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I have his file in my pocket, but nothing in it gives me any clue why he was the one who went after the infected lady. Maybe it was just his temper. Maybe she pestered him until he snapped. Maybe he didn’t drink from her, just… bit her, like he did with the pink-haired vampire. It would mean that the infection spreads by bite alone, no need to drink.

And to add insult to injury, I know him. Fleetingly, and it takes me a moment to remember him, but yes. He is the second rotting vampire that I met in the hospital. The one who got away, and, as it seems, the actual serial killer. Turns out he didn’t get far before his own kiss got a hold of him. His face is partially rotted away, as is part of the skull.

Surprisingly, the rot seems to have started at his face and is still moving actively down his body. His hands are meaty, as are his calves and feet. They are black, blue, green, and yellow, drip with puss and are bloated, but they are still there. Meaning he is not truly dead, just trapped in a body that is falling apart slowly. Strangely, I don’t feel bad for the damn pedo.

Cor stands at the back of the windowless room, close to the exit, as does Loreley. Cor protested my ordering him to stay back, whereas Loreley seemed hesitant to even enter the crypt; now that she knows her little darling infected someone else, she seems much more open to the idea that maybe it would be best to get rid of him. Or what is left of him.

Loreley purses her lips as she watches me hover and circle the corpse. ‟I warned you about his state. There isn’t much left to look at. Drenching him in blood helped for a while, but not enough. It stopped the rot, but only barely. We decided it was better to let this play out. See where it leads.”

Which is vampire speak for ‘let’s see if he dissolves to dust when nothing is left’. Not unreasonable, seeing how they already tried to save their clansman and failed. His death could do some good for science, if nothing else. But it’s also too dangerous.

‟I appreciate you kept everyone away from—,” I swallow dryly and point at the pink bones, ‟—him. It was a good precaution. But I don’t think it’s enough. If this spreads, it will be impossible to protect the Contract. Some poor fella will see a moving, rotting corpse, or worse, get attacked by one, and that would be catastrophic. You know I’m right,” I press when I see her frown. ‟You don’t have a cure, you said so yourself. And even if you find one eventually, your Mr. Farthing here is stuck in his own personal hell until then. If he doesn’t die while you are still looking. It’s just too much of a risk.”

There have to have been some redeeming qualities to Andrew, or else Loreley wouldn’t be struggling so much. I can’t fathom what kind of godly power someone would have to possess to overlook child abuse, but I’m not her. Luckily. She looks pained when she finally nods, her lips a pale slash in her face, eyes dark with anger. I don’t think it’s directed at me, but I’m not ready to risk finding out, so I carefully step back from the rotting corpse and wait for her next move.

She gives one sharp, finite nod. ‟Agreed. We will burn him.”

I take a deep, relieved breath. ‟Good, thanks. Thank you for that. Now… Do you have any idea why Mr. Farthing here had the same sickness as the vampiress? As far as I understand, she was called Isolde, and it seems she is part of the vampire group hunting Cor. Does he have any connections that might explain it? And please, let’s not play hide and seek with important facts anymore. I can’t do my job with one hand bound behind my back.”

Something moves over Loreley’s face, like a visualization of the instinct to lie. It’s in her nature, as it seems to be in every vampire’s nature, except for Cor for some reason. They like to keep some power to themselves; the more, the better. I am about to warn her when she shakes her head and waves me off. ‟Spare me your protest; I am too old to not know when to stop poking the Hunter,” she says dryly. ‟I am risking a lot here, so excuse me for bracing myself first. Especially since I cannot be sure your… friend… isn’t actually a spy for him.”

‟Him?”

‟Ove Egil,” Loreley says.

Cor’s growl fills the room like a small, threatening earthquake at the sound of the name. Then he stomps through the open crypt door and stalks off, leaving me alone with Loreley. Great. At least I know he won’t run away completely, not as long as I’m in a building full of potential dangers, but it doesn’t make me more comfortable right now.

‟Who?” I ask lamely.

‟Ove Egil. His—‟ she nods towards the door, ‟—master, if that is the appropriate term. He and his clan have settled in the harbor. And Mr. Farthing there was my courier to them. He picked up their monthly tithes for me. Unofficially of course. I don’t see how those people could be involved, though, especially not if a cultist—any cultist, really—was involved. Egil and his kiss, they are to cultists what you are to all vampires. They hunt them, kill them at the slightest twitch. They are the reason why there are no demons in Babylon.”

Because cultists summon demons, eventually. They usually do it voluntarily, but even if not, demons just start to appear around them. Not as bad as what warlocks cause, what with their unholy aura actually poisoning the veil between the worlds, but… yeah. It is a law of nature that one goes hand in hand with the other. I scratch my chin and glance at the rotting corpse.

