Everything happened very fast after that.

  One moment I was standing there, the cork at my feet, staring at Princess Katrina as she glided toward us with murder in her flaming eyes. The next, Garrick had thrown himself between us, his hands raised, and the air around him exploded into pure, brilliant white starlight that scattered like cosmic dust when Katrina's outstretched hand hit it. It remained, sparks and dust continuing to splash around me as Garrick gritted his teeth and held the shield together.

  "Princess Katrina," Garrick said, his voice strained. "We're not your enemies. We're here to help."

  "LIES!" Her voice hit like a physical force, and I felt it in my chest, in my bones. "You come from the vampire's den, reeking of his rot! You hold the proof of what was done to Dorota! You are his creatures!"

  She swept her other hand through the air, and a broken wooden chair that had been lying in the corner suddenly lifted and flew straight at my head.

  I dove sideways, hit the floor hard and felt splinters dig into my palms. The chair exploded against the wall where I'd been standing, and suddenly the air was full of debris. More objects rose into the air seemingly of their own accord: alphabet blocks, pieces of shelving, a carved wooden horse...

  All of them weaponized. All of them aimed at us.

  "I don't want to hurt you!" Garrick shouted, his shields expanding to cover us both as the barrage hit. Each impact sent cascades of starlight scattering across the room. "We just want to find out what happened!"

  "Then you should not have aligned yourself with monsters!"

  She was fast. Impossibly fast. One moment she was across the room, the next she was beside Garrick, her hand passing through his shield like it wasn't there. He stumbled back, gasping, frost spreading across his jacket where she'd touched him.

  I scrambled to my feet, my mind racing. We were trapped in here. The door was behind Katrina. Then again, we were dealing with a ghost. I didn’t think running would help us anyway considering how fast she could move.

  "Petr!" I shouted. "We talked to Petr! He's the one who told us about Dorota!"

  Katrina paused. Just for a second. Her flaming eyes fixed on me.

  "Petr sent you?"

  "Not sent," I said quickly, trying to keep my voice steady even though my heart was trying to punch its way out of my chest. "But he told us what happened. He said Dorota was taken. We're trying to find her."

  "And yet you carry the very instrument used to trap her!" She gestured at the cork, still lying on the floor between us. "Do you think me a fool?"

  "We found it here," Garrick said, his shields still up, still glowing. "We're investigating. That's all. We didn't know what it was until—"

  Katrina moved. I didn't even see it happen. Suddenly she was right in front of me, her arms wrapping around me in an embrace.

  And then I was dying.

  That's what it felt like. Like every spark of warmth, every bit of life and energy and heat that made me alive was being torn out through my skin. Actual ice lanced through my chest, my arms, my legs. Shards of frozen death spreading through my veins.

  I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. I couldn't scream. You have no idea what panic is until you you are completely at the whim of an enraged spirit determined to suck the very life from your bones. The world narrowed to a single point of agony, and somewhere in that darkness, I saw something.

  A figure. Tall, robed, with a face I couldn't quite see but knew was looking at me. Waiting for me. Death. I'd always imagined it as a person, ever since I was a kid. Not a skeleton with a scythe—that was too cartoon. Just... someone who came to collect you when it was time. Someone patient. Someone inevitable. And now it was here.

  Is this my time? I thought, and the question didn't feel panicked. Just... sad. I'd barely started this adventure. I wanted to see more. Do more. Learn more. My own Bourdainian journey looked like it was coming to a very fast end. I'd wanted to matter. Or at least…do something that mattered. See more of the world than my small corner of the northeast US.

  Then, I was blinded by a brilliant flash of light and had to slam my eyes shut (though the intensity, the radiance of it, seemed to go pierce through my eyelids).

  This light was not the cold light of Katrina's flames, nor the starlight of Garrick's shields. This was different. Warm. Living. It flooded into me like someone had poured liquid sunlight directly into my chest, and suddenly I could breathe again, gasp again, and feel again. My heart pounded as blood surged through my body after being held back those few seconds.

  The ice around me shattered. Katrina shrieked and recoiled, quickly gliding backward to the far corner of the room. Smoke, or steam, or…something…rose from where Garrick's spell had touched her.

