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“Can you describe her? I mean, old, not the best personal hygiene, you said high?” I throw the frowning boy a glance as if to confirm, and he nods.

It’s the girl who does the talking, though. “She was, like, fifty-ish, which made her stand out all on its own. ‘Coz what old bat goes to a nightclub? But she also smelled weird, like rot, but not B.O., more like… like she rolled around in some carcass or something. And roses. She tried to mask it with roses, but I don’t know what she expected from a bunch of wolves and fangers. We can smell the rotten Gouda in our neighbor’s fridge on a bad day; roses won’t do shit. She had brown hair with a lot of gray in it, in a bun that actually looked good. And she wore loose clothing, like, showing all of her neck and her lower arms and her thighs. Really unflattering, Tom is right.”

The boy who spoke up first grunts, appeased by her comment, and takes a sip from his glass of, who knows. Beer, probably, going by the size of the mug.

The second boy throws the girl a miffed glare and then pipes up towards her, “But I don’t think she was high, Mags. She acted pretty desperate, but I think it was some kind of illness or something. What with the shivering and everything.”

The girl—Mags, as he called her—thinks about that for a second, then shrugs. “Maybe,” she admits, and turns her eyes back to us. “She got dragged off by some annoyed looking vampire who was muttering something about her needing to get help. Maybe he helped her, or he, you know, helped her.” She makes a cut-throat gesture at the second part of her statement and laughs haughtily. Nice.

I am already sure the cultist lady is dead, so I don’t comment on her gesture, tasteless as it is. Instead, I step closer, lean down a little and ask a little more quietly, “And did you see the vampire who took her again?”

The three fall silent, pondering my question and suddenly very much not amused. In the end, they all shake their heads, and Mags bites her lower lip worriedly. “No. Not since then,” she admits.

“Too bad. If you do see him, will you let him know to contact me? I need her corpse,” I say, showing my most professional smile. “I don’t care if he killed her or if she fell over on her own; I just need her remains.”

They nod, and I hand them one of my cards. It shows nothing but my mobile phone number.

As we walk back towards the writhing dance floor, Cor leans closer and rumbles into my ear, “I smell rot.” He points over to one door on the other side of the room. Little figures on them demarcate toilets for male, female, and unisex blob ghosts, which would be cute if my reason for being here weren’t so serious. Cor grabs my arm again, this time steering me through the crowd like a heat-seeking missile, directly towards the unisex bathroom. I let him, feeling casually for my gun with the other hand, and hoping nobody is watching me. People generally frown on armed people storming enbie-toilets.

Luckily we don’t need to storm anything. The door to the unisex bathroom suddenly swings open, and a scrap of a vampire steps out. Their shock of pink hair is combed into a fluffed-up sideways partition, framing their green-painted lips and eyes. The eyebrow piercings glint in the neon lights, and half a dozen necklaces and chains adorn their neck. I can't smell anything on them, but Cor makes a face and takes a step back.

The vampire looks at us with curiosity and amusement, smirking at our apparent discomfort, probably misinterpreting it terribly. "Well, well, well," they say in a sing-song voice. "What do we have here? The newbies to the club?”

I somehow manage to hide my surprise at not being made as a Hunter instantly for once. It’s weirdly disappointing, which is stupid. "Actually, we were just looking for you," I say with as much nonchalance as I can muster.

The vampire's smirk widens. "Oh, really?" they ask, leaning against the doorframe with a flourish. "And what might you need from me? Aren’t you afraid I might infect you?"

Well, if that isn’t a fun segue. I press my lips together and force a smile, nodding. “Actually… yea. Not us, or rather not me, but you might be infectious. Especially if you came into contact with the cultist woman from a few weeks ago, the one who made a big scene in the club,” I say directly. "I need her remains.”

The vampire raises an eyebrow in surprise. "Her remains? What for?”

"I'm an investigator," I reply patiently. "I need to examine her body for clues about what happened to her. She might be the reason for a certain outbreak of, ahem, issues among vampires."

The vampire laughs wickedly, their green eyes flickering with amusement. "A detective? How quaint!" They shake their head dismissively. "But I'm not interested in helping your investigation. You’re a Hunter, ain’t ya?"

"Please," I push, feeling desperation creep into my voice despite my best efforts to remain professional. Asha wouldn’t have such issues, my brain let’s me know helpfully. Stupid brain.

"Why should I assist you?" the vampire asks nonchalantly, if slightly amused by my begging. They usually like it when people beg, damned control freaks.

"Stop your rot," Cor deadpans from behind me, making me jump in surprise. I am getting the feeling that he is understanding a hell of a lot more than he did yesterday, which is a little scary. He ignores my jumpiness and nods towards the vampire’s right arm, then falls quiet again.

The vampire's smile falters for just a moment before returning in full force. "Hmm... well played," they say, looking me up and down. The smile looks less amused this time, forced almost, but not fake. "Fine, I'll tell you. But just for the record, I didn’t kill her. Some guy did that. But I don’t know what the local kiss did with his corpse after he gave me this—”

They grab the sleeve of their purple, long-sleeved shirt and pull it up. A deep, ragged, badly festering bite circles half of their lower arm, dark brown, blue, and violet. Angry red veins spread out from the wound towards their fingers and upper arm. It looks like someone chomped into them and tried to rip out a mouthful of meat. “—thing. You’re going to have to ask them.”

I can’t suppress the whistle at the sight of the wound. That looks more than painful, even for a vampire. And especially since they shouldn’t be able to get infections. “You might want to chop off that thing before it spreads,” I suggest bravely. Vampires can grow back limbs surprisingly quickly, although in this case they would be better off even without a regrowing limb. “I have seen what happens if that gets worse.”

The vampire turns his head, side-eying me warily. “Good to know,” they say, pulling down the sleeve. Then they walk off without so much as a goodbye.

I can just hope they’ll take my advice, or else I might have to come back later for them. At least I’m getting somewhere. Seems like the local kiss knows a lot more about what is happening than Stanley let on. Or maybe they just keep younglings like him out of the loop, it wouldn’t be unheard of. Fact is, there is only one person who can give me clear answers now. Time to talk to Loreley again.

CHAPTER TWELVE

LORELEY TAKES HER sweet time picking up the phone. I end up in her mailbox five times before she relents. Good; I would have kept calling on the way over to her penthouse if she hadn’t. I don’t take kindly to people trying to fuck me over.

‟You lied to me,” I say in lieu of a greeting.

She stays quiet for almost thirty seconds, probably hoping I will keep talking to fill the void. But I have grown up a little since we last met, so I don’t fall for it. She relents with a sigh. ‟Whatever are you talking about?”