Time moved strangely when you were dying. After three times of going through that experience, that much at least became crystal clear.

  I couldn't tell if it had been an hour or three. The paralytic venom had worn off enough that I could move my fingers, turn my head slightly, but my limbs still felt like they were made of lead. Each drop of blood that floated away from my wrist took a piece of me with it. Pieces of consciousness and warmth. The fundamental spark that made me alive.

  Beside me, Garrick lay completely still. His breathing was shallow, irregular. The cosmic light that usually emanated from him had dimmed to almost nothing.

  Across the room, Konstantin remained frozen on the floor, that wooden stake through his chest keeping him locked in place. His eyes were open, aware, tracking everything but unable to do anything about it. I could see pure horror in his eyes at the knowledge of what Pavel was doing.

  And Dorota…god, Dorota was barely there anymore. Her spectral form had faded to almost complete transparency. The weeping had stopped. I wasn't sure if that was because she'd found peace or because she no longer had the strength for it.

  I had to do something. Anything.

  My fingers fumbled at my pocket, searching for anything. There. A silver quarter. I always kept a few coins on me out of habit from bartending. Quarters for breaking bills, for flipping when customers couldn't decide between drinks.

  The beam of light connecting my wrist to the altar was visible if I focused, but I could see a thin thread of energy pulling my life force toward the bottle. I held up the quarter, hands shaking, and tried to position it to disrupt the beam.

  The moment the silver touched the light, something happened.

  The beam fractured, scattering into multiple smaller threads. Most of them reconnected immediately, but some were deflected away, dissipating into nothing. Less of my essence was being drained. Not much less, maybe ten percent, but enough that I felt fractionally more alert.

  "Mac..." Garrick's voice was barely a whisper. "I can feel... power returning. Slow. Trickle. Keep going..."

  Hope flared in my chest. If I could keep disrupting my beam, Garrick might recover enough to break us out.

  Then Dorota screamed.

  Her beam, the one connecting her bottle to whatever remained of her spectral form, had flared bright white. Intensified. She was being drained faster, pulled harder, as if the altars were compensating for my disruption by taking more from her.

  I pulled the coin away immediately. Dorota's beam returned to normal. She stopped screaming, but her form was even more faded than before.

  "No," I breathed. "Dorota, I'm sorry, I—"

  "Don't," she whispered, her voice so weak I could barely hear it. "You tried."

  I let the quarter slip from my fingers, clattering on the stone floor. We were trapped. Truly, completely trapped. And all I could do was lie here and wait and hope that someone out there had gotten my message and would get here in time.

  If they came at all.

  If my backup plan worked.

  If we survived that long. That was way too many ifs for a situation like this for my comfort.

  The sound of casual footsteps on the stairs made my heart sink.

  Pavel descended into his prison, moving with that vampire grace even though exhaustion still marked his features. He'd changed clothes, a black suit, formal, like he was dressed for a funeral. Or maybe an execution.

  "Still alive," he observed, circling the cage. "Good. I was worried I'd miscalculated the draining rate. It would be such a waste if you died before I could consume you properly."

  He moved to Garrick's altar first, examining the bottle that now held maybe an inch of golden-red liquid. This was Garrick's blood mixed with that cosmic energy. Pavel picked it up, swirled it like wine, held it up to the magical light.

  "Beautiful," he murmured. "I've never seen anything like this. Pure astral essence. When I consume this, I'll have power beyond anything Samuel could imagine."

  "You're insane," I managed to say, my voice hoarse.

  "I'm ambitious. There's a difference." Pavel set the bottle down carefully. "Samuel taught me that ambition was the only thing that mattered. The only thing that separated us from cattle. He just never expected me to be ambitious enough to challenge him."

  He crouched beside Konstantin's frozen form, studying the stake placement with professional interest. "Perfectly done, if I do say so myself. Just millimeters from the heart. Any closer and he'd be dead. Any further and he'd be able to move. It's an art, really. Precision staking."

  Konstantin's eyes tracked Pavel with pure hatred.

  "Don't worry, old friend. I'll pull that stake out eventually. After I've killed everyone else and had time to properly dispose of the bodies. Then you can wake up and discover you're the sole survivor of a tragic accident. Won't that be a delightful surprise?"

