Author's Preface
Penny was leaning against the Dodge A100 when they pulled up. The van's faded, dented bodywork was the most welcome sight Richard had seen all morning.
The short drive from the Pai-Bridge police station had been filled with a heavy, suffocating silence. Ling hadn't said a word. She hadn't even looked at him, keeping her eyes locked onto the asphalt with a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel that threatened to snap the plastic clean off.
Richard stepped out of Ling's car and walked over.
"Hey," he said, offering Penny a brief, warm hug.
The moment he pulled back, Penny playfully swatted him hard across the chest.
"Don't you 'hey' me," she snapped, though her eyes were wide with a mix of leftover terror and adrenaline. "You faced what looked like a bloody death squad. Alone."
"Sorry," Richard offered, raising a hand defensively.
"My god, Richard," she muttered, swatting his chest a second time for good measure.
"I heard you posted my bail," Richard said, getting down to business.
"Yeah," Penny sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Twenty-five grand."
Richard's eyebrows shot up. "Twenty-five k? How bad's our budget looking now?"
"We're basically running on fumes," Penny said, leaning back against the dented door panel of the A100 with a grimace. "Got maybe a thousand left to our names."
"We need money," Richard said, stepping up to the side door of the A100 and tossing his smoke-stained jacket into the back. "Plus, I need a sword."
"What about my house?" Ling's voice cut through the air like a blade as she marched up behind him.
Richard turned, holding his hands up placatingly. "Your insurance will-"
"Cover the damage, Richard! I know!" she snapped, her eyes burning. "But my life was in there."
"Sorry again, Ling," Richard said softly. The defensive, sarcastic edge in his voice completely melted away, leaving him looking at her with genuine remorse.
Ling stared at him for a long, heavy moment. The anger in her shoulders collapsed, replaced by sheer exhaustion.
"Ugh. Why is it so hard to stay mad at you?" She rubbed the bridge of her nose, letting out a rough sigh. "Look, I get it. I do. But I still want to know how you knew they were coming."
"I saw it," Richard replied flatly.
"Yeah, yeah. You dreamt it," Ling scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "But how?"
"I wish I knew."
---
Penny had walked a few paces away and dialed the number. The line rang twice before a heavy click cut through the static.
"¿Quién es?" a thick, gravelly voice snapped-the Spanish heavy and sharp with irritation.
"Hello? Is... is this Martinez?" Penny asked.
"Sí. ¿Quién quiere saber?"
"My name's Penny-"
"¿Penny? ¿Penny quién?"
Before Penny could flounder through an explanation, Richard stepped up and took the burner phone right out of her hand. Penny opened her mouth to protest, but Richard held up a single finger, shutting her down instantly with a look. He pressed the phone to his ear.
"This is Raven," Richard said, his voice flat and perfectly steady. "How far does the cuckoo fly?"
There was a brief, tense silence on the line as the heavy breather on the other end processed the call sign.
Then, Martinez's rough voice rasped back "El cuco vuela solo sobre el nido."
Richard didn't waste breath on pleasantries. "Job."
"Island Park," Martinez replied, the gravel in his tone tightening into pure business. "Seis de nivel uno y uno de nivel cuatro."
"Understood."
Richard pulled the phone away from his ear, popped the back cover off, and slid the small SIM card out with his thumb. He snapped the plastic chip cleanly in half between two fingers and tossed both pieces into a nearby rusted trash can alongside the burner.
"Why did you do that?" Penny snapped, her voice cracking as her face burned of frustration and amger. "I could've handled that!"
Richard turned to face her, his expression softening as he raised a hand to de-escalate the tension.
"Sorry, Penny," he said quietly, holding her gaze. "That was on me. I should've said something beforehand. In this line of work, we don't use real names on an open line. Ever."
---
Climbing back toward the van, Ling stepped up to the open driver-side window, resting her hands on the door frame.
"Look... I'm going dark, okay?" she said softly, her sharp edge melting away into quiet concern. "Forget the house. Just take care of yourself."
"You too," Richard replied, meeting her gaze. "And look after my future goddaughter."
"I will," Ling promised.