  I collapsed to my knees, my body shaking so hard I couldn't stand, like I was in the midst of a terrible seizure. My breath came out in great gasping clouds of mist. Frost clung to my eyebrows and hair. My fingers were white, numb. And I was so cold. So terribly, terribly cold.

  "Mac!" Garrick was beside me, his hand on my shoulder. "Mac, can you hear me?"

  I nodded. Tried to speak. Couldn't. My jaw was shaking too hard.

  "That was Filling Life," he said quickly. "Banishes the effects of undeath. You're okay. Do you hear me, Mac? You're going to be okay."

  Across the room, Katrina had stopped moving. She was flickering now and her form became less solid. The flames of her eyes grew dimmer, and I could actually see eyes within the flames. Fighting Garrick's magic and maintaining physical form…performing that terrible Ghostly Embrace…it apparently came at a cost.

  She looked exhausted.

  "You..." she said, her voice quieter now. Not weak, but drained. "You saved him."

  "Of course I did," Garrick said. "He's my partner. And we're not your enemies."

  "Petr," I managed to croak out through chattering teeth. "We talked t-t-t-to Petr. He... he said Dorota was kind. That she was taken…just want to help."

  I nearly collapsed again. I wanted to curl up in a ball, preferably by a warm fire. Then again, I wasn’t sure I didn’t trust myself to roll right into the flames just to bring some warmth back to my body. I was afraid I’d never feel warm again.

  Katrina stared at me. Her form flickered again.

  Then she drifted down, her feet touching the floor. The orange flames around them sputtered to something like candle flames on dying embers.. She looked almost... normal now. Just a woman in an elaborate red dress, tired beyond measure, but slightly translucent.

  "Show me the cork," she said quietly.

  Garrick helped me to my feet. I was still shaking, still felt like I'd never be warm again, but I could move. I bent down slowly and carefully, and picked up the cork. My hands trembling as my arms shook and shivered.

  My fingers were so numb I almost dropped it. I held it out to Katrina.

  She didn't take it. Couldn't, I should say. She reached to grab it and her hand passed right through. Her phantom fingers brushed through my hand, and again sent a shiver through me, though nothing as terrible as her Embrace. Katrina could, apparently, choose when to be substantial, but maintaining it cost energy she clearly didn't have right now. Instead, she leaned closer, studying the runes carved into the wood.

  "Where did you find this?" she asked.

  "Under some debris. By the carving station." I swallowed. "Garrick said... he said this station was Dorota's anchor. Someone took a piece of it."

  "They did." Katrina's expression was grim. "And they left this behind. Either by accident..." She paused. "Or as a message."

  "What do the runes mean?" I asked.

  "They are binding runes. Containment magic." She pointed at the symbols circling the letter D. "This specific configuration is designed to trap a ghost. To pull them from their anchor and seal them inside a vessel—usually a bottle with a cork exactly like this one."

  My blood went cold. Well. Colder.

  "You're saying someone trapped Dorota in a bottle?"

  "I am saying someone trapped her spirit, yes. Imprisoned it. And is likely draining it even now." Her flames flickered brighter for a moment and anger flared through her face. Raw fury barely contained. "This is old magic. Dark magic. The kind used by vampires who seek power they were not meant to have."

  Garrick and I exchanged glances.

  "Vampires," he said carefully. "You're certain?"

  "There is no question." Katrina's voice was hard. "Only vampires use this particular binding. Only vampires have reason to trap ghosts. They drain our essence—our very souls—to further fuel and empower their own unnatural existence."

  "What does it give them?" I asked. "The…ya know…draining?"

  "Power. Magic that vampires do not naturally possess. Vampires can’t use or control magic as some other undead do. Magic requires a soul, and vampires have but a shard of a soul. And for those who are not Elders..." She looked at me with those burning eyes. "It allows them to walk in daylight."

  The words hung in the air.

  I thought about Samuel in his office. His careful explanations. His insistence that he had no reason, no motive, to harm the ghosts.

  He'd lied. Maybe not directly. But he'd lied by omission. Because daylight immunity was a massive reason. It was everything. Vampire Elders were incredibly rare. So the majority of the Vampire population hadn’t seen a sunrise in decades. There were, I imagine, plenty of reasons for Vampires to want to walk in the daylight. Definitely something they’d have no problem killing over, I could imagine.