  Pavel stood and moved to the cage, looking down at Garrick and me with something that might have been pity. "I really did enjoy the competition, Mac. Your cooking was exceptional. In another life, we might have been friends."

  "In another life, you wouldn't be a monster."

  "No. In another life, I'd still be human. Still able to walk in daylight without stealing it from ghosts. Still able to choose my own path." His expression hardened. "But Samuel took that choice from me. And now I'm taking everything from him."

  He opened the cage door. Apparently he could enter and exit freely (the wards only affected us). Like a snake, he slowly stepped inside, that sinister grin never leaving his face. With lightning speed, Pavel grabbed Garrick's wrist and pulled it closer to the bars.

  "Let's finish this, shall we? I'll drain him first. The cosmic hero. Let you watch him die knowing you're next."

  "No—" I tried to move, tried to stop him, but my body wouldn't cooperate.

  Pavel's fangs extended and he bit down on Garrick's wrist.

  Garrick screamed. That same raw, agonized sound from before. No euphoria for him. Just pain. Pure, burning pain as his life force was torn away.

  Pavel fed for maybe thirty seconds this time. Long, deep pulls that left Garrick's skin pale, his breathing almost nonexistent. When Pavel finally released him, Garrick's eyes rolled back and he went completely limp.

  Still. Silent. Not breathing that I could see.

  Dead.

  Garrick was dead.

  "No," I gasped. "No, no, no—"

  "He lasted longer than I expected," Pavel said, wiping blood from his mouth. "The cosmic physiology is remarkable. But even heroes have limits." He moved toward me, his eyes glowing faintly with absorbed power. "Your turn, Mac. And I'm going to take my time with you."

  He grabbed my wrist, pulled it close. His fangs descended toward my skin.

  I screamed. Not from pain…he hadn’t bitten me yet…but from despair. From rage. From the absolute certainty that I was about to die in this underground prison and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I was helpless. My friend was dead. And Dorota was going to be obliterated.

  Then Pavel was gone.

  Not voluntarily. He was yanked away from me with such force that I heard the air crack. One moment he was leaning in to feed, the next he was flying backward across the room like he'd been hit by a truck.

  He slammed into the stone wall with a sound like thunder. The wall cracked. Pavel's ribs cracked, I heard them break, multiple bones shattering despite vampire durability. He dropped to the floor, gasping, blood trickling from his mouth.

  Someone else was in the room.

  Samuel stood in the center of the prison, his hand still extended from the throw. His expression was cold. Utterly, completely cold. The kind of cold that came from centuries of calculated violence.

  Beside him, Princess Katrina manifested in full substantial form, her red dress billowing, her flame-eyes burning bright white.

  Samuel moved with speed that made Pavel look slow. In less than a second, he destroyed all three altars, smashing them to pieces with his bare hands. The bottles toppled, their corks popping free.

  Immediately, the beams of light connecting us to the altars reversed direction.

  My blood, and my essence, began flowing back into my wrist. Not drops anymore, but a steady stream of red energy pouring back into my body. Strength returned. Warmth. Life. The heaviness in my limbs faded, and my mind cleared.

  Across the room, I thought I saw Garrick's chest suddenly rise with a massive breath. His eyes still remained closed. Were we too late?

  And Dorota…Dorota's spectral form solidified, gaining substance and definition. Color returned to her transparent features. Her weeping turned to gasps of relief.

  Pavel tried to stand, clutching his broken ribs. Katrina glided toward him, her expression merciless.

  "Please—" Pavel started.

  Katrina embraced him.

  The Ghostly Embrace. But this was different from what I'd experienced. Pavel screamed—actually screamed, the sound echoing off stone walls—as ice and death and emptiness flooded into him. By the look of things, vampires experienced it worse than humans. So much worse. I wondered if their undead nature made them more susceptible to the draining cold, to the touch of true death.

  She held him for maybe ten seconds. When she released him, Pavel collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.

  "Enough," Samuel said quietly.

  Katrina stepped back, and immediately rushed to Dorota's side. The two ghosts embraced, and Katrina began glowing brighter, sharing some of her own spectral energy to help restore what had been stolen from Dorota.

