The day passed in hours of planning and chugging coffee and hastily taken naps, and then a couple of hours before sunset, the gang split up long enough for Josie to dress herself for battle and grab supplies.

  She traded her day clothes for a pair of dark, skin-tight jeans, a white tank top underneath a leather jacket, and her ass kicking combat boots, and then stuffed a bag full of stakes and other weapons before hurrying across town to meet the others outside of the library.

  “Here,” she unzipped the bag and thrust a stake in Calliope’s direction, and then Andrews. “Don’t forget: aim for the heart.”

  “What about holy water?” asked Andrew, referencing their earlier conversation. His spirits seemed to have lifted, if only slightly.

  “If crosses aren’t a thing, why would holy water be?” She smiled wryly at him.

  “I was trying to tell him that,” said Ramsay, his tone suggesting an eye roll was in order.

  “Come on,” said Josie, shouldering the dufflebag. “Let’s go. It’s getting dark.”

  ***

  Punk music bounced against the walls of the club, spilling out into the night. Dreya led the disciples through the alleyway, surrounding the beefy security guard, who pestered them for their IDs until he looked up and came face to face with Michaelangelo’s Dark Form.

  He didn’t even have time to scream before the vampire had seized him, chomping into his neck to drain him dry.

  Michelangelo threw the body carelessly into the open dumpster to the side of the club’s side entrance, then led the way inside, gesturing at his companions to disperse.

  One of them promptly pulled the switch to the generator, killing the sound system and every light that didn’t run on back-up. The band on stage kept playing for a millisecond before figuring it out, and by then Michaelangelo had made it on stage. He hauled the spiky-haired singer off his feet and threw him into the drummer with a shout of laughter.

  Several people in the crowd screamed. Some of them ran for the exits, only to be stopped by the growl of a vampire, or seized and fed on until their legs stopped kicking.

  “A glorious night is upon us!” Michelangelo’s smile widened to impossible lengths, stretching grotesquely across his gargoyle face. “And you’re all going to be a part of it.”

  How many did they have to kill? Michaelangelo surveyed the crowd, taking in the mortal faces pale with fear, staring up at him like trapped farm animals. The Oldest hadn’t said how many souls it would take to fill him with power. He had instructed them only to feed, to glut themselves on mortal blood, and Michaelangelo intended to do just that.

  ***

  When Josie and the others arrived at Cups & Coins, the doors were closed and locked, the windows mostly dark. She stood back, gazing up at the facade of the building, her brow furrowed in thought.

  “I’m going to have to break into the second floor,” she told the assembled group.

  “You can’t just break it down?” asked Andrew.

  She gave him an arch look. “I could–but it would draw a lot of attention and kind of defeat the element of surprise we’ve got going here.”

  She unzipped the bag of weapons and began passing out stakes and daggers. They’d gone over weapon form for forty-five minutes earlier, but Calliope still held the hilt of her blade in a weak grip. Josie closed her fingers around Calliope’s fingers, tightening her fist, and met the girl's wavering gaze.

  “No hesitation.”

  “Right.” said Calliope, her steely expression holding more conviction than her trembling words.

  Turning to Ramsay and Andrew, she gave instructions.

  “I’m going to try and get that side door open, but you three should try and find another way in if I can’t. We’ve got to get everyone out of here. Combat should be a final resort –” She hesitated, glancing at Ramsay, “Except for you, I guess. Everyone else–”

  “We get it,” said Andrew, playfully stabbing the air with the stake Josie had handed him. He was still wearing her necklace, she could see the glint of the chain beneath the collar of his t-shirt. “No confrontation–savior mode only.”

  “I’m serious,” said Josie, pinning Andrew with the focus of her gaze. “No unnecessary confrontations. Got it?”

  There was a murmur of agreement all around, and then Josie, nodding, headed off to circle around the building and find her entrance point.

  ***

  Down the alley, Andrew hurried ahead, quickly jogging over to the side door. It was as locked as it had been the first time they’d checked, so he went over to one of the windows near the overflowing trash bins, pressing his hand gingerly against the frame, searching for a weakness that might give without much prompting.