  "How long can they maintain it?" Garrick asked. "The daylight walking."

  "A day. Perhaps two, if the ghost is old and powerful. But then they must drain another." Katrina's form flickered again. "It is an addiction. Once a vampire tastes that freedom…to walk under the sun they have been denied for centuries? they cannot stop. They will hunt. They will trap. They will drain until there are no ghosts left to take. And then they will go mad."

  "How many?" I asked quietly. "How many ghosts have gone missing?"

  Katrina was silent for a long moment.

  "I thought Dorota was the first," she said finally. "Three nights ago, she vanished. I came to Samuel, demanded answers. He claimed ignorance. Claimed he would investigate." Her laugh was bitter. "But now I remember. Yulia. An elderly woman who served on the town council in life. She vanished a month ago. We thought... we thought she had moved on. Found peace at last. But now..."

  "You think she was trapped too."

  "I think we were fools. I think we wanted to believe our people could find rest, could move beyond this half-existence." She looked at the cork in my hand. "But this proves otherwise. Someone has been hunting us. Slowly. Carefully. Making it look natural."

  The room felt colder than it had any right to be.

  "We need to find Dorota," I said. "And Yulia, if she's still... if there's anything left to save."

  She has been missing a month. There will be nothing left." Katrina's voice was hollow. "When a vampire drains a ghost completely, that ghost experiences the second death. True death. They do not move on. They do not find peace. They simply... cease."

  I looked at Garrick. He looked as disturbed as I felt.

  "We'll find who's doing this," he said firmly. "We'll stop them."

  "You work for Samuel." It wasn't a question.

  "We work for the truth," I corrected. "Samuel asked us to investigate. To find out what happened. He claims he's innocent."

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

  "Do you believe him?" she asked…and I could swear she finished with a snort.

  I thought about the way Samuel had studied me. The way he'd dismissed our questions. The way he'd withheld information…the name of the missing ghost, the details of how it happened. If Katrina was speaking the truth, he would have known all of that when she accused him. Why hide that fact? He had to know we’d find out. He’s too smart to think otherwise.

  "I don't know yet," I said honestly. "But I'm starting to have doubts."

  Katrina studied me for a long moment. Then she nodded, just once.

  "Come," she said. "We will go to the Town Hall. It is where the Ghost Council meets. Where my anchor resides. I need to... recover." She looked down at herself, at her flickering form. "This confrontation has cost me more than I anticipated."

  "I'm sorry," I said. "For—"

  "Do not apologize for surviving, mortal." But there was something in her voice that wasn't unkind. "You have courage, walking into Prague's supernatural conflicts with no power of your own. Either courage or stupidity."

  "Probably both," Garrick said, and I was grateful for the attempt at humor even if I was still too cold to smile.

  Katrina drifted toward the door. She passed through it without bothering to open it. Conserving energy, I assumed. Though it did make me wonder what happened to a ghost that exhausted whatever energy Katrina was pulling upon. Garrick and I followed the normal way, pushing the broken door aside.

  Outside, Petr was waiting. He looked at Katrina, then at us, his expression questioning.

  "They are... acceptable," Katrina said. "For now. Watch the building. Make sure no one disturbs the scene further."

  Petr nodded and drifted back toward the toy shop.

  We walked through Prague's narrow streets in silence. My shaking had mostly stopped, but I still felt wrong. Hollow. Like something vital had been scraped out of me and hadn't quite grown back yet.

  "That was the Ghostly Embrace," Garrick said quietly as we walked. "One of the most dangerous abilities a ghost possesses. You came very close to dying, Mac."

  "I know." My voice sounded rough. "I saw... something. Someone."

  "Death?"

  "Maybe. I don't know." I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold in warmth that wouldn't come. "It felt real."

  "It was real. The boundary between life and death is thinner than most people realize. When a ghost drains your life force like that, you're literally being pulled across that boundary." He glanced at me. "I'm sorry. I should have—"

  "You saved me," I interrupted. "That's what matters."

  "Still. I promised to protect you. This is the second time tonight you've nearly died."

