Our footsteps echoed off the blank walls. No artwork hung anywhere, the space a blank canvas. There were a few exposed steel beams, and the industrial vibe almost reminded me of Antun’s home. Except where Antun’s home had warmth and life, this place was immaculate, cold, impersonal.
We were led to the living room, an open, airy space with a large picture window overlooking the Alps. The view was gorgeous – rolling green hills with trees beginning to turn color, mist clinging to the lowest valleys, eventually giving way to the snow-covered Alpine Mountains with their jagged peaks in the distance.
There were no traces of life in the space. The furniture was geometric with harsh edges and corners. There were no books or décor, no scent, no dust. Even the large analog clock on the wall ticked by in silence. Stojan motioned for us to sit, and we all did so, feeling various shades of uncomfortable. He did something on his phone, shoving it into his pocket when he was done.
He sat in a very squared-off seat, his posture as stiff as the chair. “Why are you here, Antun?” It was phrased as a question but spoken with such authority it demanded an answer.
Antun leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped in front of him. “Because things are happening. I have to make sure you’re not part of them.”
Stojan scoffed. “You needn’t have worried, but I suppose with how well I’ve covered my tracks you might not know much about me anymore. Speaking of…” He leaned forward just as Antun had. “How the hell did you find me? I know for a fact my private information is not online, not even the forgeries.” His eyes narrowed. “Who talked?”
Antun sat back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other, “Like I’d tell. I had to call in favors to find you, and no one gave the information willingly. And that was only after they were guaranteed that you wouldn’t go after them.”
The corner of Stojan’s mouth tipped up almost in a grin as he sat up and said, “Whether you tell me or not, the rats are always caught in the end. I just need to be patient, and whoever made that mistake will make another. Besides, who are you to make that guarantee? You really think you’d be able to stop me?”
His assurance only served to unnerve me further. Michael cleared his throat, making Stojan turn toward us. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and all I could think was run! But I couldn’t run away. We had to figure out the truth and hopefully prevent more deaths. Although, it sounded as if he had his own method when it came to the truth.
“Mr. Goranov, what is it that you do, exactly? All we were able to gather was that you’re somehow connected to a global crisis-management firm?” Michael asked. “Would you mind telling us more?”
Stojan’s bland expression was unnerving. He sat back in his seat, as if he was appraising Michael. He finally said, “To put it succinctly, the firm manages political crises and protects corporations and governments from scandal through media manipulation and narrative shaping. After all, sometimes peace requires silence.”
The way he said that last part made me shudder. A nagging voice inside me said that he wasn’t just talking about the mortal world when he said that.
“For example, let’s say that there is a scandal with a politician that would more than rock the country. We might be called upon for a little bit of our signature silence, make that politician or whatever they’re working on disappear. We help smooth the narrative so that the mortals aren’t living in chaos.” He looked rather bored for someone who had just admitted to quite probably murder, no matter how justified he tried to make it seem.
He turned to me. “I can tell this bothers you. Allow me to expand.”
I did not want to know, but I knew I had to listen.
“Privately, I use the resources of the firm to help keep the vampire world hidden from the public eye. Reports of the supernatural are neutralized before they can reach the rest of the agency, believable cover stories crafted. The mortals cannot know about us. The lie must hold, even if the truth bleeds. Silence is survival. Exposure is death.”
The supernatural are neutralized? Does he also know about werewolves then? And what exactly does “neutralized” mean in this sense? My mind scrambled, not wanting to think of what his man might be willing to do to his own kind for the sake of secrecy.
He stood, wandering to the kitchen which was open to the room we sat in. He began to prepare a kettle and tea pot. “I don’t have guests often, you’ll have to forgive the misstep,” he said in an almost bland voice. He went on, continuing as he gathered mugs and tea leaves. “Take Nikola’s ascension, for example. There were a lot of witnesses. Many had to have their memories altered or erased. Others were able to be discredited after a certain amount of people who had their memories changed were out in public. There weren’t many that needed more than that. And the new vampires… well, most of them are just fine.”
I swallowed, not wanting to ask but needing to know. “What exactly do you mean by that?” I asked.
He turned his gaze on me, and goosebumps pimpled my skin. “The world is noise,” he said. “I delete what shouldn’t be heard.”
Delete? I sincerely hoped he didn’t mean what I thought he did.
“My domain is an information-control empire, both for mortals and for us.” He walked over to a dark glass wall and pushed a button. The inside of the glass lit, showing screens humming softly as they idled. He pushed a panel I hadn’t noticed in the glass, a keyboard with mousepad popping out.
“This is my setup here at home, just a little something to be able to keep track of supernatural activity that doesn’t have to rely on the office. Take a look here; I believe this is the one that you are investigating?” He motioned for us to come forward and see his screen. Warily, the four of us got up from our seats and looked through the glass. A red dot in Seattle, with crime scene photos and the autopsy report pulled up right next to the map.
I was officially creeped out. This guy was like Big Brother almost in the way he was able to see almost everything. I glanced up at him to see a cold grin on his face. I shivered, and it had nothing to do with the blasting AC.
The kettle whistled from the kitchen, and Stojan walked over to it as the rest of us stood by the glass wall, still in shock that he was able to access. “Please sit, the tea will be ready in a moment.” We wandered back to our seats, me dazedly, and I sat down next to Michael again.
Stojan bought over the mugs on a tray, pouring the tea in front of us. “I only have peppermint right now. But please, enjoy.”
I held the warm mug, a stark contrast in temperature with the rest of the room. Then something he said earlier went through my mind, about witnesses of Nikola’s ascension. I turned my head toward Stojan. Tiny flickers in his eyes, like he was reading invisible code, made him look a little insane as he sat there so still.
