain knew this to be ludicrous, while a much more paranoid segment of his mind feared it could be possible. His eyes shifted to his phone again as his hand raised to close the lid to his laptop. His fingers settled on the receiver for lingering moments before lifting it again.

He punched out a number from memory and listened as one ring followed the next. It had to be close to dawn, if not past, but the fortunate thing about somebody like Simon was that his bloodline were not dead to the world the same way the Lamiae were. Mitch sighed while waiting for somebody to pick up. After several rings, the line clicked over to voice mail.

Mitch listened to the message being rattled off in German and switched his thoughts from English into Simon’s native tongue. As the tone sounded, Mitch spoke with a flawless accent, “Simon, das bin Mitchell Livingston. Bitte, rufen Sie mich schnell. Ich benötige Ihre Hilfe. Danke.”

With a sigh, Mitch hung up the phone and reclined back in his chair. Shutting his eyes once more, he touched the side of his face and attempted to clear his thoughts, not wanting to believe either his bloodline could be so stupid as to anger the wrong people or the other bloodline would be so foolish as to cross the Lamiae. Still, something didn’t add up each time he attempted to solve the riddle. Perhaps a piece was missing and perhaps there was an angle he hadn’t considered. Whatever it was, Mitch knew two things for damn sure.

For one, the first shots had been fired in a full-scale war.

And secondly, Mitch would come out on top somehow. However he needed to manipulate this, Mitch planned to have his position intact and his political aspirations just as firmly footed, possibly with the coveted kingship he wanted landing on his lap when all was said and done. He opened his eyes and indulged a deep, steadying breath. Nobody made a fool out of Mitch and lived.

His eyes drifted toward the doorway to his study. A cold, calculating smile surfaced on his lips once more. “Oh, Katie?” he called into the other room. The tips of his fangs descended, making his grin appear all the more wicked. “Come here, please. Master is hungry again.”

Story Beginning | Next Part

- “Dog Days Are Over” by Florence + the Machine

The black, polished shoes produced a perfect squeak as they shuffled down the corridor, a single sound bouncing from one wall to the next in the empty thoroughfare. Where ordinarily, there would be scores of people walking this way and that, headed to the various departments of these hallowed halls, tonight was different. The body of people typically assembled were already in a meeting room, sweating over coffee and cigarettes and Mark Johansen was running late.

In their long history, the Supernatural Order had faced world-ending situations before. The splintering of bloodlines which formed the vampire faction they hunted in the first place almost provoked a giant cluster-fuck which ended life as they knew it from their very inception. That had been a millennium ago, roughly. Back when humanity still believed in magic. Sorcerers, witches, and warlocks dotted the landscape of the Dark Ages and one magician in particular drifted further into the darkness, looking for immortality. That was the first time vampires learned to wield magic themselves. The genesis of a war.

Not that they ever told anybody but those in their employ about the other bloodline which existed, the older one the Order never tangled with except on very rare occasions. Or that there was much of a difference between the vampires humanity still denied existed in its blanket of blissful unawareness. Ignorance an intoxicant with the populace drunk on its spell, oh vampires had been around for more than the millennium the Supernatural Order existed, but they hid the truth like they hid every other truth from mortals who no longer believed in magic.

The time for ignorance had ended, though. The war had entered Phase Two.

Mark sighed, rubbing his temples which already ached from the hours he spent at the computer searching every viral video on the Internet. Hours spent squinting at hazy, amateur photojournalism, watching one video upload only to disappear moments later. The vampires had gotten good at their game. Money Mark couldn’t even begin to fathom was being funneled in the effort to keep their anonymity intact, by the other bloodline which could be captured by photography. The one the Order had not cursed. “Fucking smart, you sons of bitches,” Mark muttered as he turned and approached the door to the meeting room.

His hand hesitated. Then it wrapped around the knob and twisted. The door swung open and Mark entered to voices already raised around him.

