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The demon is now fully engaged with Cor and Egil, its nightmarish body twisting and contorting in ways that defy every law of physics I've ever learned in school. It's a mesmerizing, horrendous spectacle. My heart beats frantically against my ribs, echoing in my ears as loudly as the sirens outside.

Just as I raise the machete, Cor's voice cuts through the chaos again, sharp as the blade in my hand. "Now, Gideon! Hurry!"

He doesn't need to tell me twice. The machete is awkward and unwieldy in my good hand, but the fear of what awaits if I fail lends me a macabre strength. With a grunt, I bring the blade down against Arzel’s neck, chopping and hacking away at his throat. It’s usually the head that causes the trouble, I figure, so starting there feels like it makes the most sense. No blood spurts, and Arzel’s cooling body twitches no more than it should, considering I am tearing him apart. When the blade hits the bone of Arzel’s spine, the demon screeches in a mixture of outrage and pain and abandons its fight with the vampires to skitter after me. I’ve officially run out of time, both with the humans outside and the supes in here.

Rearing back, I yell a battle shout and bring the blade down one last time with all my might. The blade snaps the spine just as the foul, hellish odor of the demon’s maw brushes against the side of my face. One of its teeth leaves a long, deep gash down my temple, only to disappear when it passes the cheekbone. Black, ash-laden smoke puffs out of the monster’s body as it suddenly disintegrates, leaving nothing but a slowly sinking cloud of soot and stink.

Holy hell, we actually won. And that’s when I finally allow myself to black out.

THE FIRST THING I see when I open my eyes is Cor’s amber gaze staring at me upside down. Scattered, crusty streaks of blood slash across his face, a stark red mask of violence that looks strangely right on him. In my confusion, I try to figure out if it's his blood or not, but there is no way to tell. My head hasn't stopped swimming, and my arm still hurts like a motherfucker, but I take the pain as a good sign. Only people not on the brink of death can spend energy on self-pity. And the even better news is that I can’t have been unconscious for long, because we are still in the factory hall and demonic ashes are still snowing down on us. The blood on Cor's body hasn't even finished drying yet. A minute at the most.

Cor growls softly and touches the deep gash on my temple, his fingers bloody when he lifts them away. “Get up?” he asks, sniffing my blood before licking his fingers clean. Seems like I have not been poisoned by hell this time, or he wouldn’t, uh, taste me.

“I think so.” Actually I’m not sure at all if getting up in my state is a good idea, but I can hear footsteps in the back and the Norseman’s low, rumbling voice from across the room as he talks to his subordinates. Guess they just about missed a bloody good fight. It does mean we are about to be surrounded by Cor’s arch enemies, though.

Cor grabs my arm and pulls me up carefully. Blood gushes out of my facial cut as I get upright, but it slows down rapidly when Cor leans over and licks the wound, speeding up the healing process with his nifty vampire saliva. Doesn’t do shit for big wounds, but smaller gashes, bites, tears? No problem at all.

Unfortunately, things are getting even worse for all of us. Blue and red lights strobe over the dirty factory windows to announce the fire department and probably the police. We are doubly surrounded but two equally dangerous foes, if for different reasons.

The police may not know what the people milling around are, but they do have a knack for recognizing warriors, soldiers, people who know how to survive. And there is no way we will make them believe we are just innocent bystanders. Not in a building full of corpses that are mostly unarmed and basically have been ripped apart, each and every one of them. We’re not in a Harry Potter movie after all; cultists don’t need tools for straight-up casting, only for curses and charms, long-lasting stuff. They will look like victims, not attackers, to anyone who doesn't know about our world, which is the whole of law enforcement.

The Norseman’s kiss—or what is left of it—are rapidly filling up the factory hall, in way higher numbers than I ever expected. There must be twenty to thirty vampires left, even after losing a good amount to the cultists. Things are looking pretty grim in terms of just running off before they can make their move.

Not that Cor seems to care. His fingers brush against my freshly closed wound, then he grabs my arm and the almost dangling hand and carefully turns it to loosen the makeshift bandage I wrapped around it. I stop him before he can get to the knot, shaking my head. “Not yet, we’re not out of danger,” I whisper, fully aware that the surrounding vampires will hear most of what I am saying, anyway.

Cor looks around with vague disinterest, then studies my face solemnly. “We cannot run. We can only die bravely. There is time to check on your wounds if it gives us a better chance.”

