It was pure instinct. Instead of continuing on down to South Point via the I-15, Angelina turned the Buick LeSabre onto the I-215 Eastbound, headed for... well, she didn't quite know where, but as it turns out, a sire's death-cry for help is almost as accurate as Google Maps when it comes to finding the most efficient route to get somepce.

  "Does this happen a lot?" asked Pantessa. "With Caleb, I mean."

  "It's only happened a couple of times before. First time we didn't know what was going on. Once we figured it out, together, we started jokingly calling it the 'bat-signal.'"

  Pantessa rolled her eyes. Cardi sat in the back seat, continuing to hold her alpaca.

  A loud thudding was heard from the trunk of the car.

  "Great," said Pantessa. "Wrong-Dong Silver's awake."

  Sure enough, the seat back next to Cardi folded down, and Mad Tom stuck his head out.

  "Pantessa! By the briny deep, 'tis a fine sight to see ye again!" said Mad Tom from the back seat. "I must say, ye bested me in fair battle, clobbered me senseless, took none o’ me bluster, and now ye've made off with the Sabre, cuttin’ across these asphalt seas like an albatross with its arse afme. I were but jestin’ before, but bst me bckened heart - I think I might truly be smitten with ye, ss!"

  "Jesus, holy living fuck, I do not need this right now!" said Pantessa.

  "And bst me barnacles, ye swear like a bosun three rums deep! By the stars ‘n’ the tide, ne’er have I met a wench so bold ‘n’ fair… not since the days me own sire, Anne Bonny, taught me the ways o’ the cutss ‘n’ the curse!"

  "Mad Tom's a lot," said Cardi, stating the obvious.

  "I just thought of something." Angelina kept her focus on the road, driving like a Vegas local, which is to say, with little regard for speed limits or the concept of 'nes,' in order to get to wherever they were going as fast as possible. "The cellphone. You should use it to call Stelian. Stelian can probably coordinate the vampire community to a meeting."

  "Great idea. What's his number?"

  "No clue," said Angelina.

  "Oh," said Tessa, resigned.

  "One Seven Zero Two Five Five Five Four Seven Nine Two," said Cardi, from the back seat.

  Pantessa turned around and looked at Cardi.

  "You know Stelian?" asked Tessa.

  "No, we've never met. But I memorized all the phone numbers for all the vampires in Las Vegas that have them."

  Pantessa and Angelina came to the same revetion at the same time.

  "Cardi, we need your help," said Pantessa. "I want you to call all the vampires in Vegas. All of them you can. Starting with Stelian. Since we need to set up a meeting, uh..."

  Pantessa looked over to Angelina.

  "Tonight, 2am. At Little White Lie. And let them know it's mandatory."

  "Got it," said Cardi, holding out her hand for the phone. Pantessa gdly handed it over, and Cardi started making phone calls.

  "Be there any way this old sea dog can be o’ service to ye, sses?" said Mad Tom.

  "Maybe," said Angelina. "What tricks do you have?"

  "Just me sea legs, ss!" Mad Tom grinned, fshing a row of teeth like a shark on the hunt. "Me sea legs and a cutss!"

  Mad Tom produced a pirate sword from somewhere in the trunk. Because of course he did.

  Angelina thought. "Can you get a vehicle, give anyone who needs one a ride to the meeting?"

  "Aye, that I can, me bold beauty!" Mad Tom thumped his chest. "I’ll round up the crew, commandeer a craft, and ferry ‘em to the dark chapel swift as a schooner on a following wind! Me Queen Angelina! Care for the Sabre proper, and she’ll see ye through the storm, as fine a vessel as ever sailed the Mohave!"

  With that, Mad Tom slithered out from the trunk and nimbly cmbered atop the back, standing steady as a mast in a storm. Despite Angelina weaving in and out of traffic like a ship navigating treacherous waters, Mad Tom remained perfectly banced.

  "Sea legs, ss! Me oldest and best trick. Farewell!"