Nobody paid any attention to him as he shut the door and pressed his back against the solid piece of wood separating him from the empty corridor. Mark stole a moment to survey the group gathered. The conference table populated by representatives of each job description the Order boasted of, bright green eyes blazed fury from each haunted face he scanned. The trait as important as their still beating hearts, each emerald gaze belonged to beings who could obliterate each other merely with a thought. Psychics, all of them, and Mark could only claim to be a scholar, somebody not often gifted with the powers the other members of the Order needed on the front lines.

A tall, wiry Asian man stood from his seat and pointed at a short, fiery woman standing across from him. His lips hurtled accusations of ineptitude, while strands of hair flew from the tight bun fixed on the back of the woman’s head, her finger pointing back at her verbal sparring partner. Mark recognized the man as being a seer, the Order’s vampire hunters with the most power to boast outside of the High Council’s elders board. Undoubtedly, the woman was his watcher, an assistant and sorceress who accompanied each seer on their missions.

Mark shifted his focus away. People he recognized as being spell-casters, leadership, and fellow scholars seemed unable to break away from the heated exchange to so much as offer Mark a passing glance. He cleared his throat once. When this did not produce the desired result, Mark pushed his wire-framed glasses further up his nose and yelled, “Hey! I have the results of the Internet scan!”

At once, a hush settled on the room. The eyes of no less than thirty people met Mark’s and suddenly, he felt like a small fish in a tank full of piranhas. Mark coughed and found the person he reported to, the highest ranking scholar in the Order’s employ. “Cynthia, it’s as we suspected. The vampires have gotten smarter.”

The middle-aged woman bore more lines on her face than a haggard chain smoker, which the frown touching the corners of her lips only accentuated. Her gaze turned from annoyed to inquisitive within seconds. “What did you find, Mark?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow to punctuate her question.

Mark sighed. He jerked at his collar. “Well, I spent the better part of the day on Google, YouTube, and every other site you can imagine and…” He lifted his hands, his shoulders rising in a shrug. “… They have a lot of fucking money. That’s all I can tell you. The few I caught went up in smoke within a minute, sometimes less.”

“Fuck.” Cynthia produced the expletive without apology. Leaning against the conference table with both hands pressed against the mahogany wood, she shook her head and lowered her gaze toward the polished surface. “Nothing? You mean to tell me there’s not a goddamn thing?”

“No, nothing.” Mark frowned. “Like I said, they’re getting smarter. They have to have a team of people being paid to do nothing but kill videos all damn day.”

“Well, there goes that idea.” The new voice entering the fray belonged to Spencer Phillips, another vampire hunter who Mark recognized as being one of their master seers. Barely into his thirties, his sandy brown hair already boasted of a few gray streaks Mark could only assume were caused from stress. Spencer threw up a hand and looked at Cynthia. “I don’t know what the fuck you thought spending all that time would accomplish. I’m telling you, we need to move in and blow them the fuck away. The gloves are off now.”

“Blowing them away isn’t going to solve anything.” Cynthia lifted her eyes to regard Spencer. “We still have the natural order to protect.”

“Fuck the natural order!” Spencer’s hand formed a fist, which struck the table in a hard blow. “They’ve already fucked it all to hell by consorting with the other bloodline. That’s conspiracy and we need to end this now. You know damn well what could happen if both of them learn how to wield black magic.”

“It’s all our damn fault.” Mark’s eyes shifted to the new speaker, a man remaining seated Mark couldn’t name by sight, but knew to be an elder’s assistant. The assistant sighed, looking from Cynthia to Spencer. “We’re the ones who provoked them to start talking in the first place after the massacre in Europe twenty years ago.”

Spencer pointed a finger at the assistant. “That was no massacre, and may I remind you, we lost one of our master seers due to that whole debacle. We could have fucked them over a hell of a lot more for massacring us in the first damn place.”

“Bullshit!” The assistant stood. “I was there, remember?” He pointed at his chest. While his lips read of bravado, the tremor of his hand suggested otherwise. “I saw the way we sliced through vampires like fucking butter, not even giving two shits about which bloodline they belonged to. Yeah, we were hunting the antagonistic bastards, but we took everybody else down with them and no doubt, all of ‘em thought we were hunting them down to extinction.”