Shaking my head, I pull my arm out of his grip. The pain flares up again when the severed nerve endings get jostled, but it’s not as bad as before. That is probably a bad sign, but I don’t have time for it now. “I'm not ready to make a last stand yet. Wait here,” I tell Cor resolutely and stomp—okay, hobble—off towards the blood-soaked, disheveled Norseman on the other side of the demon-shaped ash blotch on the floor. I don’t really want to touch the ashes, but I can’t very well leave it shaped like that, so I stomp right through the middle and drag my feet for good measure.

Two of the minions accompanying the Norseman make moves to step into my path, but he waves them off with a vague gesture, and I get my first good look at his sorry state. Damn, Cor did a number on him! His whole body is covered in blood, his arm is missing a few pieces of flesh, his shoulder almost stripped to the glistening ball joint, but his face doesn’t show any signs of pain. Damned vampires. His silver-blue eyes are piercingly bright in his blood-smeared face as he scans me coldly. Guess we’re still not friends after all. I don’t think I can make myself care.

As soon as I am within polite talking distance, I stop, take a deep breath and try my best to sound confident and not like a concussed, anemic casualty. “There is a breach of Contract looming over us,” I say, clearing my throat when I sound hoarser than expected. “And as far as I can see, the other involved party has either fled or died. Which makes your kiss solely responsible for stopping it from happening. Any suggestions on how you are going to fix this situation?”

The Norseman bares his teeth into a bloody grin void of any joy. He looks like he's about to eat me, and Contract be damned. The grin disappears as fast as it has come, though, leaving his face hard edged and solemn. "There are too many people outside to just kill them all and make it look like an accident," he says slowly, and shakes his head. A bit of flesh flops down at the side of his head, and he casually reaches up to push it back into place. It will be healed soon enough, just like his other wounds. If he drinks blood, it will go even faster, but right now I am the only source of nourishment, and he is too old to get carried away by the scent of a little mortal blood. “Does your kind have any pull with law enforcement?”

I consider the question for a moment, then shrug. "I'm unsure. And my phone is outside in the car, so I can't call in to ask. We're on our own for now."

"We," Egil snarls, the grin returning. "So good of you to acknowledge your part in this. I look forward to our working together. I always wondered how a Hunter would handle an impossible situation like this."

Fuck me. Seems like none of Asha's warnings about using my words carefully around supes stuck after all. "Yeah, well, me too," I grumble, turning in a circle to take in the clusterfuck around me. "On the upside, we are in the Darkcity district, so carnage like this is not as exciting as it would be elsewhere. But it's still too many bodies to make it look like a gang war," I mumble, trying to force my brain to work even with low blood pressure and ringing ears. "Let's seal all the doors and exits with rubble to slow them down. If we can make the weirder parts of the corpses disappear and throw weapons at the others, we might get away with making it look like some kind of territorial dispute. Barely."

The way he looks me over as if I've done something interesting makes me bristle a little, but I keep my face mostly blank. It occurs to me that this creature probably has centuries of experience in keeping up the Contract. Which means he has a reason to ask for my input, and not one I will like.

"Then we will heed the Hunter's advice," Egil says louder, throwing a glance at the vampires surrounding us. It's all they need to disperse, although some stay and keep up their loose circle around Cor. Going by what I saw before, they're not enough to keep him contained, except they got me as well. Cor might give up to save me, heroic moron that he is.

I turn back to Egil, licking my lips. "Cor—‟

"No, you will be quiet. I will not hear your drivel about the Spaniard right now," the Norseman snarls, the words surprisingly venomous.

He turns as if to leave me standing, so I grab his arm and dig my fingers into one of the leisurely closing wounds. He twitches and makes moves as if to slap me away, stopping himself at the last second when he hears Cor growl warningly.

"I will not be quiet. Cor saved you, and I saved you, and right now we are helping you cover up a breach. That will cost you a lot, especially since I am not feeling super thankful. And just imagine how unhappy Loreley will be when she receives a much higher fine than she expected, because of-," I gesture towards Cor as if he were a landscape, "-a spat you have been having for a few centuries?"

"Spat," someone in the back scoffs, but I don't turn to find out who. I have to tread carefully, especially since we are still in the middle of making corpses disappear. It would be all too easy to add me to the masses of dead if I give them a good enough reason. But I can’t let this opportunity pass. I have to try. For Cor’s sake. I’d rather die than see him locked up again anyway.

Whoa, where did that come from?

The thousand-year-old vampire grinds his teeth for a moment, staring daggers at me. Then he shakes his head once, sharply, and points behind me at Cor with two fingers. "He will go free. For now. You have bought him a year of freedom, but do not think his debts are paid. If in a year I decide that my—” he bares his teeth in amusement, ”—spat is worth being upheld after all, I will come back for him. And you, Hunter or not Hunter. And now go, before I change my mind and make you into one of the dead."