Murphy drove his beat-up Toyota Corolla down the Hennepin Avenue, heading straight for the ruins in the warehouse district. The car’s left tail light was shattered, and a rope tied to the bumper held the trunk closed.

  He parked his car across the street from the ruins and turned down the volume on the car radio. “This it?”

  Veronica to get a better look at the burnt ruins. “Yeah.” She opened the door. They exited and walked around to the front of the car.

  The strong stench of smoke burned her nostrils. A pile of blackened wood and small patches of scorched grass and earth in the front yard emitted white wisps of smoke. The site wasn’t grand nor was it anything special.

  “This place must have burned good.” He examined the area. “So this was a sanctuary?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out.” Suddenly she realized that bringing him along was a bad idea. She couldn’t forgive herself if he got hurt. Most importantly, Sean would never forgive her bringing another person into her mess.

  “So what exactly are we looking for?” He glanced up and down the street before slowly approaching the sectioned off area.

  “Anything that might prove this was a sanctuary.”

  He ducked under the yellow police tape and picked his way forward, observing the ruins.

  Veronica remembered the chattering old woman and glanced around to see if they were being watched. She expected to see the nosy neighbors eyeing them through the curtains of their home, but the streets were usually empty at this time of day. She checked her watch. Just past four in the afternoon. They had to be quick and leave in a few hours before sunset, or nosy little ladies would be the least of their worries.

  “I don’t know how you can pick out anything in this mess.” He picked up a piece of burnt wood.

  Veronica ducked under the police tape. He was right. Besides already knowing the ruins used to be a home, nothing else around them proved it was anything other than that. Nothing stuck out to her; no remnants of a coffin (if the Deamhan even used a coffin). No sign of hidden compartments. Just charred pieces of wood and furniture.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Be careful. Some of the wood is still hot.” She fanned her blouse as the heat emanating from the ruins warmed her skin.

  “What kind of stuff would you find in a sanctuary?” His eyes flitted from the debris to the neighborhood and back again.

  “Holding cells, lots of extra beds, maybe coffins. A sanctuary is like a Deamhan safe house.” She stood in the center of the rubble and turned in a circle as she carefully scanned the neighborhood and quiet streets. “If we’re lucky, maybe some remains of their victims.” A lone squirrel ran into the road, paused, stood on its hind legs, and stared at them before it ran and disappeared behind a tree.

  Murphy nervously jingled his keys. “The cops don’t know about them?”

  “No. The Deamhan keep their lives secret, remember?”

  “How do you know then? Your mother?”

  The Brotherhood. But Veronica didn’t want to tell him about that. “My mother,” she confirmed, turning to walk back to the car. “Would you’ve believed me if you hadn’t seen for yourself?”

  “No.”

  At least he was honest.

  “This is some paranormal shit,” he said. “Like the Men in Black or Roswell. Stuff like that.”

  The squealing sound of tires pierced the air. A blue windowless van rounded the corner at breakneck speed, racing down the street. It swerved uncontrollably from left to right before coming to a screeching halt next to Murphy. The van seemed oddly familiar to Veronica. She froze and she locked eyes with the driver, a white male, who glared back from under a black baseball cap.

  She rushed back to the car and screamed at Murphy to follow her. The driver obviously wasn’t a Deamhan or a vampire. He didn’t look like a researcher and to her knowledge, there were no Chapters in the city anymore. A minion?

  He didn’t look like a minion.

  She screamed at him again but her words drowned under the roaring of the van’s engine. She heard the van’s passenger door open and footsteps running around the front of the vehicle. She snapped out of her trance. Instantly, she remembered the last time she’d been at this site. She saw the van before, down the street the other day.

  Murphy ran to the car, unlocked it and they jumped in. He started his car, yanked it into gear, and sped off.

  Three men in white ski masks and blue sweat suits appeared in front of the van carrying crowbars, chains, and knives.

  “Holy shit!” Murphy’s neck craned as he looked over his shoulder, then to the rearview then back over his shoulder. “Who’re they?”

  Veronica paced her breathing and finally replied in a short breath. “Minions, I think.”

  The old Corolla whined as he maxed out the RPMs before he rounded the corner and changed gears. “Minions?”

  “Lackeys, minions. Same thing.” She turned around to see if they were being followed before she spoke. “Human servants of the Deamhan.”

  “Human servants? You didn’t mention anything about servants!”

  “No, I didn’t.” She leaned her head back against the headrest and exhaled. Her arrival in Minneapolis was no longer a secret. First Dark Sepulcher, now this? It wasn’t a freak coincidence. The Deamhan knew she was in their city.

  However, next time she told herself, she wouldn’t run. Next time she’d be ready, armed, with a stake.