  And with that, Mad Tom sprang like a cannonball from a ship’s deck—leaping a good forty feet from a standing start towards the oncoming traffic of I-215. He nded atop a traveling billboard truck, its fshy ad for escort services fpping in the wind like a pirate’s fg. From there, he moved with preternatural grace, leaping from vehicle to vehicle, as if he were bounding across the decks of ships in a raid. Finally, he nded in a rented convertible, where an elderly couple sat, wide-eyed and fbbergasted.

  "Why ye look so stunned, me mates? This be Las Vegas, where naught be strange under the moonlight!"

  The couple shrugged, and admitted that the pirate acrobat had a point. Eventually, they would come to the conclusion that it simply must have been gueril marketing for Cirque Du Soleil, as Mad Tom continued on his journey.

  Pantessa watched Tom leap from car to car, until he was no longer in sight.

  "Damn," she said, then turned around to finally face forward in the car. "That's actually sexy. He should have led with that."

  ***

  It was a small, isoted ranch home out on the edges of Henderson, Nevada, far enough from the neighbors that if you screamed, they wouldn't hear you.

  And this is where Caleb was recently in mortal danger. Somewhere in this area. Angelina and Pantessa were sure of it.

  "Do you think it's dangerous?" asked Cardi, pausing between phone calls.

  "Well, considering that whatever's here scared Caleb so much he sent out an instinctual, supernatural cry for help, I'd say so," said Angelina.

  "Oh," said Cardi. Then, looking around, she continued. "I should stay and watch the car. Keep it running. In case you need to make a quick getaway."

  "Good thinking," said Pantessa. Vampire or not, Cardi didn't seem like the kind of person who would be good in a crisis situation.

  The two childer of Caleb cautiously stepped out of the car and approached the simple ranch home. There were a few lights on, but it didn't seem like anyone was there.

  "Let's head around back," suggested Angelina. "Something tells me just ringing the doorbell won't be a good pn."

  "Right, but... you smell that?" said Pantessa.

  "Smell what?"

  "Garlic."

  "Oh. Are you sensitive to garlic too? Like Caleb?"

  "Caleb's sensitive to...? Er... No... I... don't think I am?" said Pantessa. "But the Stalker. The Stalker's breath smelled like garlic. I'm never going to forget that smell."

  As they headed to the back yard, it was Angelina who saw it first.

  A concrete mixer, still running, it's contents dumped into a hole, freshly dug.

  "Caleb!" she cried out, only afterward realizing that someone might hear her. "Shit, fuck, shit," she continued. "That's such a horror movie idiot move! Now if someone's here, they know we're here!"

  Angelina looked around. No movement. Not that she could see, and she could see pretty well, even in the moonlight.

  "Well, as long as we're being stupid," said Pantessa. "Let's fall for the obvious trap." She headed over to the hole, and saw a big sb of concrete, freshly set, then motioned for Angelina to join her.

  "Caleb! Caleb, can you hear us!" called Angelina to the box. But there was no response.

  "He might be unconscious," said Angelina. "C'mon, we need to get him to the car."

  "He's encased in concrete, how are we going to get him out of there?" asked Pants. "Unless you have a jackhammer lying around. And I know we're strong, I don't think we're 'karate chop concrete' strong."

  "I don't know," said Angelina. "But we're probably 'lift the sb of concrete and bring it to the car' strong."

  "Oh boy," said Pantessa.

  "Remember. Lift with your knees, not with your back," said Angelina. "OSHA regutions remain the same even after you've shuffled off the mortal coil."

  With the two of them, and their preternatural strength, it was pretty easy to lift the concrete covered box, but it was still awkward. Still, in only a few minutes, the concrete box made it's way to the back seat of the Sabre.

  "That... can't be what I think it is," said Cardi, in horror. "Caleb's in there?"

  "I mean, I don't know for sure, but why else would you bury a box in concrete in a shallow grave if not to get rid of a vampire?" said Angelina. "Look, Cardi, can you keep an eye on the box? I think Caleb's unconscious. If he starts to wake up, someone should be there to reassure him that he's in safe hands now."

  "Should I... talk to him? In the box?" asked Cardi.

