The applause finally died down, and Samuel stood from the judges' table. The entire arena fell silent again—that automatic deference to power that vampires seemed to practice instinctively.

  "An exceptional showing from both competitors," Samuel announced, his voice carrying easily through the space. "Marek Jankowski has once again proven why he holds two Michelin stars. His technical mastery remains unmatched." He turned to me. "And Mac Sullivan has demonstrated that skill and creativity can nearly overcome experience. Nearly. Let us give both chefs the recognition they deserve."

  More applause. Marek crossed to my station and offered his hand. I shook it, genuinely grateful.

  "You made me work for it," he said quietly. "That bridge dish? That was inspired. You have real talent, Mac. Don't waste it."

  "Thank you. That means a lot coming from you," I said, and I really meant it. Any chef that gets a Michelin star knows their craft, and I genuinely felt privileged to have cooked alongside this guy.

  He pulled out his phone. "Give me your number. Come by my villa sometime if you’re in the neighborhood. We'll cook together, throw some ideas around. No competition. Just two chefs playing around. We could be like uh, the next Bourdain and Ripert, yeah?"

  I laughed and rattled off my number, touched by the offer. "I'd really like that. Thank you, Marek. I’m a huge fan of both of those chefs, so to be counted as even a counterfeit replica of either in your eyes? I’m blown away."

  "My pleasure. Til next time, my friend." He grinned, turned, and started to walk away.

  The crowd began dispersing, vampires filing out of the arena in small groups. Samuel approached my station, his expression carefully neutral. "Well done, Mr. Sullivan. You exceeded expectations. Again." He glanced around, ensuring we had relative privacy. "Did you spot our culprit?"

  He followed my gaze toward the front row, where the vampire who'd been sitting to his right was now standing, stretching like someone waking from a long nap. Pavel. Samuel's eyes tracked my look, and something flickered across his face. Something that might have been pain.

  "Hmm," was all he said. Then: "Get to work. Find me proof." He leaned closer, voice dropping. "Because if you're right about who I think you're looking at, this will be... complicated."

  "I understand."

  "I hope you do." Samuel straightened, returning to his public persona. "Let me know what you find."

  He walked away, and I felt a hand on my elbow. Konstantin, appearing from the dispersing crowd like a shadow manifesting.

  "We need to talk," he said quietly. "Somewhere private. Bring Garrick."

  We found a small antechamber off one of the arena's side exits. It was a storage room for extra seating and equipment. Konstantin checked to make sure we weren't followed, then closed the door.

  "Tell me everything you observed during the competition," he said without preamble.

  So I did. The voice in my head. The telepathic commentary. The way the bond had pulled my attention toward the judges' table…or so I'd thought. The vampire sitting next to Samuel, so still he looked like he was sleeping.

  "Pavel," Konstantin said when I finished. "Samuel's childe."

  Garrick's eyes widened. "Samuel has a childe? Elders don't—"

  "Elders don't form attachments that can be exploited. I know." Konstantin's expression was grim. "Which is why Pavel's existence is one of the best-kept secrets in Prague. Very few know about their connection. Samuel turned him decades ago under circumstances I don't fully understand. But it explains why Pavel would wear a mask. Samuel would recognize his own childe instantly, even if disguised."

  "And it explains why Samuel's been so careful about this investigation," I said. "If it's Pavel, he'll have to choose between justice and protecting his own blood."

  "Not blood. Vampires don't share blood in that sense." Konstantin moved to the door, listening for anyone nearby. "But the sire-childe bond is... profound. Complicated. Especially for an Elder who's supposed to be above such attachments."

  "The exhaustion," Garrick said. "Pavel sitting there like he was half-asleep. That's from using ghost energy for daylight immunity, isn't it? Running himself ragged being active day and night."

  "Almost certainly." Konstantin turned back to face us. "Which means we need to move quickly. We need to find where he's keeping the trapped ghosts. Find Dorota. Get undeniable proof before he realizes we've identified him."

