43

"Hey. Hey you," he slurs. "Do you have any idea who my parents are? I could—" he loses track of his words for a moment "—could buy this place out from…from under you. I gotta get home safe, you hear me?"

You lean over him, your lips curled back, nose flared like a predatory animal. You're barely aware of the room as you sink your fangs into his stubble-speckled neck and drink deep. The moment feels so profoundly right, and his surprised groan only encourages you to slake your thirst. There is nothing that can compare to fresh blood straight from the vein, and a pacified partner quiets the voices in your head. You're not a predator, you convince yourself. No, you're a gift to these mortals—these supplicants. Forget the victims you slaughtered—all is forgiven in this holy act of feeding.

You pull back and lick the neck-wounds closed. Your victim's eyes have glazed over and he's panting heavily. You wonder what his name is. Does it matter? You suck the length of your fangs and your lips clean of blood. A small part of you knows that it should matter, that you should remember the faces of your victims. But maybe it's too late for that. Maybe your humanity is gone forever.

Next

Sheriff Qui's silver sedan is surprisingly unassuming—you expected a luxury vehicle or at least something that isn't slowly being eaten away by the creep of rust. Money is power, and old money made over several mortal lifetimes affords the eldest of the Ivory Tower the finest luxuries available. As you and Jordan follow on Qui's heels, you keep expecting him to veer off to another floor of the garage, but when he pulls his keys out from his pocket and presses a button, the car's lights flash. He waves you into the front seat, Jordan to the back. She shoots you a confused look—it seems like you're not the only one accustomed to an upscale lifestyle in your un-life.

"I saw that look," Qui says as he settles into the driver's seat. "Don't think I haven't seen it before. You don't like her, do you?"

"Her?" Jordan asks, genuinely befuddled.

"My old girl here," he pats the dashboard. "She's reliable and she doesn't draw attention. What good is a flashy car to a Sewer Rat?"