“Fuckers all deserve to be exterminated.”

“The natural order, Spencer.” Cynthia stared down Spencer with the sternest gaze Mark had ever seen her muster. “Try to kill them all and the scales will find a balance. Do you want us all to be fucked?”

“I think we’re going about this the wrong way.”

Mark hardly realized the words came from his lips until he heard the way they settled across the room. So used to stifling his opinion, Mark didn’t even believe himself when he realized he spoke his thoughts out loud. As such, the remainder of his thought locked up somewhere between his lungs and vocal chords.

Nobody spoke. Mark’s eyes shifted nervously from one face to the next, waiting for somebody to say something more intelligent. When his gaze settled on one man in particular, Mark couldn’t help but to swallow hard past a lump forming in his throat. The intimidating figure rose to his feet, and everybody else gathered looked at him, sitting as though receiving a silent cue.

Mark glanced at the others, then back at the imposing figure. His hair and beard fully colored white, Wallace Alexander would never claim to being the head of the Supernatural Order, but he might as well have been. His family were bred and born for this purpose, to serve as leadership, and Wallace himself remained the last of his generation in the Alexander family. His son already sat beside him on the Order’s High Council and bore an air of royalty much the same as his father. The heir apparent of a king.

Wallace stared down Mark. “Sit, Mr. Johansen,” he said, his voice low, yet booming. “And tell us how we’re mistaken.”

Mark studied the chiseled features of the elder, looking for a sign of whether the man was pissed or pleased, but his face hinted at neither. Mark sat in the closest vacant chair and adjusted himself within the plush leather before clearing his throat and speaking. “Well, we have a problem, there’s no doubt about that. Spencer…” Mark glanced at the master seer upon speaking his name. “… Is right that the two bloodlines talking could lead to mixing. Hell, this is why we’ve been calling these meetings in the first place, if I’m not mistaken.”

Wallace settled back into his chair. He folded his hands on the table top and nodded. “Yes, although I highly doubt any of us need a reminder of this fact, Mr. Johansen.”

Mark felt his face become flushed, but struggled to retain his composure. “Yes, sir, my apologies. But still… I think we’re losing sight of the big picture.” This time he fought against the compulsion to allow his gaze to stray. His eyes remained settled on the elder seated before him. “Cynthia’s right that going in with both guns blazing is going to backfire in our faces. If the two bloodlines assemble, they’ll go after us and I don’t think we can manage an onslaught of vampires all descending on Seattle and London. You know as well as I do the London office is understaffed as it is.”

A cough broke Mark’s focus to the one issuing it. Mark frowned in an apologetic manner at the female elder representing the London High Council before glancing back at Wallace. “Hell,” he said, continuing. “We have a pretty hefty staff and we’d all go down in a blaze of glory before taking a few down with us. We just don’t have that kind of firepower.”

Wallace frowned. Mark gulped silently at the shift in Wallace’s facial expression. “Which is why the Council neither consents, nor condones, the idea that we should enter into mass genocide,” Wallace said. “What happened in Europe still haunts the Order and the Council has no desire to revisit this strategy. Which is exactly why we assigned you and every other scholar in the Order with the task we set before you.”

Wallace raised an accusatory eyebrow at Mark. Mark nodded. “I know, sir. You asked us to find evidence that humans were becoming more aware of vampires in their midst and I know I thought it was a smart idea to try and use these videos and articles as blackmail to keep the Lamiae in check. The problem is, both sides have a heavy amount of resources they’re pouring into the effort to stay underground and they’ve bought out more people than we can begin trying to outbid.”

Mark paused, indulging in a deep breath and exhaling it slowly, his eyes drifting away before returning to Wallace. Wallace continued staring, his frown relaxing as though he plucked the next thought from Mark’s mind and was coaxing him to speak it out loud. Mark nodded in silent acknowledgment, then glanced at each face gathered in the meeting room. “Using the information and technology modern day has given us is a good idea, but I think we’re going about this all wrong. Instead of looking for information other people are gathering, why don’t we…” Mark paused, hesitating. He swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “What if we… planted information ourselves?”