  "Yeah, well." I tried for a smile. "At least I'm learning something most people only wonder about their entire lives."

  "What's that?"

  "Whether there's life after death."

  Garrick's expression shifted into something that might have been amusement. "And?"

  "There is. And it tried to kill me. Twice."

  He laughed—actually laughed, the sound echoing off the old stone buildings. "You're going to be fine, Mac. If you can make jokes after a Ghostly Embrace, you'll survive anything."

  "Let's not test that theory too enthusiastically, yeah?"

  The Old Town Hall loomed ahead of us, a massive Gothic structure that dwarfed the buildings around it. Katrina led us through a side entrance, simply passing through the locked door, then it suddenly opened for us.

  The interior was all dark wood and stone, the only light shining through the windows from the lamplight outside. Our footsteps echoed too loud in the empty hallways. And yep, the place felt haunted. Which, I noticed, made my pulse immediately quicken. Great. New phobia unlocked.

  Katrina led us to a large chamber, probably some kind of council room in the daylight, with a long table and high-backed, plush cushioned chairs. At one end of the table, displayed on a velvet cushion, was a scepter. Gold and silver, encrusted with stones that caught the lamp light shining through the nearby window.

  The moment Katrina came near it, her form solidified. The flames in her eyes flared briefly, then disappeared revealing beautiful amber colored eyes. Color returned to her dress, a slow rush of red replacing the grey.

  Her anchor. I’d never actually seen one work before, but I could feel an energy coming from it. Katrina sighed like someone settling into a comfortable chair after a long day.

  "Better," she said and waved her hand, a small lamp on the table flared to life, illuminating the council chamber. "Much better."

  I set the cork on the table. In the better lighting here, the runes stood out more clearly. Dark lines carved into pale wood, circling that single letter like a cage.

  "Who would do this?" I asked. "Who in Prague has the knowledge and the motive?"

  "It could be any vampire," Katrina said. "The binding ritual is not widely known, but it is not a secret either. Samuel claims that the practice is highly looked down upon and discouraged by the Vampire communities and laws. He even tried to convince me that he had forbidden the practice for all Vampires under his rule. But any vampire who sought the knowledge could find it. As for motive..." She gestured at the cork. "The daylight. The power. That is motive enough."

  "But doing it without Samuel's knowledge?" Garrick shook his head. "That seems unlikely. He rules this territory. Surely he'd notice if one of his people was—"

  "Unless he ordered it done," Katrina interrupted. "Unless this is his operation, and his plea of innocence is merely theater."

  I thought about Samuel's office. His careful questions. The way he'd evaluated me, tested me, tried to figure out if I'd actually solve the mystery or just make it go away.

  Meeting you may be the most important thing about this entire affair.

  He'd wanted to know what kind of investigator I was. Whether I'd find the truth or just the answer he wanted.

  Which meant he knew there was a truth to find. Perhaps even a truth he wanted hidden. How badly did he want it to stay hidden, I wondered.

  "We can't go back to Samuel with this," I said slowly. "Not yet. If he's involved, showing him the cork just tips our hand."

  "And if he's not involved?" Garrick asked.

  "Then we need more evidence before we accuse him." I looked at Katrina. "Is there anyone in the vampire community who might talk to us? Someone who'd know if this was happening?"

  She considered this. "There are always those who are... less loyal. Less satisfied with their positions. But approaching them would be dangerous. If Samuel discovers you are investigating him rather than the ghosts..."

  "He'll kill us," I finished. "Yeah. I figured."

  The cold from the Ghostly Embrace was finally starting to fade, replaced by exhaustion so deep I could barely stand. My hands still shook when I tried to hold them steady.

  I'd nearly died tonight. Twice. And we were walking into something that might kill me a third time before the sun rose. But Dorota was out there. Trapped. Being drained. Dying by inches. And possibly Yulia too, though Katrina thought she was already gone. The thought of such a slow torturous march to oblivion really turned my stomach.

  I thought about the toy shop. About someone who'd loved children enough to spend their afterlife in a place of joy and small wonders. Someone kind, according to Petr.

  Dorota who deserved better than this.

  "We’ll keep investigating," I said. "Carefully. We don't let Samuel know what we've found. And we find whoever's doing this."