  “Listen, you two,” said Ramsay, “When we get in there–”

  “Yeah, we know,” said Andrew distractedly. “Get in, get everyone out.”

  But privately, he was thinking of Luke. Not as he was now, but as he had been–grinding at the skateboard, flirting hopelessly with the baristas of Coffee After Dark. Luke liked prank calls and hot cheetos. He had a little brother that loved him. Andrew’s heart squeezed. There had to be a part of Luke still inside that monster, nestled like a Russian nesting doll.

  Andrew felt a hand on his arm and he turned. Despite being taller than Ramsay, the imposing look on Ramsay’s face drew Andrew up short, stilling the relentless pacing of his thoughts.

  “Listen to me, Andrew,” said Ramsay, his fingers a vice grip on Andrew’s bicep. “That boy isn’t your friend anymore.”

  Andrew flinched.

  “He’s still Luke… Inside.” Calliope murmured.

  Ramsay didn’t look at her. His eyes were the clear blue of tropical water, boring into Andrew’s with meaning.

  “Luke is dead,” said Ramsay resolutely.

  “I know…” Andrew breathed, even as he clung to hope and doubt.

  “Do you?” Ramsay lifted an eyebrow. “When a human is turned into a vampire, their soul begins to rot. The initial change drives a bloodlust that pushes them to kill and to feed… And the more they kill, the more of their soul slips away into darkness, until there’s nothing left. He tried to kill you – he will try to kill you again.”

  Ramsay let go of Andrew’s arm at last. “If you come face to face with Luke, you must remember that you are no longer looking at your friend; you’re looking at a monster that wears his skin.”

  ***

  With every body drained, the Oldest felt his power increase. It warmed him, from the tips of his toes to the crown of his skull. He had not felt such power in decades, and it throbbed in his veins with an addictive quality. The empty cavern was too small suddenly, to contain him, and he found himself stroking the walls with his long, pale fingers, as if he might find the seam to the universe among the stone and tear it open.

  He had hoped to draw the Blade to him, but she had escaped. Her blood, moving through him, would have been his key to freedom. He knew this as simply as he knew anything else, the knowledge filling the empty pockets of his mind, but the souls collected by his disciples would do well enough on their own.

  Perhaps the blood of the hunter would serve him in another way.

  ***

  After scaling the roof and creeping along its flat edge, Josie found an upstairs window with a broken lock, and she eased it open, just wide enough to slip inside.

  It was warmer in the club. Josie could hear crying and shouts of terror from below, but when she crept up to the balcony and peered down, no one was trying to make a run for it.

  She could easily detect why after scanning the edges of the room – vampires lurked in every corner, and there were several bodies already strewn throughout.

  “He’s going to kill us all!” cried an unseen female.

  “That’s right, human, will you be next!?”

  Josie recognized that voice. She crept through the shadows, following the upstairs walkway until she could see the stage, where the vampire that’d tried to kill her in the mausoleum was searching the faces of the mortals below with a predators gleam in his eye.

  “Another!” he raised his hand in the air, snapping his meaty fingers. Blood coated the front of his army green thermal top, and ran down his chin in rivulets.

  Josie's stomach turned, a sneer of disgust curling her upper lip.

  The mortals bunched together like frightened mice, whimpering. Someone stumbled over the boots of a dead body and screamed, and the noise singled her out.

  The blonde that had had Luke with her appeared out of the shadows and seized the girl by the back of her neck. She was so young, screaming and crying and thrashing to no avail, as the vampire woman dragged her long by the scruff as if she were no more than a doll.

  “Come now, precious!” chirped the woman. “You’ll make an enticing meal! We love the screamers, don’t we, Michaelangelo?”

  She dragged the girl into the dim light that pooled on stage, and Josie saw with a start that it was none other than Libby.

  Michelangelo sauntered up to Libby’s other side and stroked the back of his fingers against her cheek, even as she whimpered and recoiled from him. His grotesque mouth stretched in a wide smile, and he leaned close, taking a length of her shiny, dark hair in his hand to press against his nose and mouth. A moan rumbled from within his thick throat.