  "Yeah," said Pantessa. "That... that might be nice. Right. I don't think we're done here." Pantessa looked at the house. "There might be some evidence -- something which might expin what's going on."

  Angelina looked over at Pantessa. "I guess we're going in. I mean, already did one stupid horror movie cliche tonight. Why not another?"

  They decided that it was probably best, once again to head to the back door of the house, where they were very surprised to find it was completely unlocked.

  Angelina stepped in first, to a small kitchen area, looking around for people, or traps, or anything, and motioned for Pantessa to follow.

  "Coast looks clear," said Angelina.

  And Pantessa... tried to.

  "Uh, Angelina?" said Pants. "Uh, something's... something's... off."

  "Yeah, no shit," said Angelina.

  "No, I mean, something's off, with me. I... I can't... I'm telling my feet to move forward but they aren't. It's like... something's stopping me."

  "Yeah, fear. I get it," said Angelina.

  "No, something else. I think... I think this might be a vampire thing."

  Angelina's eyes went wide.

  "Tess. Give me your arm."

  Pantessa reached her hand out, but could only extend it up to the threshold of the door frame.

  Angelina grabbed it, and tried to pull. But Pantessa's hand wouldn't budge.

  "This is weird," said Angelina.

  Angelina stepped out, headed to the other side of Pantessa and tried to push her in. That didn't work either. In fact, it was as if an invisible forcefield blocked Pantessa's path, and her face smushed up against it.

  "Amerrina!" said the face-smushed Tessa. "Sbbob it!"

  "This is insane. How come I can go through no problem, but you..."

  Angelina spped her forehead in realization.

  "No!" she said, nearly ughing.

  "What?" asked Tessa.

  "You're kidding me," said Angelina.

  That's when it clicked for Pantessa as well.

  "Are you telling me," she said, exasperated, "that I can't enter someone's house unless I've been invited in?"

  "Sorry, Tess. 'Fraid that's what it looks like," said Angelina.

  "Christ on a bike. You know what that means, don't you?"

  "What?" asked Angelina.

  "Forget yelling, or going back into the spooky pce, this is numero uno of things not to do in a horror movie. We're going to have to split up."

  "Aw shit," said Angelina. "You're right. Okay." She reached over to a set of wall switches, turning on the lights.

  It looked normal. A normal, ordinary kitchen. Normal ordinary refrigerator. Normal ordinary microwave. Normal ordinary mail on the ordinary table, addressed to one Joseph Randolph.

  "Oh shit," said Angelina. "Pantessa... this is-- I think the Stalker lives here."

  Tessa's mind jumped back to her st moments alive, trying to struggle away from a man who eventually dragged her into the back of a van to murder her, slowly and painfully, with a knife. She remembered it more vividly than she ever had before, and took a few unsteady steps backwards.

  "Tess, you alright?" called Angelina from inside the house. But Pantessa clearly wasn't.

  She tried taking several deep, calming breaths, even though, as a vampire, they probably weren't doing that much for her. But it helped, psychologically.

  "I'm not," said Pantessa, "but keep looking. I'll deal."

  Truth be told, Angelina wasn't much of a detective when it came to physical evidence. Oh sure, she could read people like no one's business, but she wasn't even sure what she was looking for. For a serial killer, Joshua Randolph seemed almost normal, or at least his abode did. And it wasn't like the serial killer was going to leave evidence or a diary around for the police to find, was it?

  The only thing of interest was the bookshelf. There were a lot of Italian food cookbooks. Not just generic ones, but regional cuisine books as well. She looked in the drawers. High grade cooking equipment, a countertop pasta maker, and a mandoline slicer.

  Inside the pantry, there were high quality Italian staples - extra virgin olive oil, balsamic vinegar, aged parmesan, truffle oil... and of course, a sack of garlic, almost empty. And hanging on a hook inside, a chef's jacket or apron, beled "J. Randolph," for the Canaletto Ristorante at the Venetian.