  Samuel walked calmly to where Pavel sat slumped against the cracked wall. Pavel could barely hold his head up, his body wracked with pain from broken ribs and the Ghostly Embrace.

  But he still had enough strength to meet Samuel's eyes.

  "See what your work has wrought upon your son?" Pavel rasped.

  Samuel stopped. "What?"

  "All of this." Pavel gestured weakly at the destroyed altars, the prison, everything. "This is your fault. Your doing."

  "I did nothing that would drive you to drain ghosts to the second death. To commit crimes punishable by permanent execution." Samuel's voice remained level, but I heard something underneath. Confusion. Pain. "I thought you were better than this. Smarter than this."

  "I missed the sun." Pavel's laugh was bitter, broken. "Is that smart enough for you? I hated life in the dark. Life as a monster. I wanted what you stole from me."

  "You knew the cost when you chose this life."

  "I NEVER CHOSE!" Pavel's voice cracked, raw with centuries of suppressed rage. "I never had a choice! Not really!"

  Samuel's expression shifted. "I gave you the choice when I turned you. You made that decision."

  Pavel spat blood onto the floor. For a moment, all his weakness seemed to drain away, replaced by pure defiant fury. "You took my choice the moment you fed on me. The moment you created that bond. You know what it does, Samuel. You know the thirst it creates. The craving. The need that burns in your veins until you'd do anything—ANYTHING—to feel it again."

  My bracelet flared as Pavel’s eyes briefly drifted to me, and I felt a faint twinge of euphoria go through my body, as if to accentuate Pavel’s point.

  Then he locked eyes with his sire. "If you loved me like you claimed. If you cared for me at all. You never would have fed on me in the first place. You never would have created that addiction. That... slavery."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  His voice dropped to something quieter. More broken. "Draining someone to the point where they either die or accept being turned? That's not a choice. No matter what you tell yourself to sleep well at night." He paused. "Do you even sleep anymore, you monster?"

  The words hung in the air like a blade.

  I saw it on Samuel's face. The recognition. The understanding that Pavel was right. That the feeding bond, the same bond that had been created between me and Pavel, had enslaved Pavel to Samuel. Made him dependent. Made the "choice" to be turned no choice at all.

  Samuel took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was back to that cold, calculated tone.

  "I made a mistake," he said. "Turning you. Bringing you into this world. I see that now."

  Katrina stepped forward, her hands already forming claws of spectral energy. "Let me finish him. He's suffered enough, and he deserves the second death for what he's done."

  But Samuel was faster.

  He lunged, grabbed Pavel by the throat, lifted him off the ground with one hand. Pavel struggled weakly, but his broken ribs and Katrina's embrace had left him helpless.

  Samuel's fangs extended.

  "No—" I started to say, but it was too late.

  Samuel bit down on Pavel's neck and began to drain him. Not feeding…executing. Taking everything. Every drop of blood, every spark of animation, every piece of stolen life force that Pavel had consumed from ghosts and humans and Garrick.

  Pavel's struggles weakened. Stopped. His skin went from pale to grey to something that wasn't skin anymore.

  When Samuel finally released him, there was nothing left. Pavel's body simply crumbled to ash, falling through Samuel's fingers like sand. A pile of grey dust against the cracked wall…all that remained of a vampire who'd lived for decades, who'd hated what he'd become, who'd committed atrocities trying to reclaim what had been stolen from him.

  The silence that followed was absolute.

  I stared at the ashes, feeling sick. Feeling cold. I'd just watched a father kill his son. Or the closest thing vampires had to that relationship. Watched him drain Pavel to permanent death without hesitation.

  This was the darkness vampires lived in. This was their world. Cold. Brutal. Absolute.

  Samuel brushed ash from his hands with casual efficiency. Then he raised his hands and made a series of complex gestures in the air. The beams of energy connecting Garrick and me to our now-destroyed altars flickered and went out completely.

  The draining stopped. The bond severed.

  "Hold tight," Samuel said, his voice perfectly level as if he hadn't just executed his own childe. "I'll have you out in a minute."