“What?!” Spencer stood, glaring at Mark. “That’s idiotic. If they’re killing the information others are providing, what the fuck do you think they’re going to do with anything we…”

“Spencer.” Wallace looked to the master seer and scowled. “Sit and hear Mr. Johansen out.” Wallace waited for Spencer to nod and settle into his chair again. Then, he looked at Mark once more. “Mr. Phillips does have a point. How is this going to work in our favor?”

Mark allowed the corner of his mouth to curl in a coy grin. “We can buy people off, too, can’t we? I know it’s underhanded, but all we need are a few reporters in a few major markets and some hackers stopping the people pulling videos from the Internet. We won’t be able to stop everything, but if we stop enough of them, the videos will spread faster than the vampires can put out the fire.”

Cynthia leaned forward in her chair. “Mark,” she said. “If we sponsor that kind of information leak, then we’ll have more on our hands than a little blackmail. This could prove the existence of vampires enough to out them altogether.”

“Is that so wrong, though, Cynthia?” Gaining confidence, Mark lifted an eyebrow at his superior and mirrored Wallace’s posture, folding his hands together on the table in front of him. “I mean, for a thousand years, since this Order has been in existence, we’ve been spending a lot of our resources on keeping all this information from the public while failing to see the one massive weapon we have against the vampires themselves. They don’t want to be outed. But times have changed and even they have to know this sort of information leak is inevitable. Especially since the Lamiae can be photographed.”

“Then how will leaking information help?” the sorceress who had been arguing with the Asian seer asked, breaking into the conversation. “If they already know it’s inevitable, won’t they be prepared to handle this?”

Mark shifted his focus to her. “The sheer fact that they’re still trying to prevent it from getting out there suggests they’re not ready for this.” A shit-eating grin surfaced on his face. “Think about it this way, they’ve got to be pouring millions of dollars into keeping their anonymity. Millions. And who can blame them, really? Picture them trying to explain how they get their food, trying to launch a P.R. campaign costing them millions more claiming they don’t kill people or some shit like that. If we force them to deal with this, then watch… I bet you one month’s pay check the Revenir will scatter and disown the Lamiae. They have an even worse P.R. nightmare on their hands. Black magic and slaughtering humans?” Mark whistled. “I wouldn’t want to be the one trying to explain all of that.”

His words were followed by a deafening silence. Mark’s confidence threatened to flood out of him like a tidal wave at seeing the lack of response, until Wallace Alexander cleared his throat and broke the quiet with a question. “How… difficult would this be to accomplish? Do we have the kind of staff we’d need to see this through?”

Mark’s eyes returned to Wallace. “To spread the information, yeah, although we’d need a few more computer savvy people to block the vampires’ attempts to take down the videos we submit. But a few scholars could be reassigned to forging information and maybe the seers and some of the watchers could provide us with some high definition videos of the vampires feeding and glamoring humans so we could build a case against them. From there, I don’t know how you’d go about bribing a few reporters, but all you need are some articles in the New York Times or Washington Post to throw the Associated Press into a tail spin.”

A silence settled on the meeting room again, but this time Wallace Alexander began to smile and in his grin, Mark saw a fledgling form of deviousness which might have alarmed him if he wasn’t busy feeling pleased with himself. Wallace nodded. “I think we have a working idea, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s reassign our personnel and see if this concept holds any merit.” Wallace grinned especially at Mark. “Good job, Mr. Johansen. Finally, somebody with a brain steps up and gets the juices flowing in this dusty, old establishment.”

Mark smiled and continued smiling while the others gathered began to discuss the ins and outs of making his idea come to fruition. While the zealous junior scholar had thrown a card onto the table the Supernatural Order seemed bent to play, little could he have realized that in that moment, the world had already shifted on its axis.

What followed would change life as he knew it. And it all started with the Internet.