  Disturbingly, when Angelina opened the drawers of the kitchen, she found a box for a Misono UX10 Santoku knife. High end. Expensive. But it wasn't in the box. And she suspected that it wasn't in the kitchen -- or any kitchen -- either.

  "Well, that expins why the Stalker smells like garlic," said Angelina, to Pantessa, still waiting outside. "Your murderer is an Italian chef."

  "And that helps us, how?"

  "An Italian chef that works at the Canaletto Ristorante at the Venetian. So even if he never comes back here, we know where to look for him next."

  "You ever been to the Venetian?"

  "Rarely," said Angelina. "I know Greg often pys the 5/10 and the 10/20 there, when it runs."

  "Greg, the guy with the weird gsses?"

  "That's the one. Look, I'm no detective but I think I'm going to find all we're going to find here. We should go back and get ready for the meeting."

  Pantessa nodded. "Yeah, I can't wait to get out of here. Standing in your murderer's backyard, watching your friend go through his pantry? I think I'm starting to disassociate a little. Like... this can't be my life."

  Angelina nodded, then headed out the back, taking one st gnce, and then headed back to the car with Pantessa.

  There, Cardi was one step ahead of both of them. "Everyone I could reach is either on their way or waiting for the--" Cardi let out a deep sigh, "--the Santa Vanna."

  "The what?" asked Angelina.

  "Mad Tom stole a passenger van. And dubbed it the 'Santa Vanna,'" said Cardi. "Oh, and, uh, I told Stelian about Caleb being trapped in a box, so he put the word out that people should bring sledgehammers and such to get Caleb out of there."

  ***

  The three vampires, and the big sb of concrete, drove back into the city to East Fremont St, to "A Little White Lie Wedding Chapel & Pawn," a run-down, semi-defunct wedding chapel and pawn shop hybrid y. It's the kind of pce that Vegas is known for but which nobody ever goes to - there's such a thing as too tacky, after all. It was a pce that vampires used to meet amongst themselves. Usually not for rge meetings. Smaller ones. Social gatherings, often. Support groups. And they were greeted by the caretaker, Elvis Presley.

  Yes, his name really was Elvis Presley. Yes, he did dress like Elvis Presley, down to the rhinestones. Yes, he talked, danced, and sung like Elvis Presley.

  No, he wasn't the original Elvis Presley, who despite multiple conspiracy theories to the contrary, did not fake his death and become a vampire, living in Las Vegas. But Elvis Presley (the vampire) decided that if he was going to take a deadname, he might as well take a deadname and a personality to go with it.

  Before Elvis Presley was Elvis Presley, Elvis Presley was a very bad man. The kind of man who swindled and stole and cheated and treated people like absolute garbage. He was even on track to be the next Republican nominee for Lt. Governor of Nevada, at one point, and then he 'mysteriously disappeared.'

  The vampire Elvis, however, was a kinder, gentler man. Almost certainly because of a massive mental breakdown upon being turned into a creature of the night. He threw himself at the mercy of God for forgiveness, seeing his vampirism as a curse for his wicked ways, and sought redemption, crying in the streets. At that point, a street busker dressed as Elvis, in true "Good Samaritan" fashion, took pity on him, and sat down and talked with him. He never forgot the kindness of that busker, on one of those first nights.

  And he took it as a sign for what God wanted him to do with the rest of his unlife. He would seek to build bridges, not burn them. To bring people together. To create love, not hate. And he would rebuild himself totally in the image of the angel that God had sent down for him.

  Las Vegas, after all, is a pce you can absolutely be your authentic self. Even if that authentic self is Elvis Presley.

  Elvis saw his role as the closest thing that the vampires of Las Vegas had to a community organizer. If the vampires of Las Vegas deferred to Caleb (and Angelina, a bit) as the eldest, they deferred to Elvis Presley as the one who handled disputes, as the one who tried to get all the vampires to work in harmony, get things from the vampires who had them to the vampires who needed them. Part priest, part community organizer, part Judge Judy.

  And if any tourists or locals walking nearby found it suspicious that Elvis Presley and three young women were hauling a sb of concrete from the back seat of a 1975 Buick LeSabre into the basement of a wedding chapel, they would just shrug it off and chalk it up to being part of the whole "Fremont Street Experience."