The two of them shared a long, meaningful look-a unspoken language forged over years of joint deployments and close calls.
Richard turned the key in the ignition. The old Dodge V8 engine coughed once, sputtered, and then roared to life with a heavy, rhythmic rumble. But before he pulled out of the parking space, Richard paused, killing the gear shift, and looked back at Ling.
"Hey. The trophy on the fireplace..."
Ling blinked, taken aback. "The big silver one?"
"Yeah. What was it?"
"Erm..." Ling thought back, frowning slightly. "Zhan got that for some business award. It is, or was, one of his prized possessions... Why?"
A small, unreadable glint touched Richard's eyes, but he just gave a faint shrug.
"No reason. Anyway."
He eased the shifter into drive and tapped the gas, pulling the A100 away from the curb and leaving Ling standing in the humid morning air.
---
The damp November chill rolled off the St. Joseph River, wrapping the perimeter of Island Park in a heavy, low-lying mist. Illuminated only by the distant, sickly amber glow of streetlamps, the park across the water looked less like a public recreation ground and more like an isolated, tree-shrouded silhouette stranded in the middle of the dark current. On East Sycamore Street, the Dodge A100 sat pulled up tight to the curb, its faded blue bodywork blending into the shadows of the tree line. The engine was killed, the glass cool to the touch, and the cabin smelled faintly of stale coffee and gasoline.
From the driver’s seat, Richard peered through the bug-spattered windshield, his eyes fixed on the iconic sight directly ahead: the footbridge crossing over to the island.
At night, the wrought-iron arches of the pedestrian bridge looked stark and skeletal against the black water. The wooden planks of the walkway stretched straight onto the island, disappearing quickly into the thick gloom of mature oaks and silent pavilions. Beyond the bridge, the park was a void—no foot traffic, no park rangers, just the occasional glint of moonlight reflecting off the river's slow, churning surface and the dark outlines of picnic shelters standing like quiet sentinels.
The town around them was dead quiet. The steady hum of Elkhart's industrial backdrop felt miles away, drowned out by the steady, rhythmic lap of the St. Joseph River against the concrete retaining walls. Across the span, the island sat pitch-black, swallowed by the night—a single entry point over the water, and zero room for mistake.
Richard rested his hands on the top of the steering wheel, his pulse steady, his danger-sense humming at a low, barely perceptible frequency as he stared down the length of the bridge.
"That's it," he murmured quietly into the dark van. "Island Park."
"Right, Pen," Richard began as they geared up in the dark interior of the A100. "We need their teeth, rings, anything we can sell to the local Syndicate HQ. Got it?"
"Got it," Penny replied, her fingers steady as she snapped a pair of UV grenades onto her tactical belt.
"Also, there's no cover out there," Richard warned, pointing through the windshield toward the open expanse of the park across the river. "No walls, no doors. That means it’s hard to corner the bastards and they can move a hell of a lot quicker in the open than we can."
Penny paused, adjusting the strap of her pack. "Right. I’m surprised they even use outdoor places like this."
"You’d be surprised," Richard said, checking his gear with practiced efficiency. "People think vamps only hang out in gothic buildings or boarded-up drug dens. Truth is, a lot of them like to roam feed right off the innocent public in places like this. Those are usually the ones that can get the jump on you, so keep your head on a swivel. Got it?"
"Got it."
Richard met her eyes in the dim light of the cabin, his posture set and ready.
"Right. Let's go hunting."
---
They stepped onto the bridge. Richard thought that during the day and without the thick river mist the span probably looked grand. He noted there wasn't a single chip in the dark paintwork along the iron railings, a small detail that led him to believe Elkhart took care of its community assets.
By night, however, with the heavy fog swallowing the island whole, it looked like a set straight out of a horror movie.
The golden streetlamps behind them filtered down through the shifting haze, throwing long, angled beams like spotlights piercing the gloom. Beneath their boots, the deck felt slick, and below, the St. Joseph River churned in silent, pitch-black darkness.
They were halfway across the narrow span when a raw, unnatural shriek tore through the silence from somewhere deep within the trees ahead.