  "Garrick," I managed. "He's not moving, he—"

  "It takes more than being drained to kill Garrick the Gallant." Samuel moved to the cage's mechanism. "He'll be fine. Give him a moment to recover."

  I looked at Garrick. His chest was rising and falling now, breath returning to normal. His eyes were closed but the cosmic light was building around him again. Healing. Regenerating.

  Alive.

  Relief nearly made me collapse.

  "There's a pressure plate by the entrance," I said. "That's what triggered the cage to drop. Be careful—"

  "I designed these manors," Samuel interrupted. "Every home my subordinates occupy in Prague follows blueprints I approved. I know every trap, every security measure, every secret passage." He pressed a hidden switch I couldn't even see. "I'm always thinking ahead, Mr. Sullivan. Always."

  The cage began to rise, the metal bars retracting back into the ceiling with mechanical precision.

  The moment the wards were gone, Garrick sucked in a massive gulp of air like a drowning man breaking the surface. His eyes snapped open, glowing brilliant gold.

  "Mac," he gasped. "Are you—"

  "I'm okay. We're okay." I helped him sit up. "Samuel and Katrina got here in time."

  Katrina and Dorota approached us, the young ghost looking substantially more solid than she had minutes ago. Still weak, still traumatized, but alive. Present. Real.

  "Thank you," Dorota said, her voice stronger now. "Both of you. If you hadn't found me..." She looked at the ashes on the floor. "I wouldn't have lasted another day."

  "You're welcome," I said. "I'm just glad we got here in time."

  Katrina studied me with those burning eyes. "Wilhelm gave me your message. You have impressive audacity, Mr. Sullivan, telling me to knock on Prince Samuel's door and convince him 'in any way possible' to follow me here."

  I managed a weak smile. "I needed both of you here. Together. To witness the culprit for yourselves. So neither could doubt the other's testimony."

  Samuel had just finished removing the stake from Konstantin's chest. The vampire diplomat gasped as mobility returned, his body unlocking from its frozen position. He sat up slowly, rubbing his chest where the wood had pierced him.

  Samuel stood, folding his arms, his gaze settling on me with something that might have been grudging respect. "She told me she had one of my lieutenants prisoner for trying to kidnap one of hers. That if I wanted him back alive, I'd have to come with her." His eyes narrowed. "You played me, Mr. Sullivan."

  "It was the only way to settle this satisfactorily for both of you," I said, meeting his stare. "You couldn't protect Pavel or your reputation with lies. And Katrina wouldn't have been able to convince you if she'd known it was Pavel. You'd have assumed she was making a power move to weaken you."

  Samuel's gaze drifted to the pile of ashes. Something flickered across his face. Was it grief, maybe? Perhaps regret, but then the mask of cold control returned.

  "Everything that happened here," he said, his voice carrying absolute authority, "does not leave this room. The official story is that one of my inner circle betrayed me. For the first time in three centuries, I was caught unaware. I'll use this as a lesson to increase security and vigilance." He turned to Konstantin. "Lord Konstantin Vasile. You are hereby banished from Prague, effective immediately."

  Konstantin's eyes widened. "Prince Samuel, I—"

  "You kept details of your investigation from me. You knew it was Pavel and did not tell me. That is paramount to betrayal." Samuel's voice was ice. "I should execute you for this. But there's been enough death in the family today. You have until dawn to leave my territory. If you're still here when the sun rises, I will hunt you myself."

  Konstantin looked like he wanted to argue. Then he looked at the ashes on the floor and nodded. "As you command, Prince Samuel."

  Samuel's cold gaze swept across all of us—me, Garrick, Katrina, Dorota. "We all agree to remain silent about what truly happened here. About Pavel's crimes. About his... execution. Are we clear?"

  Everyone nodded. Even Katrina, who I suspected understood the political necessity even if she didn't like it.

  Samuel's expression softened fractionally. Just enough that I realized something: we were alive right now only because we'd agreed to his terms. If we'd argued, if we'd demanded the truth be told...

  We'd be joining Pavel's ashes on the floor.

  "Good." Samuel moved toward the stairs. "Clean yourselves up. Get some rest. And Mr. Sullivan? That was clever thinking with the backup plan. Remind me never to underestimate you."