  “You are lovely,” he purred in his deep voice. “Your blood smells like a sweet meadow.”

  “Shall we share her?” asked the blonde, a reverent note to her voice. Her shiny, doll-like eyes bore into Libby’s neck with fervent want.

  Josie sighed. If ever there was a time to interrupt meal time, it was now.

  Gripping the balcony’s rail, Josie launched herself over its side and landed in a crouch on the first floor, surrounded by the terrified faces of young mortals, and by the debris of many broken chairs and tables.

  The vampires on stage turned, shock written on their faces, and Libby took their moment of distraction to stomp on the blonde's foot and tear herself away, fleeing into the crowd with a shriek.

  Smart girl, thought Josie.

  To her surprise, the blonde didn’t go after her, but instead turned to Josie at the same time as Michelangelo, her face contorting with mounting rage.

  “You,” spat the large vampire.

  Josie rose to her feet, cocking her head as she feigned a look around. “Nice party you got goin’ here. I guess my invitation got lost in the mail.”

  “You’re a meddlesome little bitch.” snarled the woman.

  “Awe!” Josie batted her eyelashes. “Such sweet things! I don’t really date vampires though, sorry, hun.”

  A crash sounded from the other room. Josie couldn’t tell if it had come from the bathrooms or the side door, but she hoped that Ramsay and the others had found a way in and would get these people out of here soon, so that she could focus on taking out the Otherlanders.

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  Michelangelo shared a look with the woman on stage, and then nodded in the direction of the sound, ordering, “Go.”

  She hopped off stage, disappearing into the shadows, and Michelangelo exchanged another nod with someone over Josie’s shoulder. Not someone – someones, who stalked towards her from behind on silent feet.

  Josie waited until one of them was close enough to dare taking a swipe at the back of her head, probably hoping to use her long pony tail as a leash. She elbowed him in the chest, slammed the back of her fist into the other vampire’s face, and then spun around, palming her stake as her feet swept out the ankles of them both. When they were down, she slammed the stake into the chest of one, and then the other.

  Dirt exploded as if out of a confetti gun, and the mortals nearest her shrieked and backed away, as far from her and the mess as they could get. She didn’t blame them.

  “So, this is it?” Josie turned to face the stage again, and was pleased to find Michelangelo glaring at her through the folds of skin that lined his face. “This is the big plan? Kill all these people and then, what? Your big, bad boss is going to open up the pits of hell?” She snorted, rolling her eyes. “How contrived. Can you say ‘basic’?”

  “It lifts my spirits, seeing you here,” Michelangelo replied. “What a gift you’ll make for the Oldest.”

  “Well…” Josie spread out her arms, “here I am.”

  Michelangelo surveyed her for a moment, staring down at her with an almost disbelieving smirk curving the corners of his purple mouth. Then, with a chuckle, he jumped off stage. The soles of his boots landed with a thud that shook the ground, and the mortals nearest him scattered.

  They stared each other down. A split second, and then he was upon her, charging across the room to bore her back against the far wall. The crowd screamed, stumbling out of the crossfire as Josie’s back crashed against the hard wall. He seized one of her arms, pinning it to her side, but she had intended for this to happen, and she was ready, slamming her knee into his groin.

  There was a hiss of pain, hot and metallic, washing across her face, but then the vampire chuckled. “You’re going to have to kick me harder than that, girl.”

  So she did.

  He released her with a grunt, but it was more surprise than pain, and there wasn’t much room for another attack, so Josie kneed him in the belly too.

  He folded, and she side-stepped out of his vicinity to circle around to his back.

  Michelangelo recovered quickly, turning to face her with a growl. She slid into a defensive stance, and the smirk he’d worn earlier returned as his eyes darted down to her feet.

  “Cute,” he rumbled, and then moved, faster than a man his size ought to be able to. He seized the front of her jacket and hauled her forward with one hand, while the other punched her in the face.

  “Fuck!”

  Josie stomped on his foot, but his boots were steel-toed, and even her Gods-given strength couldn’t pierce them.

