The bathroom door opened, and Rebecca stepped out wearing her jeans and what was left of her sweater—except now it was tied around her waist like a makeshift belt, leaving her in just a black tank top that hugged her in ways Kaine hadn’t noticed under the loose sweater.
Kaine’s eyes bulged in surprise. She looked... different. Not just the obvious skin situation, but sothing about her whole presence had shifted. More confident, maybe. Or maybe it was just that the tank top showed off arms that were surprisingly toned for soone who claid to spend her days making lasagna.
He turned to see Marcus looking in the sa direction, the ghoul’s pale eyes fixed with that unblinking stare that made everyone uncomfortable.
"Marcus," Kaine said quickly, "close your eyes."
Marcus tilted his head but didn’t move. Rebecca noticed the exchange and laughed.
"It’s fine, really. I’m not that modest." She walked back to the stove like nothing had happened, stirring whatever she was cooking. "Besides, it’s just a shirt. You act like you’ve never seen a woman in a tank top before."
’Not one who looks like that,’ Kaine thought, then imdiately tried to unthink it.
She served him a plate without asking, the sll making his stomach growl despite his discomfort with the whole situation. "So anyway, I was telling you about my ex-husband’s car obsession. Turned out he was spending our mortgage money on vintage Mustang parts while I was working two jobs to keep us afloat."
Kaine took a bite. It was actually good. Really good. "That’s rough."
"n, right? They always have their priorities." She settled onto the couch next to him, closer than strictly necessary for casual conversation. "What about you? You seem like the strong, silent type. There’s got to be so tragic backstory that explains why you live like a monk."
"Not really."
"Co on." She nudged his shoulder. "I spilled my whole sob story. Fair’s fair."
Kaine glanced at Marcus, who was still standing motionless by the window like a very pale security guard. "Foster system. Bounced around a lot as a kid."
"That explains the apparent trust issues." She waited, clearly expecting more.
"Changed families a few tis. The usual shit—so were worse than others, so actually tried." He found himself talking despite his better judgnt. "The last one was going really well, actually. Good people. Made think maybe I’d caught a break for once."
"What happened?"
"They got ambushed by bloodsuckers one night." The words ca out flat, emotionless. "Wrong place, wrong ti."
Rebecca’s expression shifted, the casual flirtation replaced by sothing that looked like genuine sympathy. "Jesus, Kaine. I’m sorry."
He shrugged and went back to eating, making it clear the conversation was over. She got the hint and switched the TV to so cooking show, the kind of mindless background noise that filled space without requiring actual engagent.
They sat in comfortable-ish silence for a while, her occasionally comnting on whatever the chef was doing wrong while Kaine tried to figure out why having soone in his apartnt felt both annoying and oddly normal.
"So what do you do for work?" she asked during a comrcial break.
"Consulting."
"What kind of consulting?"
"Problem-solving. People have issues, I help resolve them."
She laughed. "You’re really committed to this mysterious loner thing, aren’t you?"
Before Kaine could answer, soone knocked on the door. Rebecca jumped up. "That’s probably the gas guys."
She opened the door to reveal two n in utility company uniforms, both looking tired and ready to be done with their day.
"Ms. Cole? We’re finished with your installation. Everything’s working fine now."
"Perfect timing." She grabbed her bag and the now-empty casserole dish. "Thanks so much for letting crash here," she said to Kaine. "I owe you one."
Kaine watched her gather her things, trying not to notice how the tank top moved when she bent over to collect her ingredients.
At the door, she turned back with a shy smile that seed at odds with her earlier confidence. "I’m having a housewarming party tomorrow night. Well, a party of one, anyway. I wouldn’t mind making it a party of two, if you’re interested."
Kaine nodded. "I’ll check my schedule."
"Sure you will." She grinned, clearly not buying that he had anywhere else to be. "I’ll be expecting you around seven. Don’t dress up—it’s casual."
The door closed behind her, and Kaine’s apartnt suddenly felt very quiet and very empty.
---
An hour later, Kaine was standing in front of his closet trying to figure out what soone wore to a gothic rock concert when they were planning to potentially kill an ancient vampire. He settled on dark jeans and a black button-down that looked respectable enough for the venue’s dress code but wouldn’t show blood stains if things went sideways.
He tossed Marcus a similar outfit—dark pants and a plain black shirt that would hopefully help the ghoul blend in with the concert crowd.
Marcus imdiately started undressing right there in the middle of the room, apparently unconcerned with concepts like privacy or basic social norms.
"Jesus Christ, Marcus. Use the bathroom."
The ghoul paused, one shoe off, looking genuinely confused by the request.
"Bathroom. Change clothes. Door closed." Kaine pointed toward the hallway. "Like a person."
Marcus shuffled toward the bathroom, still carrying his new clothes.
Forty minutes later, they were in a taxi heading toward the Paramount Theater. The driver kept glancing in the rearview mirror at Marcus, who sat perfectly still in the back seat like a well-dressed mannequin.
"Your friend okay back there?" the driver asked.
"He’s not much of a talker," Kaine replied.