  Garrick nodded. "Agreed. Let’s not tip our hand yet. Not until we know more."

  I stared at Garrick with a raised eyebrow, “Garrick, you sure have come a long way since this afternoon when you suggested the Selkies just find another pupping ground.”

  He chuckled and shook a finger at me, “Eh, maybe you’re already rubbing off on me a bit.”

  Katrina studied me with those burning eyes. "You surprise me, human. Most would run from this. From the danger. From the certainty of more pain."

  "Yeah, well." I picked up the cork, turning it over in my fingers. "I'm already here. And knowing what we know now, what’s happening to Dorota, what happened to Yulia? I can’t just ignore that. No one deserves that fate."

  "Then I will provide what assistance I can. Information. Safe passage through ghost territories. Warning if Samuel moves against you." She paused. "But understand—if you betray us, if you prove to be his creatures after all, the Ghostly Embrace you experienced tonight will seem merciful compared to what I will do."

  "Understood," I said, trying to hide just how terrified that sentence alone made me feel.

  "However," Katrina continued, her tone shifting slightly, "there is a complication. Many ghosts witnessed you leaving Samuel's lair tonight. Even with my support, most will avoid you unless they know they can trust you."

  I frowned. "How do I gain their trust?"

  Something that might have been a smile crossed her face. "Many things have changed over the centuries, human. Technology. Politics. The very shape of the world itself. But a well-prepared traditional meal? That can still win spectral hearts and minds."

  I blinked. "You want me to cook for ghosts?"

  "I want you to cook for the Ghost Council. Tomorrow evening. Prove that you understand more than just investigation—prove that you respect our culture, our history, our continued existence." Her flames burned a bit brighter. "Food is one of the few pleasures we can still experience, even if it never satisfies. And it would demonstrate your usefulness beyond merely asking questions."

  My exhausted brain tried to process this. "I've never cooked for the undead before. Well, except vampires, but that's different. What do ghosts even taste? What do you prefer?"

  Katrina's expression softened slightly—the first time I'd seen anything approaching kindness from her. "We experience flavor more intensely than the living. The stronger the taste, the better. But what we truly love are the traditional meals of our time. The foods we remember from life."

  "Who's the oldest ghost on the council?" I asked, my mind already racing through possibilities.

  "Polina. She has been with us since the 1600s." Katrina's smile widened. "Good luck, Mac Sullivan."

  Great. Four hundred years of culinary history to research. In less than a day. While sleep-deprived and traumatized.

  "There's a hotel nearby," Katrina said. "The Augustine. Tell them you need accommodations, and that a friend said 'Love and Do What You Will.' They will understand you are... special guests. The Augustine has served as neutral ground for supernatural diplomats since the 1500s. They'll provide appropriate accommodations to help you restore yourselves."

  "Appropriate how?" Garrick asked.

  "You'll see. Though you'll still need to pay—neutrality doesn't mean charity." She gestured toward the door. "Now go. Rest. Research. And tomorrow evening at ten, return here. The council will be waiting."

  We left the Town Hall, my legs feeling like they might give out at any moment. The cold from the Ghostly Embrace had mostly faded, but exhaustion had settled into my bones like lead.

  The Augustine Hotel wasn't far—just a few blocks through streets that were finally, blessedly quiet. The building was old, genuinely old, with the kind of stonework that had weathered centuries. A small brass plaque by the door simply read "Augustine - Est. 1517."

  The lobby was warm, lit by soft golden light that seemed to come from nowhere in particular. Behind the desk sat an elderly man reading a book. He looked up as we entered, taking in our disheveled appearance with the practiced neutrality of someone who'd seen much stranger.

  "Good evening," Garrick said. "We need a room. A friend said 'Love and Do What You Will.'"

  The man's expression didn't change, but something shifted in his eyes. Recognition. Understanding.

  "Of course. How many nights?"

  "Just one, for now," I said.

  "Very well. That will be four thousand koruna." At my blank look, he added, "About one hundred sixty US dollars."

  I pulled out my wallet—the cash Javi had given me for emergencies—and handed over the bills. The man exchanged them efficiently, then produced an actual key. Not a keycard. A heavy iron key that looked like it might open a dungeon.