Before I could voice my thought, Antun asked, “You brought up the incident at the Sirens of Spring…” leaving his question in the air, unspoken. Was he the one to handle it?
Stojan replied, “Already contained. The witnesses were… persuaded otherwise.”
I stared at him, piecing everything together. “You’re the reason it vanished from the news, aren’t you?”
His grin broadened and he dipped his head, saying nothing but confirming that it was his efforts that made the Sirens of Spring event little more than a blip in everyone’s memory.
Syla then asked the question that I was too scared to: “You didn’t kill anyone, right?”
He shifted his eyes to her, making her squirm in her seat. “Does it matter? The threat was contained.”
My stomach dropped. Syla’s jaw tightened, and I felt Michael stiffen next to me, his fingers pausing their nervous drumming on his knee. Antun’s face was set with a grim expression.
“Exposure was inevitable. Containment was merciful.” Stojan’s tone was steady and clear like a board chairman, never rising. His words were like a verdict, a gavel pounded – final.
Stojan folded his hands in his lap as he said, “Memories are unreliable. Remove the noise, and the truth becomes more manageable. One thought replaced, one fear erased – it’s surgical.”
He leaned forward. “You want to know how I did it?”
None of us spoke. We didn’t even move. Until a small voiced Syla said, “Yes. If you don’t mind?”
Stojan grinned at her, a little more genuinely than I’d seen him this whole time. “Footage distortion, gag orders ‘from the State,’” he emphasized with his fingers, then his frown dropped. “Then hunting down Nikola’s vampires and the witnesses.” At our shock, he softened it. “To hypnotize, to alter memories, to persuade. There were few who needed more than that.”
Michael’s fingers began drumming again though more stilted, and my eyes stared at his fingers for a moment. My neurodivergent brain was transfixed for at least a minute when I began to feel… It was the oddest sensation, like my brain itself was being tickled. It felt like static brushing against the edges of my mind. Familiar. Too familiar. Too like when Nikola had hypnotized and kidnapped me. My eyes shot up to Stojan.
He had an amused look on his face. “Relax, Miss Nelson,” he murmured. “I have no plans to tamper with anyone’s thoughts… for now.” He gave a dark chuckle, before adding, “I’m kidding.” But was he though? He’d been trying to get into my head and I hadn’t done a thing. Maybe I wasn’t as healed as I thought I was.
And Miss Nelson … it reminded me of what Nikola called me all the time. I hated it, hated that he made me hate a version of my own name. “I’d rather you call me Drew, thanks.”
He merely smiled and gave a nod, whether in agreement or only acknowledgement I couldn’t tell. His calm made everything feel worse.
Antun cut in, asking something else we needed to confirm. “Are you in contact with any of the others?” He didn’t need to specify; Stojan knew exactly what Antun was asking.
Stojan slid his palms from his knees to his thighs as he sat up, stretching his back. “If you know I’m here, I’m sure you know Argir is also in Switzerland. I know of him, but I do not have contact with him, neither with any of the others. I know where everyone is though.” His smile held no warmth. “And I know what everyone is up to. Though if you were able to find me, I’m sure you’ve already found most of the information I have on them.”
Why did I have the feeling that he wouldn’t just give us the information?
“Of course, there will be a price for any additional information I may have.”
And there it is.
Antun’s lips thinned to a fine line. “What do you want, Stojan?”
“Oh, nothing much. After all, I have everything I could ever need and can get anything I ever want. All I want is to never see you ever again after today. Do you think you can manage that, Antun?” Stojan almost spat his name.
The mood in the room suddenly shifted, and I was on high alert in my seat. Antun glared at him. “We’re just trying to ensure no one else has any bright ideas like Nikola’s. But yeah, I think I can manage that,” he said too smoothly, causing a small twitch in Stojan’s cheek.
Stojan stood, going over to his glass wall with the computer. “There is one I think you might find especially interesting, Antun. Zora Ognjenović; you know, the one you left Davor’s tower for? She’s an international fire investigator. Yet nearly every time she’s sent on an assignment, consistently inconsistent, there are other fires that happen after she arrives. I’m not saying correlation equals causation, but I did find that tidbit to be… interesting.”
Antun had gone statue-still at the name, face frozen in a blank stare at Stojan. The albino had somehow gone paler. “You’re a bastard,” he said.
Stojan shrugged. “Not the only one,” he shot back.
Antun continued to glare at him, body rigid.
Stojan went on as if he didn’t care. “The lie keeps the peace. Truth is contagion.” His philosophy seemed to crystallize in my mind: secrecy was peace.
I didn’t know what to think about that, and before I could, Antun warned, “Silence becomes rot, Stojan. I’ve learned that lesson too many times in too many ways.” I looked at him, seeing him not as a brilliant 500-year-old vampire, but as a man pleading with another.
Giving him an even look, Stojan said evenly, “If truth destroys us, is ignorance still mercy?”
The sentence hung heavy in the air, and you could have cut the tension with a knife. Mugs of tea sat mostly undrunk, the shock of everything so much that, at least for me, I forgot the tea was even there.
Stojan stood. “I’ve given you everything that I will. After all, secrets are my specialty.” Awkwardly, the rest of us stood, the meeting suddenly over. He led us back to the front door, holding it open. “You’ll find Argir in Geneva. But remember: he collects truth.” His parting smile didn’t reach his eyes as he shut the door, automatic locks clicking into place.
We all got into the car and left, gravel crunching under the tires. Before long we were swallowed by countryside once more, but my mind wasn’t on the beautiful scenery. It was on what Stojan had said. If truth destroys us, is ignorance still mercy?
I stared at my reflection in the window, cows and trees blurring as we drove past. The question looped in my head like a broken record. I wondered if maybe he was wrong; maybe truth builds more than destroys, but the mercy of ignorance… was that mercy? Was I only one step behind him?