  She kicked out at him again, her knee slamming into his ribs once, twice, three times before he finally let her go. But she couldn’t go far – he lunged at her again, forcing her to hop backwards, nearly stumbling over a fallen chair.

  She couldn’t let him corner her – she could feel the edge of the stage coming up at her back, so she spun, hauled herself over and onto it, putting enough space between them that she felt she had the upperhand again.

  Glowering at her, Michelangelo leapt on stage in a single movement, sending Josie’s heart skittering into her throat, and then he ran at her again.

  She blocked his assault, her arms flying up to protect her face, her head ducking down low. As he swung at her temple, she raised her left arm to block, ducked, and slammed her fist as hard as she could into Michelangelo’s already abused ribcage.

  He howled, the first sign that she’d hurt him at all, and, encouraged, Josie punched him again.

  While they fought, the club erupted around them – crashing from the other room intensified. Josie heard shouting, breaking wood, and the trapped mortals were streaming in every direction, screeching, falling over chairs, pushing each other in their haste to escape.

  Josie swept out her leg, taking out the vampire’s feet from under him, and he fell onto his back. She wasted no time in pouncing on him, raising her stake high, but she wasn’t quick enough. Michelangelo seized her wrist in a bone-cracking grip, pushing her arm back so far that Josie’s shoulder blade burned and screamed in protest.

  His fingers squeezed. She tried to hold on, but the stake dropped from her grip with a yelp of pain. Before she could collect herself, Michelangelo lifted her by her jacket and then threw her through the air, as he had done in the mausoleum.

  With a shout, Josie hit the back wall, her head snapping against the wood. Her vision swam, threatening to white out, but she knew she couldn’t afford to stay down for long, or he would overpower her as he had done in the mausoleum, and this time she didn’t have Vette to help her.

  ***

  It had been Andrew’s idea.

  After circling the building several times, from several different vantage points, and finding no weaknesses, they’d agreed that sneaking in entirely undetected was not going to be an option. They could hear muffled screams coming from inside the building, and Calliope’s face had gone so white that she could be the moon.

  “I have an idea.”

  No one had liked the idea, but seeing as no one had any alternatives to offer up, they were doing his plan.

  Andrew plucked a broken bottle from out of the trash – it still had a little bit of tequila in it, the liquid adding a helpful weight to its mass. Calliope and Ramsay went around, to where the single window in the women’s bathroom was locked. While they waited, Andrew cocked his arm back and threw the bottle with all his might. It crashed through one of the upstairs windows.

  The side door slammed open a minute later, and the head of one very ugly, very stupid vampire poked out. Andrew thrust the symbol of Vette in his face and prayed that he knew what he was doing.

  Meanwhile, while Andrew was fighting Otherlanders, Ramsay tore off his hoodie, wrapped it over his fist, and punched a hole through the glass of the window. He knocked the other pieces out, creating an opening large enough for him to climb over, lifting Calliope in after him.

  They split up from there. The plan was for Ramsay and Calliope to get as many people as they could out through the broken bathroom window, while Andrew stunned the vampires with the symbol of Vette and used the distraction to kill them and create an exit for the people trapped inside.

  But the club was in chaos. After Andrew punched the vampire that’d been guarding the side door, effectively knocking him out, he left the door wide open and was nearly stampeded by screaming people once they’d realised they had a way out.

  He stood off to the side, ushering people out into the night, but a familiar flash of dark, spiky hair caught his eye, and Andrew turned his head in time to see Luke stampeding through the crowd, and he was dragging Libby along behind him.

  Shit.

  Despite Ramsay’s warning, Andrew went after them immediately. He couldn’t help it, even knowing the truth as he did, scratching at his thoughts in warning as he pursued Luke across the room and behind the stage.

  Josie was trading punches with the same gigantic vampire from the mausoleum, but Andrew didn’t stop to help. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Luke, or Libby, who was kicking her feet and squirming in his hold.