  "His residence," I said. "We search his home. Tonight. Now, before he has a chance to cover his tracks."

  Konstantin nodded. "I know where he lives. A large home in the Vinohrady district. It’s a wealthy area, and relatively quiet where folks pay for the privacy. If he's keeping trapped ghosts anywhere, it would be there."

  We left Samuel's estate and made our way through Prague's night streets. I pulled out my phone, dialed a number I'd memorized earlier.

  "Who are you calling?" Konstantin asked.

  "Backup plan," I said as it rang.

  —

  I hung up as we turned onto a street lined with elegant homes. This was old money Prague—or the vampire equivalent. Buildings that had stood for centuries, maintained perfectly, speaking to wealth and power.

  Pavel's home was a four-story structure of pale stone, with ornate ironwork on the balconies and shuttered windows that would block any hint of daylight. It looked like a museum piece, beautiful and cold.

  "The front door is locked and warded," Konstantin said, moving to examine it. Sure enough, I could see complex magical protections as soft light radiated from the lock. "I can't pick this. The ward is tamper-proof."

  Garrick tried his cosmic lockpick trick, but the lock resisted. "Sophisticated protections. He's definitely hiding something."

  I scanned the building, looking for another way in. "There. Second floor balcony, rear side. The sliding glass door might not be as well protected."

  "How do we get up there?" Konstantin asked. "No ladder, no fire escape, and that ivy looks dead."

  The ivy clinging to the stone walls did look weak—dry, brown, barely attached. But Garrick was smiling.

  "That's not a problem." He walked up to the wall, grabbed a handful of the ivy, and began whispering in that ancient language he used for cosmic magic.

  The ivy strand began to glow. Faintly at first, then brighter, as if there were little white christmas lights strung along the core of the plant. The glow spread along the branches like electricity through wires. And as it spread, the ivy transformed. Brown became vibrant green. Thin, brittle stems thickened and strengthened. Dead leaves unfurled into healthy growth.

  Garrick guided the ivy with his whispered words, coaxing it to grow in a ladder pattern up the wall. Within two minutes, we had a sturdy living ladder reaching all the way to the second-floor balcony.

  "That's..." Konstantin stared at the glowing ivy. "I've never seen cosmic magic used that way. Most practitioners focus on…combat applications."

  "I've picked up a few tricks over the years." Garrick tested the ladder, pulling on it to ensure it would hold weight. "Nature responds well to cosmic energy. They're both fundamental forces of reality. I'll go first, make sure it's stable."

  He climbed quickly, his movements confident. When he reached the balcony, he waved us up.

  Konstantin went next, moving with vampire speed and grace that made the climb look effortless. I followed more carefully, very aware that I was the only mortal in this group and a fall from this height would kill me.

  The balcony was small, with just enough space for the three of us. The sliding glass door was locked, but Garrick examined it and smiled.

  "That's the problem with any drug," he said, producing that cosmic lockpick device. "It makes you forgetful. The front door is heavily warded. This?" He waved his hand and the lock clicked. The door slid open with barely a whisper. "This is just a regular lock."

  We slipped inside.

  The second floor was sparse. There was a TV room with expensive furniture, a few pieces of art on the walls. Electric shutters covered every window, automated to keep out any hint of daylight.

  There was also a master bedroom with no windows at all, just walls of stone and a massive bed that looked like it hadn't been slept in.

  "Pavel's room," Konstantin murmured, examining it. "But there's nothing here. No evidence. Let’s keep looking."

  We moved to the first floor, searching more carefully. A kitchen that looked barely used. A formal dining room with a table that could seat twelve. There was also a library whose shelves packed with books in multiple languages. I felt an instant pang of envy. I’d always wanted a house with a reading room. Right now I had a small Salem apartment above the Crossroads with a poorly assembled, barely together IKEA bookshelf. Everyone starts somewhere, I guess.