The theater district was packed with the usual mix of goths, talheads, and curious civilians who’d heard the band was worth seeing. The crowd outside the Paramount looked like a Hot Topic convention mixed with a vampire movie casting call—lots of black clothes, dramatic makeup, and the kind of pale complexion that was either makeup or a serious vitamin D deficiency.
Kaine and Marcus joined the line for ticket verification, blending in better than expected. Marcus’s natural pallor and tendency toward motionless staring actually worked in their favor here.
"Holy shit, is that Kaine Cross?"
Kaine turned to see a woman pushing through the crowd toward him—mid-thirties, purple hair, wearing enough leather to upholster a small car. It took him a second to place her.
"Amy?"
"I knew it!" She threw her arms around him in a hug that slled like cigarettes and expensive perfu. "What are the odds? I haven’t seen you since that thing in Detroit."
"The thing in Detroit" had involved a vampire cult, a very drunk Amy, and a hotel room that they’d both agreed to never ntion again. She was part of the concert’s production crew, if he rembered right—sound engineering or lighting or sothing equally technical.
"What brings you to a Red Serenade show?" she asked, then noticed Marcus standing behind him. "And who’s your friend? He looks like he’s seen so shit."
"This is Marcus. He’s... quiet."
Amy waved at Marcus, who stared back without any acknowledgnt. "Okay, strong silent type. I get it." She turned back to Kaine. "You look pale as hell, by the way. You been eating?"
"I’m fine."
"Right. Well, you should co backstage after the show. I can get you access—perks of working with the crew." She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Between you and , this whole production is weird as hell. The lead singer has so very specific requirents about his dressing room setup, and security’s tighter than a presidential visit."
"What kind of requirents?" Kaine inquired. Besides their past affair, Amy and himself did do well temporarily solving the case in Detroit.
"Private room, no windows, temperature kept at exactly sixty-two degrees. And he insists on eting with female fans after each show—calls it ’connecting with the audience.’" She made air quotes. "Managent says it’s just his artistic process, but it gives the creeps."
The line moved forward, and they reached the ticket checkpoint. The security guard scanned their tickets and waved them through without incident.
"So," Amy said as they walked toward the main entrance, "want to set up that backstage pass?"
Kaine glanced at Marcus, then at the theater’s ornate facade. Whatever was inside that black sedan earlier was probably sowhere in this building right now, doing God knows what to unsuspecting fans.
"Yeah," he said. "That would be great."
Amy grinned. "Excellent. I’ll text you the details once we’re inside."
_____
The theater’s interior was all red velvet and gold trim, restored to its 1920s glory but updated with modern sound and lighting systems. The crowd filing into the main hall was exactly what Kaine had expected—a mix of genuine music fans and people who were there more for the atmosphere than the actual performance.
They found their seats in section B, close enough to the stage to get a good view but far enough back to avoid being obvious. Marcus sat perfectly still beside him, drawing occasional glances from other concertgoers who couldn’t quite figure out what was off about him.
The opening act took the stage—so local band that played competent but forgettable tal while the crowd ward up. Kaine used the ti to scan the venue, looking for security positions, exit routes, and anything that might indicate supernatural activity beyond the obvious theatrical elents.
His phone buzzed with a text from Amy: "et at the stage door after the headliners finish their first set. I’ll get you backstage then."
The lights dimd as Red Serenade took the stage, and Kaine felt that familiar tingle of supernatural awareness that ant sothing powerful was nearby. The lead singer was tall, elegant, and moved with the kind of fluid grace that imdiately triggered every hunter instinct Kaine possessed.
The music was actually good—dark, atmospheric rock with lyrics about eternal love and beautiful death. The kind of thing that would be perfectly normal for a gothic tal band, except Kaine’s enhanced senses were picking up sothing else entirely from the stage.
Hunger. Ancient, patient, and absolutely lethal.
After the first set, Kaine and Marcus made their way to the stage door, where Amy was waiting with a clipboard and an official-looking badge.
"Right on ti," she said, handing him a backstage pass. "Your friend will have to wait out here, though. Security’s really strict about the guest list."
Marcus’s pale eyes fixed on the door leading backstage, his lips parting slightly to reveal those too-sharp teeth.
"He’ll be fine," Kaine said, hoping that was true. "Just... stay here. Don’t talk to anyone." Like he needed to say that.
Amy led him through a maze of corridors lined with cables and equipnt cases, past dressing rooms and storage areas that reeked of old cigarettes and newer secrets.
"His dressing room is down this way," she said, pointing toward a hallway that seed darker than the rest of the backstage area. "Fair warning—he’s been eting with fans for about twenty minutes now. Three different won so far."
They reached a door marked with a star and the singer’s na in flowing script. Amy knocked once and called out, "Security check!"
No answer.
She tried the handle and found it unlocked. "That’s weird. He always keeps it locked during etings."
Kaine pushed past her and opened the door.
The room was dimly lit by candles arranged around what looked like a makeshift altar. Three won sat in ornate chairs arranged in a semicircle, their heads tilted back and their eyes closed in what might have been bliss or unconsciousness.
The lead singer of Red Serenade knelt beside the nearest woman, his mouth pressed against her neck, feeding with the unhurried patience of sothing that had been perfecting this particular skill for centuries.
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