  "Third floor. Room seven. The accommodations should suit your needs." He returned to his book as if we'd never been there.

  We climbed the stairs in silence. The third floor hallway was lined with doors, each marked with a number in tarnished brass. Number seven was at the end.

  Garrick unlocked it, and we stepped inside.

  The room was bigger than I expected. Two beds with thick quilts. Dark wood furniture that matched the building's age. Heavy curtains that would block out any amount of sunlight. And on a small table between the beds—

  Bottles. Flasks. Maybe a dozen of them, filled with liquids that swirled and glowed in colors that shouldn't exist.

  "Oh, thank the stars," Garrick breathed, making a beeline for a bottle filled with dark liquid and bright glittering lights that caught the lamplight like tiny stars. He uncorked it and drank deeply, his eyes closing in satisfaction.

  "What is that?" I asked.

  "Astral Energy. Refined, concentrated." He took another drink. "My power runs on it. I can generate some myself, but after tonight—between the shields, the healing spell, traveling through The Ways—I was running dangerously low."

  I looked at the other bottles, trying to guess what they might contain. My hands were still shaking slightly. My nerves felt like exposed wires. What I really wanted was whiskey, but I doubted supernatural hotel rooms stocked Jack Daniels.

  "Here," Garrick said, picking up a small flask filled with viscous yellow liquid. "Drink this."

  I eyed it suspiciously. "What is it?"

  "Morpheseum. It'll help."

  "Help how?"

  "Calms nerves. Eases pain. Brings good dreams after traumatic experiences." He held it out. "And it's completely non-addictive."

  I took the flask, but didn't open it yet. "Is it an opiate?"

  Garrick actually recoiled. "What? No! Gods, no. This is an ancient alchemical mixture, Mac. Nothing like mortal drugs. It's made by devotees of Morpheus—the Greek god of dreams—and it's been used for millennia to help people recover from... well, from exactly what you went through tonight."

  "And it's safe?"

  "Safer than alcohol, honestly. Alchemists have tried to synthesize it for ages, but you can't replicate it unless you're an actual devotee of Morpheus. They're the only ones who can obtain the key ingredient."

  I uncorked the flask. The liquid smelled faintly of honey and something floral I couldn't identify. "What's the key ingredient?"

  Garrick grinned. "Dust of Morpheus. From his hair, specifically."

  I'd already tilted the flask to my lips. The liquid hit my tongue—sweet, smooth, slightly warm—and I swallowed before my brain caught up to what he'd said.

  Then I gagged.

  "You just made me drink hair dust? God hair dust?"

  "Oh please. People are fine with fairy dander to fly. This helps you sleep and is completely non-habit-forming." He shrugged. "Besides, you already drank it."

  I couldn't argue with that. Or with the effects, which were already spreading through my body like liquid warmth. The shaking in my hands stopped. The tight knot of anxiety in my chest loosened. The aches and chills from the Ghostly Embrace—the bone-deep cold I thought I'd never shake—simply evaporated.

  I felt... comfortable. More comfortable than I had in ages. Maybe more comfortable than I'd felt since leaving The Crossroads.

  "Oh," I said, my voice already sounding distant. "Oh, that's... that's really good."

  "Told you." Garrick guided me toward one of the beds. "Sleep. We've got a lot to do tomorrow. Research. Shopping. Cooking. And we need to figure out our next move in the investigation."

  I wanted to respond. Wanted to tell him we needed to talk about Samuel's lies, about the mystery, about everything we'd learned.

  But the Morpheseum had other ideas.

  I barely remembered my head hitting the pillow before sleep pulled me under—deep, dreamless, and mercifully free of ghostly embraces or burning white eyes.

  The last thing I saw was Garrick settling onto the other bed, crossing his legs, his hands resting on his knees in a meditation pose. Soft light began to emanate from him—not bright, just a gentle glow, like he was made of starlight.

  Then even that faded, and there was only warm, peaceful darkness.

  Tomorrow, I'd have to research four centuries of Prague cuisine, source ingredients in a city where I didn't speak the language, and cook a meal that might determine whether ghosts trusted us enough to help stop a supernatural serial killer.

  But tonight?

  Tonight, I finally got to rest.