  Konstantin pulled out one of the older volumes, examined it, then nodded. "This is one of the grimoires. Same edition I found during my own research. Instructions for trapping and draining ghosts. But this one is most certainly used, and used often by the look of it."

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  "But that's not enough," I said. "Samuel could claim Pavel was researching on his behalf, trying to understand the method. We need the actual trapped ghosts. The bottles. The proof."

  We searched for another twenty minutes, growing increasingly frustrated. Where would he keep them? There had to be a hidden room, a secret space, somewhere waiting to be found. This couldn’t be it. Were we wrong about Pavel altogether? I was certain we had our suspect.

  I found myself staring at the bookshelf. Something about it nagged at me. The books were packed tightly, but three volumes in particular caught my eye. The Count of Monte Cristo. Rita Hayworth and The Shawshank Redemption. Escape from Alcatraz.

  "Prison escapes," I muttered. "The guy likes his prison escapes."

  "What?" Garrick asked.

  I moved closer, examining the three books. They were positioned perfectly together, with no space between them. Unlike the other books, which had at least small gaps. I reached out and pulled on The Count of Monte Cristo.

  It was light. Too light. I pulled harder and realized all three books were connected. They were also hollow props, not real books. They slid out smoothly, almost all the way to the edge of the shelf.

  Click.

  The sound of stone scraping on stone filled the room. A section of wall behind us that was completely seamless and invisible until it moved, swung open like a door.

  We all turned to stare at the revealed entrance. A stairway descended into darkness. “Huh,” I said, “I’ll have to remember that trick. No matter how modern things get, we’ll never escape the false book triggered secret door.”

  "That's where he keeps them," Konstantin said, “It has to be.”

  A sound drifted up from below. Quiet. Muffled. But unmistakable.

  Someone was weeping.

  I started forward immediately, but Garrick grabbed the back of my shirt and yanked me to a stop.

  "Careful," he hissed. "We don't know what's down there. It’s definitely going to be trapped."

  We descended slowly, Konstantin in the lead. At the bottom of the stairs, just before the entrance to whatever room lay beyond, Konstantin held up a hand.

  "Stop. Don't move." He crouched down, examining the floor. "Pressure plate. Right in front of the entrance."

  I leaned over his shoulder and saw it—a circular stone tile amongst the rectangular ones that sat just slightly lower than the others around it. Easy to miss in the dark, easy to step on by accident.

  "What does it do?" I asked.

  "Nothing good." Konstantin pointed to nearly invisible wires running from the plate to mechanisms in the walls. "Either an alarm or a trap. Possibly both. Step carefully around it."

  We edged around the pressure plate one at a time, entering the room beyond.

  It was pitch black save for the small trickle of light coming from the open door at the top of the stairs. The weeping came again, closer now, desperate and weak.

  Garrick whispered something to his cupped hands, and a sphere of brilliant white light appeared, floating up to illuminate the space. My breath caught.

  The room was a laboratory of horrors. A small altar stood against one wall, and on it sat a bottle glowing with pale white light. A thin vaporous trail rose from the uncorked top, forming into a vaguely humanoid shape that was almost completely transparent.

  The ghost was barely there. Fading. Dying.

  "Dorota?" I called.

  The weeping stopped. The apparition glowed slightly brighter, solidifying just enough for me to make out features. A woman's face, young, kind, with eyes full of pain and desperation.

  "Finally..." Her voice was so weak I could barely hear it. "Someone... to help..."

  "This is it," Konstantin said, his voice tight with fury. "This is the proof we need."

  Garrick and I moved toward the altar, Garrick examining the setup carefully. "There are binding runes on the bottle and the altar. I'll need to dispel them carefully or—"

  The sound of footsteps on the stairs interrupted him.

  Konstantin spun toward the entrance. "Someone's coming. Hide—"

  He never finished the sentence.