Without speaking a word, Richard threw his arm out sideways, instantly signaling Penny to halt."What was that?" Penny asked in a low whisper, her hand dropping instinctively toward the gear on her belt.
"That, Penny, could either be a fox, or..."
"Or a vamp," she finished for him, her breath misting in the cold air.
"Yep," Richard murmured, his eyes straining against the yellow fog clinging to the end of the span. "Come on. Let's keep going."
---
Stepping off the bridge, their boots crunched onto the grit of the dark concrete path.
"Right, Pen," Richard muttered under his breath, eyes sweeping the surrounding shadows. "Set up the UV trap right here."
Penny unclipped the gear from her belt, pausing for a quick second. "Won't they just use the water?"
"Would you believe me if I said they hated water?"
"No," Penny said flatly.
"Good. Because they don't," Richard replied, scanning the tree line. "But it severely slows them down."
Moving deeper into the gloom of the park, Richard’s hand instinctively dropped toward his hip to rest on the hilt of his sword—only to find his waist completely empty.
"Fuck’s sake," he cursed under his breath.
"What?" Penny whispered, glancing back at him.
"I feel... I feel naked without my sword."
Penny gave a quiet, exasperated huff. "Seriously. No time to be missing a sword, Rich."
Ignoring the phantom weight at his side, Richard tightened his grip on what gear he had left. Together, they pressed further into the mist-choked trees.
---
The damp grass swallowed the sound of their boots as they moved deeper into the island. The river mist hung thick between the oak trees, wrapping around the playground equipment ahead like yellow smoke.
Richard held up two fingers, motioning for Penny to hold position behind the wooden frame of a swing set. He melted into the shadow of a large maple tree, his senses tuned to the low frequency hum of a predator’s presence.
Through the haze, he spotted them: six fledglings.
They were raw, twitchy Level 1s dressed in faded hoodies, dirt-streaked jeans, and frayed jackets. They looked like typical nocturnal strays, crouching erratically around a pair of rusted park benches. They were unnaturally restless, snapping their heads toward the rustle of leaves, their jaws twitching with the uncoordinated hunger of fresh kills and then Richard’s eyes shifted toward the center of the playground.
Sitting on top of a damp picnic table, entirely indifferent to the cold river air, was the Level 4.
She was strikingly, impossibly beautiful.
She wore a long, tailored black wool coat over a pale silk dress that trailed lightly down the wood, entirely unmarred by the mud or mist. Her skin possessed the flawless, porcelain sheen of carved marble, and her dark hair was pinned back in an elegant, deliberate style that looked like it belonged at an opera house in Chicago, not a dreary municipal children's park in Indiana.
She sat with one leg crossed over the other, holding an unlit clove cigarette between two long, manicured fingers, watching her feral fledgling brood with an expression of idle, refined boredom.
The contrast was jarring. Surrounded by rusted slides, rotting leaf litter, and six snarling, twitching strays, she looked like a piece of high art dropped into a junkyard.
Richard leaned back into the shadow of the tree trunk, his pulse remaining dead flat as he caught Penny’s eye through the fog. He tapped his belt where his remaining UV flash-bangs hung, then gestured toward the perimeter of the playground.
Six low-level distraction targets, one apex co-ordinator.
If they hit the fledglings first, the Level 4 would use the chaos to slip into the river or flank them in the open. But if they could draw the Level 1s into the narrow choke point near the bridge, they could peel the mother away from her nest.
Richard caught Penny's gaze, held up three fingers, and began the silent countdown.
Richard and Penny broke cover together, sprinting full tilt into the center of the playground.
Penny raised her sidearm, pulling the trigger at point-blank range. The special-issue rounds slammed straight into a fledgling’s chest; the Level 1 shrieked as white-hot internal ash consumed it from the inside out. As its body collapsed and disintegrated into a cloud of gray dust, Penny didn't hesitate she drove the heel of her tactical boot hard into the pile of ash, shattering the jaw and knocking glowing, metallic-rooted teeth loose onto the damp grass.
Beside her, Richard was a blur of brutal, efficient motion. Without his blade, he used the heavy frame of his shotgun like a club, shattering skulls and dumping shells. Three fledglings vanished into ash before they even realized they were under attack.
