The walk through downtown toward Beacon Hill gave Kaine plenty of ti to explain the finer points of his current career path. Marcus followed exactly three steps behind, his pale eyes occasionally tracking movent in the shadows between buildings, but otherwise maintaining that eerie focused attention that had beco his default state.
"See, the thing about private contracting," Kaine said, stepping over a puddle that reflected the neon glow of a late-night pharmacy, "is that people pay you to tell them things they already know but don’t want to admit."
Marcus’s head tilted slightly—his version of active listening.
"Take tonight’s client. Victoria Ashford, old money, married to so finance guy who’s probably worth more than this entire city block. She calls because her husband’s acting strange, staying out late, coming ho with blood on his clothes." Kaine paused at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. "Now, any reasonable person would assu he’s either having an affair or got mixed up with the wrong crowd. But she jumps straight to vampires."
The light changed and they crossed, passing under a street lamp that flickered ominously. Half the bulbs in this part of town had been shot out by gang mbers or burned out months ago without replacent. The city’s budget priorities didn’t extend to lighting in areas where the tax base couldn’t afford to complain.
"That’s the thing about this business," Kaine continued. "Ever since the Rift opened and bloodsuckers beca public knowledge, every suspicious behavior gets blad on supernatural influence. Husband’s cheating? Must be vampire mind control. Wife’s acting distant? Obviously been turned. Kid’s staying out past curfew? Clearly feeding information to a nest."
Marcus stepped around a holess veteran sleeping in a doorway with the carefulness of soone avoiding an obstacle rather than acknowledging a human being. The man didn’t stir—probably used to being ignored by people in expensive clothes.
"Most of the ti, it’s just regular human awfulness dressed up in supernatural paranoia. People cheat, people lie, people do stupid things for money or sex or power. Sa as it’s always been. The vampires just give everyone a convenient excuse to avoid dealing with reality."
They turned onto a new Street, where the storefronts got cleaner and the security caras more obvious. This was the border between the working-class neighborhoods and the areas where money lived. The difference was subtle but unmistakable—fresher paint, intact windows, street lights that actually worked.
"But here’s the thing that keeps in business," Kaine said, nodding to a pair of beat cops who were trying to look important while clearly avoiding the darker alleys. "Sotis the paranoia is justified. Sotis the husband really is feeding information to bloodsuckers. Sotis the wife actually has been turned. And when that happens, the Shadowguard’s response ti to wealthy neighborhoods is about forty-five minutes if you’re lucky."
Marcus made a sound that might have been agreent, though it could just as easily have been gas escaping from his undead digestive system.
"I used to work for the governnt, you know. Twelve years with the Shadowguard, hunting down vampire nests and cleaning up supernatural sses. Decent pay, good benefits, the satisfaction of knowing you were protecting innocent people from monsters." Kaine’s voice took on a bitter edge. "Then I realized the monsters weren’t just the ones with fangs."
They passed a bus stop where three teenagers were huddled around a smartphone, probably watching videos of the latest vampire attack or hunter confrontation. Social dia had turned supernatural violence into entertainnt, complete with comntary and instant replays.
"Governnt work ans politics, and politics ans compromise. You can’t just kill every bloodsucker you find if one of them happens to be connected to soone with influence. You can’t investigate certain areas if the right people make the right phone calls. And you definitely can’t ask questions about why so neighborhoods get protection while others get written off as ’acceptable losses.’"
Marcus stepped over a broken bottle without looking down, his enhanced senses probably detecting the glass fragnts long before they beca visible.
"Skip the part where I was set up by the very organization I was working for, I went private. Set my own hours, choose my own clients, kill whoever needs killing without filing paperwork in triplicate. The pay’s... enough to survive, the work’s more honest, and I don’t have to pretend that bureaucracy is more important than body count."
They entered Beacon Hill proper, where the architecture shifted from practical urban planning to deliberate displays of wealth. Brick townhouses with historical plaques, manicured trees in wrought-iron planters, and the kind of subtle security asures that cost more than most people’s annual salary.