  ***

  Inside the basement of the chapel, Stelian was already there, with some pickaxes and sledgehammers, as the four of them carried the concrete-covered box over to a corner of the chapel.

  "Pants!" Stelian waved. "Good to see you. Though not under these circumstances. Is that Caleb?"

  "Yeah," said Pants. "At least we think so. Oh, I uh, have a deadname now."

  "That's awesome!" said Stelian. "What is it?"

  "Pantessa. I'm trying it out."

  "I love it! Pantessa! It suits you so much! So I guess that means you're sticking around?"

  Pantessa stopped in her tracks, and had a moment of revetion about what exactly she was doing. The st time she had seen Caleb, he was quite explicitly saying that he was going to kill her. Granted, it was more nuanced than that, but it just suddenly hit her that maybe taking the vampire who promised to kill her out of the concrete box could possibly be a dumb thing to do.

  A kind thing, sure. Eternity in a box is a fate worse than death, and she wouldn't wish that on her worst enemy. But that was the thing. Caleb, at this moment is time, was her worst enemy. Well, him and Joshua Randolph, who literally murdered her. Well, the first time. And possibly her grand-sire, whoever the fuck that was, but her grandsire probably didn't even know she existed.

  "Hold that thought," said Pantessa, and headed back to Angelina, who was talking with Cardi and two other vampires -- Trey and Jack, Tessa reasoned.

  "Sorry to interrupt, Angelina. But this is important," said Tessa. "Say we let Caleb out of the box. Is he still going to try to kill me?"

  Cardi, Trey, Jack, and Elvis all turned their heads over to the conversation between Angelina and Pantessa, while in the background, Mad Tom dropped off another vanload of vampires, including Philip Gyrich, the hacker, who seemed to spend most of his time looking at a tablet he had with him.

  "Honestly, I don't think he will. I think... I really truly honestly think his heart is a lot softer than he lets on," said Angelina. "And even if it isn't? He can try. But he's gotta go through me."

  "And me," said Stelian, from behind Tessa. "Granted, I don't think I have a chance against Caleb, but, y'know. I'd try. I'd do horribly, but I'd try."

  "Ah," said one of the vampires, "You must be Pants. Caleb mentioned he had a new childe. My condolences. I'm Trey, you've met Cardi, and this is Jack."

  Jack was dressed in the white shirt and bck pants one would recognize as the de-facto uniform of any number of bckjack dealers in Las Vegas, with thick bck horn-rimmed gsses. He waved, but stayed silent, and pushed up his gsses with his other hand.

  "Thank you. Yes, I am, though I go by Pantessa now. Well, kind of. I'm trying it out." Pantessa turned back to Angelina. "So, it is safe to let the sealed evil in a can out of the can?"

  "Tess, you'll be fine. Now go and get our sire out. I'd come and help you, but the organizational stuff -- that's something only I can do."

  Trey nodded. "Caleb said if anything happened to him, Angelina's the new eldest. When I talked to him, he was scared; and it seemed like he didn't think this was just a threat to him - it was a threat to all of us."

  "C'mon, Pantessa," said Stelian. "You're technically going to be beating on Caleb with a sledgehammer, and you don't want to miss that."

  "That does sound fun," said Pantessa.

  "Don’t you worry, darlin’. If you miss the meetin’, I’ll give you the whole rundown, front to back," said Elvis. "Now go on, have yourself a real good time bustin’ your sire outta that eternal prison with Stelian. Thank ya, thank ya very much."

  "You're probably not missing much," whispered Stelian. "Between you and me, this just seems like this is going to be another gathering of the bloodthirsty forces of darkness under the cover of night at a de-consecrated church that could have been an e-mail."

  ***

  Progress chipping away at the concrete was slow, and they were only just beginning when the meeting started. True to his word, Mad Tom had ferried in most of - if not all - of the vampires of Las Vegas in the "Santa Vanna." Most of whom Pantessa didn't know, though she did recognize Philip when he came in.