  Then he was gone, ascending the stairs with Konstantin following silently behind him.

  Katrina helped Dorota walk, supporting the younger ghost. "Come. Let's get you back to the Town Hall. Back to your anchor. You need time to recover."

  "Thank you, Princess."

  Katrina looked at Garrick and me. "You both did well. The Ghost Council won't forget this. Prague's ghosts won't forget this." She paused. "Even if the official story must be... different."

  Then they were gone too, drifting up the stairs in that way ghosts moved when they chose not to be bound by physical space.

  Garrick and I sat on the cold stone floor, surrounded by destroyed altars and Pavel's ashes, neither of us quite ready to stand yet.

  "We should go," Garrick finally said. "Before Samuel changes his mind about letting us live."

  ---

  We stumbled back to the Augustine as dawn was breaking over Prague's spires. My whole body ached. My wrist where Pavel had fed still burned. But I was alive. We were both alive. And more importantly, that bond, that connection between myself and Pavel was well and truly gone. A pull I had barely even noticed was there in the back of my mind was gone, and I felt like a terrible weight had been removed from my shoulders, or heavy chains from my ankles.

  The hotel's bar—The Refectory—was just opening for early morning service. We collapsed into seats at the polished wood counter, too exhausted to make it up to our room.

  The bartender approached, saying something in Czech.

  "Do you speak English?" I asked.

  He smiled and nodded. "Of course. What can I get you?"

  "An Old Fashioned." I almost never ordered drinks—I preferred making them myself. But right now, I needed someone else to take care of me. "Please."

  The bartender's face lit with recognition. He turned to Garrick. "And for you, sir?"

  "Apple juice."

  The bartender raised an eyebrow but nodded, moving to prepare our drinks.

  I stared at Garrick. "You don't drink?"

  "Alcohol does weird things to my magic. Makes it unpredictable. Dangerous." He shrugged. "Besides, I've never really had a taste for it."

  Our drinks arrived. I took a long, grateful sip of the Old Fashioned and nearly melted into my chair. It was perfect. Properly muddled orange and cherry. The right balance of bourbon and bitters. Ice that was slowly melting, opening up the flavors.

  I savored every element, letting the familiar taste ground me back in reality.

  "So," I said after a moment. "Is this how it normally goes? No fanfare? No thank yous? Just a polite, threatening 'shut the fuck up about this' from a person in power?"

  Garrick took a pull on his apple juice and smiled. "Sometimes, yeah."

  "That's..."

  "Think about it, Mac. The guy who called us in for help lost today. Lost big. He was planning to catch someone in his circle trying to muscle him out. Someone he could make an example of in front of all his people." Garrick set his glass down. "Instead, he discovered his own childe was the culprit. Had to execute him personally. And the Ghost Princess knows it was his childe who committed the crimes."

  Understanding dawned slowly. "Samuel lost everything. His childe. His reputation with Katrina. The political opportunity to demonstrate strength."

  "Exactly."

  I thought about it more. About Samuel's careful control throughout the investigation. His neutral reactions. The way he'd manipulated events from the beginning.

  "He knew," I said suddenly. "Samuel knew it was Pavel the whole time."

  Garrick nodded.

  "That's why he came to rescue us. Not because he cared if we lived or died. Because it was his chance to end this quietly. To execute Pavel without anyone knowing who really did it." Anger flared in my chest. "We were just... tools. Convenient solutions to his problem."

  "That's vampires for you," Garrick said. "And usually why I avoid working for them."

  "Then why did you take this case?"

  "I owed Samuel a favor. Old debt, from years ago. This cleared it." He took another sip of juice. "I won't say more than that. Some stories aren't mine to tell."

  We finished our drinks in silence. Then we dragged ourselves upstairs and collapsed. Me into sleep, Garrick into meditation.

  ---

  The next afternoon, after we'd checked out and packed our bags, we made our way back to the square near St. George's Basilica. Back to where this whole adventure had started.

  A man approached us. He was middle-aged, wearing a courier's uniform. "Mr. Sullivan?"

  "That's me."

  "I have a letter for you." He handed me a white envelope sealed with red wax. The seal bore a single letter: S.

  I laughed despite myself. "How utterly vampire corny."