  Andrew almost lost pace with the two of them when a girl in a torn tank top streamed past him, pursued by two young men, their faces bruised and bloody. A pang of guilt seized his heart as he considered and then dismissed the idea of shouting out to them, of leading them to the exit.

  Instead, trusting they would find their way out, that they were headed to the open side door or the broken bathroom window already, Andrew hurried to catch up to his friend.

  They hadn’t gotten far. In a room backstage, Luke had her on the ground. .

  “No!” Screamed Libby, thrashing, bucking, trying with all her might to throw him off of her.

  But Luke’s hands gripped her wrists, pinning them above her head, and his weight bore down on her.

  “I always liked you, you know that?”

  Luke didn’t sound like himself. There was a manic edge to this tone Andrew had never heard before. It made his stomach curl with dread.

  “I always fucking liked you, and you were always such a bitch. You’re going to pay for that, Olivia.” He ground his hips down, his lips trembling as he pressed his hard-on into her hip.

  Libby whimpered, “No!” She squirmed, pulling at the hold he had on her wrists. Her face was tear streaked, her hair tangled around her face.

  “Stop squirming,” Luke growled, his lips pulling back. His teeth were sharp, his wet, red tongue darting out lick her pulse.

  “Get off of me!” She screamed.

  “Your blood will taste…” He didn’t finish the sentence, instead grinning menacingly at her, his fangs primed for tearing into her flesh.

  Frozen, Andrew could only watch, his heart pounding in his ears. Luke’s mouth opened wide. Andrew could see the flash of his fangs, even in the dark, and it jolted him into moving.

  “Get off her!”

  Andrew rushed forward, brandishing the sign of Vette between them.

  Luke looked up, his lips parted. His gaze was hazy, almost as if he weren’t seeing Andrew at all, and Ramsay’s earlier warning played through Andrew’s mind.

  “I know you’re in there, man,” said Andrew desperately. If he could just remind Luke of who he was before he hurt anyone, if he could stop the rot from taking root in his soul, things might still be okay.

  Luke began to turn away, dismissing Andrew entirely.

  “Please,” Andrew pleaded, “Please, Luke. Don’t make me kill you.”

  “As if you could.”

  Luke grinned over his shoulder and Andrew’s heart panged. Despite looking like a thing of nightmares, he could still recognize his friend underneath, that smug look he got when a joke landed or a girl liked him back.

  Taking advantage of Luke’s momentary distraction, Libby wrenched her wrists free from his grasp and scraped her long, red nails across his face, drawing blood. He hissed through his teeth, and she hiked up her knees and, with as much force as she could, kicked him away.

  It wasn’t much force. He merely rolled off of her with a grunt as she scrambled back against the far wall, legs drawn to her chest.

  “You little cunt,” Luke got to his feet, his hand covering the three, thin cuts on his face. “You’ll pay for that!”

  Forgetting Andrew entirely, Luke stalked towards Libby, who’s strangled screams remained trapped in her throat, even as her eyes widened into saucers.

  Andrew grabbed the back of Luke’s t-shirt and yanked him away from Libby.

  Luke swung around, lips stretched wide in a snarl of frustration. He looked at Vette’s symbol, held like a shield between them, and he snorted.

  “Go on then,” said Luke, closing the space between them until Andrew’s back was pressed against the wall. “Well now,” Luke’s grin was menacing, his tone taunting. “This is familiar. Go on then,” He repeated, cocking his head in the direction of Vette’s symbol, which now hung limply at Andrew’s side. “End me. Can you really do it?”

  Andrew didn’t speak. His big, brown eyes were full of fear, his grip white-knuckled on his would-be weapon.

  Luke chuckled. “That’s what I thought. You’re so soft, Andrew. You don’t have what it takes to kill me.”

  He took hold of Andrew’s shirt and hauled him forward. Andrew felt Luke’s hot breath on his neck, felt the drip of his saliva as he lowered his head for the kill, and Andrew knew Ramsay had been right – Luke was gone.

  “I’m sorry Luke,” Andrew whispered. “Goodbye.”

  The stake Josie had lent him was in his pocket. He pulled it out with quick fingers, and thrust its pointed end up, into his ribs, into his heart.