  Mostly, Stelian and Pantessa just kept hacking away at the box, hard, grueling work. Pantessa thought that she might get fatigued, but... she didn't. Not really. Really what she was feeling was...

  "Thirsty?" asked Stelian. "There's a couple of blood bags in the cooler over there if you need to top up. Just leave some for Caleb, he might need it."

  Pantessa thought about it, and realized Stelian was right. She was thirsty. "Yeah, I was feeling thirsty. And I just fed st night. I mean, like, on a live person."

  "Really!? Congrats!" Stelian reached out for a high-five, one that Tessa quickly returned. "Are they okay though?"

  "I think so," said Tessa. "So, let me get this straight, we don't get... exhausted per se, we get... thirsty?"

  "I'm no biologist, but, back in high school, I sorta half-remember my bio teacher telling me that basically, humans use up this kind of special sugar we make in our muscles, and that when it runs out, we get fatigued. Well, they get fatigued. Doesn't apply to us. Our bodies are dead. We don't make sugars, we don't need oxygen, we don't build up ctic acid... everything we are is provided by the blood. So when you know you're gonna get a lot of exercise," Stelian expined, "you need to stay hydrated, as it were."

  "And you brought snacks," she said. "That... that's really thoughtful, Stelian. Thank you."

  "Yeah, well, you've been around, what, three, four nights? And you probably already know how things work here. You might be a baby-fangs, but you have to notice we look out for each other. We wouldn't be able to survive otherwise. And yeah, that includes you. You're one of us now."

  "Stelian, uh, if I was still human, I'd be blushing right now."

  "I can imagine it. I think it would look cute," he replied.

  Pantessa tilted her head. "You... wouldn't happen to be come-hithering me right now, would you?"

  Stelian looked confused. "Uh, no. I'm not. You said you fed on a person st night? There, uh, might be the side-effects of 'comida de viva.'"

  "Comedy of life?" said Pantessa.

  "Food of life," expined Stelian. "Live blood tends to make us... a little horny, I noticed."

  Pantessa frowned. "Wait, so I'm actually crushing on you? Fuck!" she said, angrily.

  Stelian, rightly, looked insulted.

  "It's not that, Stelian, you're actually quite sweet," expined Tessa. "It's just that complex interpersonal retionships are not something I think I can handle right now. Developing a crush is just going to be a complication that needs to wait until after we get my sire out of the box and figure out what to do next."

  Stelian sighed.

  "It's the hair, isn't it?" he said.

  "And it's the hair," Pantessa agreed.

  ***

  As far as meetings went, it was far more "support group" and less "board meeting." The chairs were arranged in a circle.

  "Thanks, everyone who could make it, for coming," said Angelina. "I know this is terribly short notice. But... here's the thing. Caleb is... well... we think he's in that box back there."

  Angelina motioned back to Pantessa and Stelian, still chipping away at the concrete box and making slow progress.

  "If he's not already dead. God, I don't like to think about that." Angelina shuddered. "And as much as we may not particurly like Caleb, especially recently, he is formidable. Before he disappeared and Pantessa -- that's Pantessa back there, Caleb's newest childe -- and I got a bat-signal from him, he met with Trey at South Point, who told him that if anything happened to him, that I should call a meeting. So that's why we're here. My hope is that all of us have a small piece of the puzzle, and that we can put it all together."

  "So I'll go first." Angelina sighed. "I'm revealing something personal about Caleb. Something he probably would not want you all to know, but I think it's important. Back in the 1990s, before Caleb was turned, he... he was supernaturally controlled. By someone. Someone he believes is his sire -- the one that ran off without even telling Caleb his name. And what his sire made human Caleb do... was kill people. Specifically, kill people using the same M.O. as our current thorn-in-the-side, the Stalker."

  "Well," said Philip, the vampire hacker furry, "that expins quite a lot. I knew Caleb was hiding something."

  "Aren't we all?" asked Trey, rhetorically.