A fourth Level 1 panicked, charging blindly into Penny's flank. The heavy impact knocked her sideways, sending her sidearm skittering away through the dew-soaked grass. But the fledgling didn't stay to finish her—it broke into a desperate sprint toward the entrance of the park.
A split second later, a blinding flash of violet-purple light illuminated the mist near the footbridge. The UV trap detonated with a sharp, crackling pop, scorching the fleeing fledgling out of existence before the light vanished back into the fog.
Before Penny could push herself off the ground, a pale shadow swooped down on her. The Level 4 woman seized Penny by the collar and tossed her casually across the playground like a ragdoll.
Penny hit the dirt with a harsh, air-robbing "Oomph!"
Wheezing, Penny scrambled across the grass, her hand diving into her holster for her backup piece. But the Level 4 was already on her. The elegant woman landed heavily on Penny's back, a guttural, terrifying snarl tearing past her red lips. As the vamp peeled back her lips to bare her razor-sharp fangs over Penny's neck, Penny’s chest went cold, this is it she thought.
BOOM!
The deafening roar of Richard’s shotgun shattered the air. The heavy blast tore through the Level 4’s shoulder, the kinetic force blowing the violent beauty clean off Penny's back and sending her tumbling through the wet leaves.
"Thanks!" Penny wheezed, scrambling up.
"Up! Up, now!" Richard barked, already bounding into the mist after the recovering Level 4.
The sixth and final fledgling lunged from the shadows on Penny's left, taking advantage of Richard's pursuit. But this time, Penny was ready. She planted her feet firmly in the turf, leaned into the strike, and slammed a heavy elbow straight into the vampire's throat, knocking it off its feet.
As it hit the ground, Penny drove her boot down hard on its face, smashing its jaw and breaking its teeth free. Before the creature could even recover from the impact, she lined up her backup pistol and put a round straight between its eyes.
The wounded Level 4 scrambled back into the gloom, but Richard was right on her heels.
He leveled the shotgun and pulled the trigger. The blast tore through her left leg, shattering the marble-pale skin and exploding the limb into a spray of hot gray ash. She collapsed into the damp leaves with a sharp, furious screech. Standing directly over her, Richard racked another shell into the chamber and took out her remaining leg, reducing it to dust and pinning her to the grass.
Even limbless, the woman snarled, her dark eyes flashing with pure fury as she clawed at the air, trying to drag herself forward to reach his throat. the disintegration slowly moved through her body, Richard knew what he was doing. He knew striking her legs would allow.the silver to travel up her body but give him enough time to collect what he needed too. Without fliching or caring, Richard casually planted the sole of his boot against her shoulder and shoved her backward, pinning her flat against the cold earth.
He dropped to one knee and immediately set to work. With cold, practiced efficiency, Richard began stripping the thick gold rings from her pale fingers and tearing the heavy golden jewelry from her neck. He reached for her jaw, leveraging her mouth open to snap the pristine, elongated fangs free from the bone.
"Nichtozhnyy chelovek," she spat, blood and black bile dripping down her chin as he worked. "You may win here today, Lovets,” she rasped. “But when Gilgamesh rises, you will fall.”
Richard paused, the shotgun still trained on her.
“Who the hell is Gilgamesh?”
A faint smile touched her lips. There was no fear in it now. Only certainty.
“Ty uvidish”
“Not good enough. Who is he?”
She moved before Richard could react. Her hand clamped around the shotgun barrel, wrenching it towards her face. Richard tried to pull back, but she was already forcing the muzzle against her forehead.
“Wait!”
Her smile widened.
The shotgun discharged.
For an instant, the flash illuminated her pale face. Then her body collapsed into a cloud of ash, scattering across the damp ground. Her black coat and silk dress fell empty beneath her.
Richard stood motionless, staring at the remains. “Fuck.”
He lowered the shotgun slowly.
Gilgamesh.
The name meant nothing to him. But the way she'd said it told him one thing. Whatever was coming, she had been more afraid of betraying it than dying.
Comments