"The funny thing about rich clients," Kaine said, admiring a particularly ostentatious doorway, "is how their problems are exactly the sa as everyone else’s, just with better window dressing. Cheating spouses, family secrets, money disputes—it’s all the sa soap opera bullshit, just with higher stakes and more expensive lawyers."
A woman in a fur coat walked past with a small dog that probably cost more than Kaine’s monthly rent. She gave them a nervous glance before hurrying into a nearby apartnt building. Marcus’s pale complexion and unblinking stare weren’t exactly reassuring to civilians.
"You know what the weirdest case I ever had was?" Kaine asked, more to fill the silence than because he expected an answer. "Married couple, both lawyers, both convinced the other one had been turned. They hired to investigate each other simultaneously. Paid double rate because they wanted exclusive service."
Marcus’s expression remained blank, but he seed to be listening.
"Turns out neither one was a vampire. They were both just terrible people who’d been cheating on each other for years and projecting their guilt onto supernatural explanations. But here’s the kicker—while I’m investigating them, I discover they’re both sleeping with the sa bloodsucker. Different nights, sa nest. Neither one knew about the other."
They paused at another crosswalk, waiting for a luxury sedan to pass. The driver was talking animatedly into a bluetooth headset, probably conducting business deals that would never see daylight scrutiny.
"So I had to kill their mutual lover and explain to both clients that their spouses weren’t vampires, just adulterers with terrible taste in extramarital partners. They ended up divorcing anyway, but at least they didn’t have to worry about supernatural STDs."
’Because these days,’ Kaine thought, ’regular sexually transmitted diseases are the least of your worries when you’re sleeping around,’
"The absolute strangest request I ever got," Kaine continued, "was from a couple who wanted to hire for a threeso. Apparently, they’d heard that hunters have enhanced stamina and wanted to ’explore the experience’ with soone who’d been in combat with supernatural entities."
Marcus’s head turned slightly, which was the most reaction Kaine had seen from him all evening.
"I told them my hourly rate for consultation was five hundred dollars and they could take their weird fetishes sowhere else. But the point is, people will sexualize anything. Death, danger, violence—it’s all just foreplay to soone with too much money and not enough sense."
They turned onto Victoria Ashford’s street, where the townhouses got larger and the security caras more discrete. This was the kind of neighborhood where the police response ti was asured in minutes rather than hours, and where civilian deaths made the front page rather than getting buried in the cri statistics.
"The thing people don’t understand about this job," Kaine said, checking house numbers against the address he’d written down, "is that vampires aren’t the worst thing out there. They’re predictable—they need blood, they avoid sunlight, they’re vulnerable to certain weapons. You can plan for vampires."
A cat darted across the street in front of them, probably fleeing from sothing with better night vision and fewer moral qualms about killing small animals for sport.
"But humans? Humans are capable of things that make bloodsuckers look like choir boys. I’ve seen people torture their own family mbers for insurance money. I’ve watched parents sell their children to vampire nests for protection from creditors. I’ve investigated cases where the real monster was wearing a badge and collecting a governnt paycheck."
They reached the Ashford residence, a four-story brownstone with original period details and the kind of subtle wealth that cost more than flashy displays. The windows were dark except for one on the second floor, where warm light suggested soone was ho and awake.
Kaine pulled out his phone and started searching for nightlife establishnts in the area. If Victoria’s husband was out on the town with his rich friends, there were only so many places in the imdiate vicinity that would cater to their particular brand of expensive debauchery.
"Let’s see," he muttered, scrolling through search results. "We’ve got the tropolitan Club—too stuffy for extramarital activities, the Ritz-Carlton bar—too public for suspicious behavior, and..." He paused at the third result. "Velvet Dreams Gentleman’s Club, two blocks away, VIP rooms available for private parties."
Marcus looked at him with those pale, unblinking eyes.
"Hey," Kaine said defensively, "it’s called experience, not personal preference. After twelve years of tracking down cheating spouses and compromised officials, you learn where people go when they want to do things they can’t do at ho."