  "Arr," said Mad Tom. "For one, the location of where I buried me gold in the West Indies. For two, the names of the scurvy wretches who tried to steal it... and what became of ‘em."

  Everyone ignored Mad Tom.

  "I guess now's the time to share what I found," said Philip, taking out a tablet. "Joseph Randolph, the stalker, had no prior criminal record. Graduate of the Auguste Escoffier School of Culinary Arts from Austin, Texas. That's where his family is from. Mother is a retired schoolteacher, father is a military vet and a retired school administrator. One sister who works as a contract wyer, half the time in Scotnd, the other in Boston. Works at Canaletto Ristorante at the Venetian. Has a mortgage, nowhere near paid off, on a house on the outskirts of Henderson, 28301 San Saltin Rd. Drives a red Ford Econoline. And his credit score is 710."

  "That's it?" asked Angelina, disappointed.

  "Oh, and also, his phone number is 512-555-2810," said Philip.

  Cardi whimpered, then started repeating the phone number to herself. She had to remember it. She just had to.

  "And as soon as he turns his cellphone on, we can track it," said Philip. "It's why I've been looking at my tablet all night."

  Angelina headed over to Philip and gave him a huge hug, which Philip did not enjoy at all. "Not a hugger. Not a hugger!" he said.

  "Okay," said Angelina. Who's next?

  "That'd probably be me," said Jack. "At the site of the st killing, the Stalker -- Randolph -- left a message. A bible verse. Numbers 26:65: 'For the LORD had said of them, They shall surely die in the wilderness. And there was not left a man of them, save Caleb the son of Jephunneh, and Joshua the son of Nun.'"

  "Well now, ain’t that somethin’? Caleb and Joshua... they are connected, then? Huh. Like a hound dog on a scent, this thing just keeps on twistin’." said Elvis, his lip curling up in a slow, puzzled sneer.

  "Arrr, a cursed thought just crossed me mind, and bst it, I hate that it did," Mad Tom growled. "What if Caleb’s sire ain't got a hand in this at all? If this Randolph cur knew ‘bout Caleb—and that he were the original stalker—maybe this be some kind o’ copycat butchery?" He gestured wildly, as if charting a course through dark waters.

  "Bear with me, me hearties—imagine some poor soul who knew ‘bout them old 1990s killings, knew Caleb was the one behind ‘em. Then one day, he ys eyes on Caleb, alive, well, and still lookin’ fresh as a lubber’s first voyage in 2025. What if Randolph got it in his thick skull that Caleb achieved immortality through ritual sacrifice? And what if—saints preserve us—he’s tryin’ to do the same bloody thing?"

  "That's a possibility, but I don't think it's the most likely one," said Trey. "Philip said this guy has no criminal record, no history of killing puppies or things like that in his history. Except for all the murder, he seems like a perfectly ordinary Vegas chef. Would someone like that spend time investigating serial killers, then, assuming he's found one, doesn't go to the police and instead follows in their footsteps assuming that they'll get immortality through some voodoo-hoodoo, despite the fact that it's far more likely that 2025 Caleb is only reted to the 1990s Stalker?"

  "And when I was over at his house earlier tonight," Angelina pointed out, "He didn't have like, corkboards with pushpins and red string, or newspaper clippings. Honestly, it seemed like a kind of normal. Ordinary. Not the kind of guy you'd think of as a serial killer if you were to meet him for the first time."

  "I beg to differ!" called Pantessa, from the back, where she and Stelian were still working on breaking the box open. "The impression I got from him when I met him for the first time was that he was very much a serial killer."

  "Obvious exception excepted," said Angelina.

  "Plus, there's more that supports the Sire theory," said Jack. "And I know, a lot of this is going to sound like... well, bullshit. I just want to remember, we're vampires, right?"

  "It sounds like bullshit," said Trey, "But I've known Jack a long time, and he's good at this stuff."

  Jack nodded back to Trey.

  "Are you familiar with Equidistant Letter Sequences? Bible Code stuff? It's... a hobby of mine."

  "None of us are," said Philip. "Expin it to use like we're five."