‟So… how come there is a cultist representative in town then? That Arzel guy, I mean. He keeps popping up in the weirdest places. Wouldn’t he want to stay away from the city?”

‟That is quite the riddle, isn’t it,” Loreley agrees, lifting the corners of her mouth to ease the tension in her face. ‟Egil must have spies in the city, especially in my kiss. He should know about the cultists being here and being present instead of hidden. I mean, Andrew—Mr. Farthing saw him regularly, and he had met Arzel multiple times in meetings. I cannot think of any situation where the cultist hunters wouldn’t know they are here.”

Me neither, but I am a rookie. For a moment I wonder what Asha would make of all of this, wishing I could ask her, or at least Colton. They are supposed to be allies, and I feel crippled by their not being available. Rookies are supposed to ask questions and get support for the first few years. They are supposed to have that help for as long as they need. And here I am, completely on my own within the first five days of my active Hunter duty. Fuck me.

‟Do you have an address for this Egil?” I ask, glancing back at the corpse even though I don’t want to.

Loreley sighs sharply and pulls out her mobile phone. A second later, my phone plings and she stows hers away. ‟I recommend you do not bring your… friend there. He is not supposed to run free, and if it didn’t look like you have some semblance of control over him, I would have called Egil myself to have him come collect his wild beast,” she says dryly. ‟Best you don’t mention the Spaniard at all, for everyone.”

‘The Spaniard’, huh? The realization that Loreley might actually be old enough to know Cor, or at least know more of his story, tingles through my body like tiny jolts of electricity. The knowledge that I can never ask her follows closely. It really is easy to forget that these vampires are not even remotely friendly. They just suffer my existence because anything else might bite them into their asses later on, and because I might come in handy.

I do nod at her warning, though, because I’d rather eat sandpaper than risk Cor getting thrown back into his box. And it’s not like this Ove Egil character has any reason to murder me without Cor around. He will be able to tell me why Arzel is still cavorting around though. And maybe, if I get really lucky, he even knows who Mr. Farthing infected between getting frisky with the crazy cultist lady and biting the pink-haired enbie vampire.

ANOTHER HOUR LATER, Stanley drops us off at the hideout, muttering quiet curses about the state of the road and what it does to his precious car. I already made him promise to get a rental car for me, a task which he gladly accepted (and flipped me the finger for), but it is too late at night right now. He offered to lend us one of Loreley’s cars, but I’m not stupid enough to let her track me. For once, Stanley didn’t argue. He just twitched his lips and nodded. I would say he looked impressed, but that might be a bit far-fetched.

As Cor climbs the stairs towards the front door behind me, I watch Stanley’s back scuttle into the dark where he parked his car. He doesn’t look back as he screeches out of his parking spot, almost hitting another parked car in his haste to get away from us. Well, mostly me. Cor hasn’t twitched a finger, except to grunt at the sight of Stanley and me making poker faces at each other. It’s weird, this shift in behavior. Where did the possessive, hungry, threatening Cor disappear to?

Ever since Loreley mentioned this Ove person, Cor has been a different person. Quiet, withdrawn, disinterested, at least on the surface. Even now, instead of drooling into my nape and making passes at me, he just walks inside, clicking the door shut quietly as if he had no problems with locks. As if nothing matters. And here I am, standing out on the street at night, in a supe-filled district. Alone. The realization sends an icy shiver down my back. Time to go inside as well and hope that—

I see a blur of movement out of the corner of my eye, just as I’m about to turn. A soft whooshing sound hisses by as something carves through the air. My body mindlessly folds into itself as it tries to duck when my brain wasn’t ready, and I tumble down the steps, falling backward as my fingers lose grip on the banister. I land on my ass at the bottom of the stone stairs, gun raised and pointed at the night. I don’t know when I pulled it, but there it is. A clawed hand swipes the air where my neck was a heartbeat ago, flitting back into the darkness along the house wall before I can make out my attacker. The shadow moves as if rearranging itself. Whoever—or whatever—that is, it is fricking huge. Pony-sized. And it somehow got between me and the house without making a single sound.

I scramble backward like a crab, trying to keep the gun pointed at the creature in the shadows. It doesn’t work; I could never get off a straight shot, but it makes me feel better.

My attacker doesn’t care either way. The huge, black, wolf-like creature jumps off the porch in an effortless leap and lands a foot away from me. A grotesque, bristle-covered muzzle sniffs the air as it digs scalpel-sharp claws into the asphalt. Those claws sit on eerily human-like fingers, too slim and long for the huge body they are carrying. The stench of rotten eggs and foul meat fills the air as the beast crouches down. Two-inch-long teeth grind against each other as it curls its lips into a snarl, baring blackish gums at me. Black and gray, short fur covers every inch of the beast’s body, up to its dog-like face. Black eyes follow my movements, only traceable by the tiny, violet dots of light floating through those colorless eyeballs.