  The courier left without another word. I broke the seal and pulled out a single sheet of paper, covered in precise handwriting.

  "Mr. Sullivan,

  I apologize that I cannot be there to thank you both personally, but I'm preparing the funeral proceedings for my childe, who died defending you both as we apprehended the real culprit.

  I appreciate you and your partner's discretion throughout this case, and trust you will remain discrete concerning all matters that transpired this week. I consider all favors owed and previous offenses sustained by Master Garrick paid in full.

  I've also made a sizable donation to The Crossroads Tavern, in thanks for your efforts here. May it continue to be a place where things like the Monomoy Accord can be achieved.

  May luck find you in your travels.

  Prince Samuel"

  My hands were shaking by the time I finished reading. Garrick took the letter from me, read it, and sighed.

  "Yep. That's vampires for you. Just a polite way of saying 'shut up or else.' I know where you work, I know where you live. Typical."

  "I'm really starting to hate vampires," I said through gritted teeth.

  Garrick laughed. "Welcome aboard."

  We walked to the alley where we'd first arrived in Prague. The same narrow space, the same old stones, but it felt different now. Heavy with everything that had happened.

  Garrick raised his hand and began tracing a door in the air. White light followed his fingertip, drawing lines and curves that hung suspended in space. The outline of a doorway, shimmering with possibility.

  He paused before completing it and looked at me. "Well. I guess this is where it ends, huh? Back to The Crossroads Tavern?"

  I thought about what we'd been through. Three near-death experiences. A vampire bond that had felt like violation. Watching Samuel execute his own childe. The darkness. The brutality. The bitter victory of saving Dorota while the real culprit got covered up by political convenience.

  But we had saved her. Dorota would have died—would have been destroyed—if we hadn't found her. That mattered. That meant something.

  "We did make a difference," I said slowly. "We saved someone from oblivion."

  I thought about Pavel's ashes on that basement floor. About how he'd never chosen to become a vampire. About the addiction Samuel had created that left Pavel with no real choice at all.

  Some things couldn't be fixed. Some darkness couldn't be illuminated.

  But some people could be saved.

  "As far as what happens next," I said, meeting Garrick's eyes. "It depends."

  "On what?"

  "What's the next job?"

  Garrick's face split into a huge grin. "There's a summer fair coming up in the city of Tellareth. I like to go for supplies, try amazing new food, maybe see if anyone needs help while I'm there. Interested?"

  "Never heard of Tellareth. Where is it? South America somewhere?" The name seriously rang no familiar bells to me.

  "No. Much farther away than that,” Garrick said with a half smile.

  "Where in the world is it?"

  Garrick's grin widened. "I didn't say it was in this world, did I?"

  The words took a moment to process. Another world. Not just another country or continent, but another world entirely. With different beings. Different cultures. Different foods.

  The ultimate Bourdainian adventure.

  "Just wait until you try Greshel," Garrick said, watching realization cross my face. "The texture and spice will send your senses reeling."

  Another world. Gods. What was I getting myself into?

  "When do we leave?" I asked.

  Garrick finished drawing the door. The outline solidified, and the space within began to shimmer and twist. Colors that shouldn't exist bled through from somewhere else. I caught glimpses of architecture that defied physics, of skies that were the wrong color.

  He held out his hand. "After breakfast."

  I looked at the portal. There was a familiar sight greeting my eyes, and even though it had only been a week, I hadn’t realized how much I missed it. Especially after everything that happened.

  Then I looked at Garrick. Here was this cosmic hero who regenerated from bullets, who grew living ladders from dead ivy, who'd taken a vampire's draining just to save my life.

  My partner.

  I took his hand.

  "Let's go," I said.

  We stepped through together.

  The world lurched, folded, became something new. This time I kept my eyes open, watching as reality dissolved and reformed around us. Prague vanished. The Ways Between opened up, that impossible space between spaces, where distances meant nothing and everywhere and everything was possible. For a moment, I glimpsed a million different roads and possibilities. Flashes of places I’d heard of (some only in books!)...it appeared The Ways could take us anywhere. Then we flew in a rush down a particular path, to an open door into one of my favorite rooms in the world…in this world, anyway.