  A wooden stake flew through the doorway with inhuman speed and precision. It struck Konstantin in the chest, not quite through the heart, but close enough. His entire body went rigid, locked in place by the wood piercing his flesh.

  Then he fell backward, completely stiff, hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

  Right on top of the pressure plate.

  The plate depressed with a mechanical click.

  Immediately, a loud buzzing filled the room. From the ceiling, floor, and walls, metal bars shot down and up and across, forming a perfect cage around the altar where Garrick and I stood. The bars locked together with solid clanks, trapping us completely.

  Dark laughter echoed from the stairway.

  The masked vampire stepped into view, silhouetted against the light from upstairs. "Flies in the spider's web," he said, his voice muffled by the mask and voice disguiser. "How delightfully predictable."

  I looked at Konstantin, lying frozen on the floor. "What did you do to him?"

  "Staked him. Not quite through the heart, that would kill him permanently. This just... immobilizes. He's conscious, aware of everything, but completely unable to move. A useful technique for dealing with troublesome vampires." The masked figure moved closer to the cage. "He'll stay that way until someone removes the stake. Which won't happen until long after you're dead."

  "There's no need for the mask anymore, Pavel," I said.

  The figure froze. Then, slowly, reached up and removed the mask.

  Pavel's face was exactly as I'd seen it in the arena. He looked young, aristocratic, supernatually handsome. In a different light, he could even be considered charming. But his eyes were different now. Cold. Calculating. Completely devoid of the sleepy, bored expression he'd worn during the competition.

  "How did you figure it out?" he asked, with genuine curiosity in his voice.

  "The bond. The telepathic connection you created when you fed on me. I heard your voice during the cooking competition. And I saw how exhausted you were…sitting there like you were about to pass out. Running yourself ragged being active during both day and night." I met his gaze. "You've been using ghost energy to walk in daylight. And it's draining you."

  "Clever." Pavel circled the cage slowly, examining us like specimens in a lab. "I was planning to kill you both anyway. But you, Mac…I think I'll drain slowly. Savor it. Take my time."

  He focused his gaze on me, and suddenly…

  Pleasure.

  Not the flash of phantom euphoria I'd been experiencing. This was the full force of the vampire's feeding power, projected through the bond, hitting me like a physical blow. Every nerve ending in my body lit up with sensation so intense it bordered on pain. My legs went weak. I dropped to my knees, gasping, unable to think, unable to move, barely able to breathe through the overwhelming waves of feeling that—

  The bracelet on my wrist flared bright silver.

  The euphoria cut off like someone had flipped a switch. I could breathe again. Think again. Function again. But I was still on my knees, shaking, my body convinced it had just experienced something incredible even though my mind knew it was violation.

  "You bastard," I gasped.

  Pavel's eyes narrowed, focusing on the bracelet. "A protection ward. How resourceful. We'll have to remove that little toy before I drain you properly. I look forward to having you beg me to finish it. To drain you completely just to make the craving stop."

  "You're a monster," Garrick said.

  "I'm a survivor." Pavel turned his attention to Garrick. "And you're the cosmic hero. Garrick the Gallant. I've heard stories. They say you're nearly immortal. That you regenerate from any

  wound. That you've saved countless lives across the supernatural world." He smiled. "Let's see how you handle being fed upon by a vampire."

  "Don't you dare—" I started, but Pavel was already moving.

  He reached through the bars. The gaps were just wide enough for an arm. He grabbed Garrick's wrist. Then he bit down.

  Garrick screamed.

  It wasn't the euphoric surrender I'd experienced. There was no pleasure in his voice. Just pain. Raw, burning pain. His cosmic nature must have made him immune to the feeding euphoria, which meant he felt everything. The tearing of flesh. The draining of blood. The violation of having his life force stolen.

  Pavel fed for maybe ten seconds. Then he released Garrick and stumbled back, his eyes wide, his whole body glowing faintly with golden light.