  ***

  Josie got to her feet sluggishly, her back and head aching, her vision still a little static-y around the edges.

  “I confess,” said Michelangelo as he stalked towards her. “I have never had the honor of killing a Blade before, and I would like it, very much… But I can’t kill you, girl, do you know why?”

  Josie forced a grin. Her lip was split from where his knuckles had brushed when he’d punched her, and the wound cracked open when her mouth moved. “Because you’re a pussy?”

  His face hardened, and then cleared. He chuckled. “Careful, girl. The Oldest won’t enjoy that mouth of yours as much as I do.”

  He was so close now, but she’d lost her stake, and only had a slim dagger tucked into her boot. Near her foot was a long piece of wood, some debris broken off of a piece of furniture. It could do, if she could grab it before he was upon her.

  Josie shot her arm out towards it, her fingers just managing to curl around the jagged piece of wood before he slapped her across the face. Her head jerked sideways, but she swung the makeshift weapon anyway, hitting him across the forehead.

  He grunted as the wood cracked in half across him.

  “I tire of this.”

  “Then die!”

  He grabbed her, lifting her off her feet, crushing her against his chest in a violent mockery of a hug. His grip was bonecrushing, squeezing her lungs until all of the air wooshed out and she began to see stars again.

  Josie kicked her feet, trying desperately to make contact, but the vampire only laughed, the sound of it rumbling and vibrating up through Josie’s torso.

  “I think you have underestimated my strength, girl. You don’t have the power to–AH!”

  The shout of pain came as a bark of air across Josie’s face. Suddenly, she was released, crumpling to the ground as air blessedly filled her lungs again. Her chest ached, burned as it heaved, and her vision was still spotty even as her gaze swivelled around in search of what had freed her.

  A dagger protruded from Michelangelo’s shoulderblade. He reached backwards for it, but the massive width of his broad shoulders wouldn’t allow for him to take the hilt and draw it out. Blood darkened the back of his shirt, Josie could see crimson overtaking army green, soaking into the vampire’s waistband as he put his back to her and turned to face his attacker.

  Calliope. Her face drawn and pale, her hands flexing at her sides. If Josie weren’t struggling to breathe, to get to her feet, she’d pass out from sheer shock.

  “That was daring, human,” said the vampire, staring down at Calliope’s trembling form with a contemptuous sneer. “Daring, and foolish.”

  He struck out, kicking Calliope across her side, her ribs. Calliope cried out as she flew backwards, hitting the ground and sliding across the stage.

  Josie leapt to her feet, shaking out her hair as it had come free of its ponytail. She had no weapon, no hope of beating this massive Otherlander, but she’d be damned if she was going to let him hurt Calliope.

  “Let her go!” Josie exclaimed, as Michelangelo stalked towards her friend with long, unhurried strides.

  Calliope watched him approach warily, her eyes bright with fear, and the hand not cradling her side slipped beneath the hem of her sweater and withdrew a stake.

  “Josie!” She called, throwing the weapon over Michelangelo’s head.

  Josie caught it, understanding soaring brightly through her.

  She wasted no time in sprinting towards the vampire, closing the distance too fast for him to react in time. When he turned to face her, to bring up his fists, she was already slamming the stake into his heart.

  Michelangelo let out a croak of shock and stumbled forward over his big boots. Josie stepped away from him as he fell to his knees and combusted into a wave of dirt and dust.

  Without Michelangelo to lead them, the other vampires crumbled quickly, making a hasty retreat. Some, like the blonde vampire, fled, but the others foolish enough to stick around, Josie dispatched swiftly, killing as many as she could until only she and her friends were left standing in a sea of broken furniture, dirt, and corpses.

  ***

  Julian watched from a rooftop down the street as the few remaining vampires scurried away, their plans of ruin foiled by a twenty-two year old college student. He tracked Dreya’s dark head of hair until she was out of sight, leaving discontent to twist in his stomach.

  The Blade of Sunsweet had fared better against the Otherlanders than he’d expected. Against his better judgement, he was intrigued.