  "Right. Well, the idea is that God - the Hebrew God - is omniscient. He knows all. And that because he knows all, he knows the past, present, and future. Which means that the they can't really be altered. Like Nietzsche's eternal recurrence, time as a ft circle and all that."

  "Arrr, True Detective—now that be a yarn spun with the darkest o’ threads! A fine series, aye! Many a moonlit eve have I whiled away, glued to the glowin’ box, watchin’ that fine show with only the creak o’ me own bones for company!"

  "Well, uh, yes, Mad Tom," continued Jack. "Anyway, if God knows everything, and the Bible is his true word, then the idea is that everything ever happened or could ever happen is encoded in the bible. I don't know if I believe that, but using ELS techniques, I've found it to be... uncanny, if vague. In this case, in the original Hebrew, you can take the Hebrew characters of Numbers 26:65, assign each a number, then starting at Genesis--"

  "Jack," said Philip. "What'd you find?"

  "Ha'av hozer, Vehahashmada mitchi. Ha'ach habekor nichshel, ha'ach hatza'ir hofech lensich, shnehem nichadim shel hadrakon."

  "Aye, ye best be takin’ a good gargle o’ seawater, d! Nothin’ clears the pipes like Neptune’s own elixir!" offered Mad Tom.

  "No, it's Hebrew. And the transtion is, well, roughly, 'The elder brother has failed, the younger brother becomes prince, both grandchildren of the dragon. The father returns, and the destruction begins.'''

  "You’re right, darlin’. That’s uncanny, real vague… gives me the heebie-jeebies, if I’m bein’ honest," said Elvis.

  "Especially the part about destruction," said Stelian.

  "Well, it could actually be 'projection.' 'The father returns and the projection begins.' Transtion from Hebrew's kind of funny that way, in that the--"

  Angelina cut Jack off. "Both grandchildren of the dragon. That's mysterious."

  Pantessa stopped, frowned, thought really hard about something, and then turned and headed to the group.

  "Uh, hi. I'm... Pantessa. I'm new. So... forgive me if this sounds... incredibly stupid. It might be. I've been dead less than a week, so..."

  "It's alright, Tess," reassured Angelina. "No one here is going to think you're stupid."

  "Look around, ss. It’d take a grand folly indeed for us to think ye be talkin’ foolish," said Mad Tom. "No offense, Elvis—but ye prattle like the King o’ Rock ‘n’ Roll himself, and them rhinestones o’ yours could blind a man at sea! Aye, ye’ve found yer people, sure as the stars guide a ship!"

  "Thanks. That's... oddly comforting," said Tess. "Insane, but comforting. Look, I, uh, my only real exposure to vampires was through, you know, pop culture, but grandson of the dragon? Well, if Caleb is a 'grandson of the dragon', then his sire would be 'son of the dragon', no? And... in Romanian..."

  "You're shitting me," said Angelina.

  "I mean, there are a shit-ton of vampires here. Where did they all come from, right? Had to be someone - some... original source. Why not call him--"

  "Dracu?" said Cardi. "Drac-u-fucking-? The O.G.? As in 'Abbott-and-Costello-meet?' That Dracu?"

  There was the sound of a rge crack from the back of the room, as the concrete finally gave way and the box was ready to be opened. "Hey! Pantessa! I think we can pry it open from here!"

  Pantessa, followed by the rest of the vampires, headed to the now uncovered box, grabbing a prybar from where it was lying against the wall, and with a swift motion, pried the lock off the box.

  Angelina bit her lower lip, nervously.

  "Don't worry, Caleb," she said. "We're coming. We're--"

  Pantessa opened the box.

  And at the bottom, a yer of garlic cloves and some water... and other than that, it was empty. Caleb wasn't in the box at all.

  Mad Tom took his pirate hat, pced it over his chest, solemnly.

  "Aye, there be no sorrow like the toil o’ diggin’ up a long-lost treasure, only to find naught but an empty chest, its riches stolen by time or thievin’ hands. It cuts deep, like a rusted cutss to the soul."

  "What the actual fuck?" said Pantessa.