  "Such power in you," he breathed, sounding almost drunk. "I've never tasted anything like this. Pure cosmic energy mixed with blood. By dawn, I'll consume you both completely, and that power will be mine."

  He moved to the side of the room, pulling out two more altars and setting them up next to Dorota's. Then he grabbed two bottles, both empty, waiting to be filled. From his pocket, he produced two bone corks, and with speed too fast to track, he carved runes into each. The first was a G. The next was an M.

  "No," Garrick said weakly. "Mac, I'm sorry, I—"

  Pavel pulled out a small pistol. Not a regular gun. Something that looked more like a dart gun. He fired twice in quick succession.

  I felt the dart hit my chest. It was a small sting, barely noticeable. Then my legs turned to jelly. My entire body became impossibly heavy. I collapsed to the floor, unable to move, barely able to keep my eyes open.

  Beside me, Garrick crumpled as well.

  "Paralytic venom," Pavel said, setting the gun aside. "Extracted from a particular species of spider found only in certain caves in Romania. It won't kill you, it just keeps you docile while I work."

  Claws extended from his fingertips. The nails became long, sharp, gleaming, almost claw-like in the magical light. He reached through the bars and grabbed my wrist, pulling my arm outside the cage. Then he did the same with Garrick.

  "No—" I tried to say, but my mouth wouldn't work properly.

  Pavel sliced both our wrists with surgical precision. Deep enough to bleed steadily, not deep enough to kill us quickly. Then he positioned our arms so the blood dripped onto the floor.

  Except it didn't pool. The drops began to float. Defying gravity, each trail drifted toward the bottles on the altars. Even though the bottles were corked, the blood passed through the bone stoppers like they were permeable membranes, dripping inside.

  I could feel it. Each drop that left my body took something with it. Not just blood. Something more fundamental. Life. Essence. The thing that made me me.

  I was being drained. Slowly. Methodically. And I was completely helpless to stop it. Garrick, I noticed, was just as helpless, the look on his face matching mine as we watched our life’s essence slowly drip away.

  "Beautiful, isn't it?" Pavel said, watching the process with satisfaction. "Between Dorota's ghostly essence, your human life force, and Garrick's cosmic energy…I'll have everything I need. Not just daylight immunity, but real power. Enough power to challenge Samuel. To take his territory. To rule Prague without having to hide what I am, without having to pretend to be his obedient childe. And finally, able to walk in the sunlight without feeding on these filthy spectres."

  He moved closer to the cage, his expression triumphant. "Samuel will die. The ghosts will be driven from the city. And Prague will finally belong to me alone. No more compromises. No more sharing. Just me and the power I've earned."

  Garrick tried to speak, but the venom kept his jaw locked.

  Pavel laughed. "Don't worry. The draining will take all night. You'll have plenty of time to contemplate your failure. I'll return before dawn to finish the process and consume what's left of you and absorb your essences completely. Until then... sweet dreams."

  He turned and walked toward the staircase, stepping over Konstantin's frozen form without a second glance.

  "Oh, and Mac?" He paused at the entrance, looking back. "Thank you for the competition. Your dishes really were impressive. It's almost a shame you won't live to cook again."

  Then he was gone, his footsteps fading up the stairs.

  The secret door ground shut behind him, sealing us in darkness except for Garrick's floating light.

  I lay on the cold stone floor, unable to move, watching my blood float away drop by drop. Beside me, Garrick was equally paralyzed. Across the room, Konstantin remained frozen by the stake through his chest.

  And in her bottle, Dorota wept quietly, her light growing dimmer with each passing minute.

  We were trapped. Poisoned. Being drained of our very essence.

  And Pavel was right…at the rate things were going we'd be dead by dawn.

  I tried to hold onto that hope as another drop of blood floated away from my wrist. As the cold seeped deeper into my bones. As consciousness began to fade at the edges.

  Our last hope hinged on my backup plan…but would it arrive in time?

  I closed my eyes and prayed we'd make it that long.