***

“Whiskey tango foxtrot…”

The words pierced what had otherwise been a silent room, causing Phil Jenkins to turn his attention to the man seated beside him. Thin, with long, unkempt hair, Len McAlister was the epitome of a computer nerd, from the thick-rimmed glasses situated over his eyes, to the messy shirt littered with stains from their fast-food dinner. Phil, a much more portly fellow, blinked several times in rapid succession at his partner. “What the fuck was that?” he asked.

Len didn’t answer. Instead, his eyes remained fixed on the computer monitor in front of him, fingers pounding the keys of his keyboard in a harsh manner, as though they were fighting him. He shook his head, mouth hanging agape. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“What?” Phil lowered the soft drink he’d been nursing since five o’clock that evening and brushed off his hands before wheeling his chair closer to Len’s terminal. He craned his neck for a better view. His eyes widened as he studied Len’s screen. “Is that what I think it is?”

Len nodded slowly. “Yup, it is. High def, I’m not shitting you, and I can’t hack this motherfucking firewall to save my life.”

“Let me see that.” Phil assumed control of the keyboard as Len slid out of the way. Len’s eyes remained fixed on the monitor, his pulse quickening as he watched his friend hit all the same keystrokes Len attempted no more than a few seconds prior. Phil frowned a few attempts into the effort, grunting as his fingers paused for a moment. “Gonna have to take down the whole fucking server.”

Len raised an eyebrow. “A DDoS? We haven’t had to do one of those before.”

“Yeah, but this is a persistent motherfucker.” Phil sighed, raising his hand once to rub at his eyes before settling it back down atop the keyboard. “And this fucking video’s been up too long as it is.”

Nodding, Len watched, his hands knitting together as he watched his friend pull out what they considered the ‘big guns’. After all this time, video after video pulled down with all the finesse of a virtuoso handling an instrument, the brute force solution seemed like bringing a bazooka to a blade fight, but they’d worry about that later. Time was of the essence and every moment wasted was another moment this thing could be captured and saved on someone else’s computer. Len breathed a sigh of relief. At least they had some solution to this problem firewall, excessive or not. He glanced away, allowing his heart rate to settle again, until Phil said, “Shit. Motherfucking shit on a shingle, holy mother of fucking hell. No.”

Len winced as the litany of blasphemous profanity spilled from Phil’s lips. Turning his gaze back to the monitor, he saw the video mocking them, two of the best computer hackers employed by some of the wealthiest beings on the planet. “What is it Phil?” he asked.

“It’s back. Dammit to hell, it’s back.”

“What do you mean, back? Didn’t you take down the IP?”

“Different IP.” Phil paused, as if for impact. “Different server.”

“Different…” The word trailed off as Len watched Phil continue working, keystrokes pounding out a fevered tempo of desperation before each time he hit enter. One IP would fall, but it almost seemed like two more stood in its wake and beads of sweat began collecting on Phil’s forehead, running down his neck. Finally, Phil pushed away from the terminal. His palms touched his knees and trembled where they sat.

Phil Jenkins and Len McAlister stared at the screen for long moments, both of them eyeing the time elapsed as though studying the countdown to their own demise. Finally, Len swallowed past a dry throat and frowned. “This is serious. I’ve got to call Mitch. He’s not going to be happy, but he has to know.”

Phil nodded, swallowing as well, his eyes closing while he muttered underneath his breath. No, Mitch was going to birth small kittens and if there was one thing Phil had learned over the last three years, it was never to piss off a vampire. His lids lifted to eye the mocking video one more time.

One hand raised and one finger clicked the left mouse button, starting the playback once again.

A young woman holding a purse screamed as two creatures, moving faster than light, descended on her and captured her in their embrace. Both shared a hearty laugh over her pleas for mercy, one whispering that it would all be over in a few seconds. White fangs glistened in the moonlight and crimson red flowed from her neck and wrist when they bit in. Phil winced when the woman screamed one final time. The video ceased a few frames into their feeding, remaining frozen on the image of unadulterated terror contorting the victim’s face.

“Holy Mary, mother of God,” Phil whispered to himself. “Please don’t let this hit the torrents. This is going to spread like the fucking Bubonic Plague.”

Next Part