The club was exactly what Kaine expected—discrete entrance, expensive cars in the parking lot, and the kind of security that was more concerned with keeping secrets inside than keeping problems outside. The bouncer was a mountain of muscle in an ill-fitting suit who probably moonlighted as enforcent for the local cri families.
"Evening, gentlen," the bouncer said, sizing them up with professional interest. "You mbers?"
"Private investigation," Kaine replied, showing his license. "Looking for soone who might be inside."
The bouncer’s expression shifted to sothing between respect and wariness. Hunters had a reputation in places like this—they ant safety from supernatural threats, but they also ant soone was probably about to die violently.
"Keep it clean," the bouncer said, stepping aside.
The interior was all red velvet and dim lighting, with the kind of music that was loud enough to mask conversation but not so loud that you couldn’t hear approaching footsteps. The clientele was exactly what you’d expect—middle-aged n in expensive suits, nursing overpriced drinks and trying to look like they belonged in a place that charged five hundred dollars for a bottle of dostic whiskey.
Kaine activated his Death Sight, scanning the room for supernatural signatures. Most of the patrons showed up as normal human life signs—warm, pulsing, alive. But there were cold spots moving through the crowd, servers and dancers whose body temperatures ran lower than they should.
’Vampire employees. Of course.’
It was a common arrangent—bloodsuckers worked in establishnts that catered to wealthy clientele, feeding discretely on custors who could afford to pay for the experience. Completely illegal, but enforcent was spotty in areas where the right political contributions had been made.
Kaine was cataloging potential threats when his enhanced vision caught movent toward the back of the club. A man in a expensive suit was making his way toward the rear exit with the kind of hurried urgency that suggested he was either avoiding soone or rushing toward sothing.
Middle-aged, well-dressed, nervous energy, and a wedding ring that caught the light when he gestured to soone near the door. Victoria Ashford’s husband, almost certainly.
"Marcus," Kaine said quietly, "I need you to circle around to the front entrance. Our target’s heading for the back exit, and I have a feeling he’s not alone. If he tries to leave through the main door, intercept him. Don’t hurt him—just keep him from running."
Marcus tilted his head, processing the instructions with that chanical attention. After a mont, he turned and began moving toward the front of the club, navigating through the crowd with the kind of purposeful movent that made people step aside without quite knowing why.
’Hopefully he understood that. Explaining property damage to rich clients is always awkward.’
Kaine made his way toward the back of the club, following his target through a maze of VIP booths and private rooms. The rear exit led to an alley behind the building, where expensive cars waited for clients who preferred discrete transportation arrangents.
He pushed through the rear door just in ti to see Victoria’s husband—Richard, according to the client file—approaching a sleek black SUV. The man wasn’t alone.
The woman with him was stunning in the way that imdiately set off every supernatural alarm Kaine possessed. Perfect features, flawless skin, and the kind of predatory grace that suggested she could kill him in several different ways without breaking a sweat.
’Vampire. And she knows I’m here.’
Richard was gesturing animatedly, clearly upset about sothing. His body language suggested fear rather than arousal, which was interesting. Most humans who knowingly associated with vampires were either terrified or completely enthralled—there wasn’t much middle ground.
The vampire’s head turned toward Kaine with inhuman precision, her eyes shifting from human brown to predatory red in the space between heartbeats.
"Well, shit," Kaine muttered, reaching for Soulrend. "It’s one of those nights."
Richard spun around at the sound of his voice, his face going pale when he saw the scythe. "Who the hell are you?"
"Your wife’s insurance policy," Kaine replied, settling into a combat stance. "And you, sir, have terrible taste in extramarital partners."
The vampire smiled, revealing fangs that looked like they could punch through steel. "Hunter. How delightfully unexpected."
Richard looked between them with growing panic. "Hunter? What’s happening? Sarah, what’s he talking about? And your eyes....they are..."
’He doesn’t know,’ Kaine realized. ’The poor bastard has no idea what she is.’
The vampire—Sarah, apparently—took a step toward Richard with inhumane grace. "Don’t worry, darling. This won’t take long."
Before Kaine could move, before the vampire could strike, before Richard could run, a pale fist punched through Sarah’s skull with the wet sound of breaking lon.
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